Category Archives: motherhood

To Give You the World: Thoughts on my son’s fourteenth birthday

Yesterday, my oldest son turned fourteen. I swear we were just taking pictures of him at fourteen months, when his nearly-Irish-twin brother and best friend entered the world. In some ways, everything has changed since then, and in others, very little.

Just last week, his giant hands gently captured a tiny lizard to befriend. My eyes leaked as I remembered that his tiny hands used to do this frequently when he was a toddler. The size of those hands may have changed, but the spirit of the boy donning them has not changed too drastically.

I remember experiencing delight and wonder as his little personality began to emerge. I did not imagine then that the wonder continued even into their teenage years when little boys start to grow into increasingly independent young men.

Amidst the worshipful wondering, there is also a lot of quizzical wondering. Are we doing this right? Are we missing some glaring gaps in his development? What are his unique passions and proclivities? Will he find friends who will help him run the race God set out for him?

Amidst all those deeper questions, I also found myself wondering, “What in the world do you buy a fourteen year old for his birthday on a budget?” It was easier when it was wooden trains and bubbles. As I wondered about what to get for our growing son, the Lord led me on a deeper journey as I realized I wanted to give him the world.

If we had the means, I would want to take him to all the places to see and experience all the things. If it were in my power, I would want to secure for him the best education, a spot on the best sports teams, and all the other superlatives.

But to do all in my power to point him to Christ is better than the world.

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

In fact, to have Christ is to have the One who made the world and everything in it (Acts 17:24-25). To have Him is have all things (1 Corinthians 3:21-23). To have him is to have the friend who sticks even closer than his best friend of a brother (Proverbs 18:24).

If we could barely afford the ear buds, we definitely cannot afford to give him the world. But we don’t have to do so; Christ has already paid the exorbitant price with his body on the tree (1 Peter 2:24).

To Give You the World

I want to give you the world,
I want your joy to be complete. 
I want to secure every good thing,
Wrap it and lay it at your feet. 

The bossy, glossy ads entice me
To buy into their counterfeits-
To give you all the fancy things,
To seek satisfaction in the blitz. 

But the world I want to give you
Money and effort cannot secure,
The world I want to give you
Seems like less but is far more. 

Having Him, you have the world;
Without Him, all is for naught. 
I long for you to be wrapped
In the righteousness He bought. 

We will do the birthday lunch and the cake and all the things. But the most important work is already done by Christ, my son. May you know Him as long as you have breath.

Still Yet Still Spinning

On Earth, even when we are still, we are still spinning. This reality makes me feel less strange. After a long day of mom-ing and human-ing, when my body finally collapses onto the couch, my mind still spins.

No wonder we long for an a fixed point, an unchanging reality to grab onto as if our lives depended upon it.

Every time I hit a rhythm, the song changes. When we hit a stride, the course changes. When we “figure out” one season of parenting, we enter a new one.

The only thing I learned in ballet (besides the fact that I am not at all flexible) is that when spinning, one needs a fixed focal point.Nearly forty trips around the sun, I am beginning to see that God set us spinning so we would find our fixed focal point in Him alone.

Spinning

All made things move:
The Maker alone stays:
Steadfast, unchanging,
The Ancient of Days.
 

We move through life 
On this moving sphere. 
We cling and we clutch 
To hold our lives near. 

But balance comes only
From a fixed focal point. 
Any life, apart from God,
Is completely out-of-joint.
 

Stepping into our spinning,
The focal point-made-flesh,
The time-winder in time,
The Creator in a crèche. 

Sighing under our sin,
The star-hanger hung-
Rising higher than they, 
Life from death wrung. 

Center on the crucified,
On Him set your gaze. 
Spend your spinning days
 To multiply His praise. 

If you find your life spinning or feels dizzied by circumstances, I pray you may find your focal point in Him who set our globe spinning yet knows how to still a soul. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

Flash Forward

Everyone once in a while, I see what I can imagine to be flashes of my future life. I remember being a momma of three little fellas, looking at a momma with three teenage sons at the beach, and seeing a glimpse into what our future might look like. It happens every once in a while when I look at the college students we hang out with often. But these are my best guesses as glimpses.

Jesus had more than a glimpse of his future. He knew He would die and be raised after three days. He knew who would betray Him. He knew the pain His precious mother would experience at the foot of the cross.

As I have been reading through and meditating on the gospel of Luke lately, the person of Jesus has come alive to me in new ways. Reading through His raising up the deceased only son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7), I could not help but wonder if Jesus saw his mother’s future grief as he looked at the grieving widow.

A Mental Note to Momma

I saw a semblance of our future,
Momma, today while in Nain. 
I heard the dirge of an only son;
I saw the grieving mother’s pain. 

The town gathered around her,
But they couldn’t carry her grief.
The love that I saw in her tears
Would not easily find relief. 

I couldn’t bear to look at her,
For in looking I saw you. 
Her maternal grief pierced me,
I felt it all the way through. 

I cannot stop the pain to come,
For my death will save your life. 
But knowing a momma’s heart,
I could not ignore her strife. 

At the bier that bore her son, 
I told his cold body to arise.
Listening, he came to life,
Much to momma’s surprise. 

I rode the wave of her relief;
My soul soared with her smile. 
I saw our future joy, Momma,
Though it’ll have to wait a while. 

I cannot tell you these things,
For you wouldn’t understand. 
As such, I bear a double grief,
Knowing all He has planned. 

Your tears will be a river,
For you won’t leave my side. 
For three days in heavy grief,
In desolation you’ll reside. 

The widow of Nain may join you,
Confused mothers you’ll be. 
For I who saved her only son
Will let them hang me on a tree. 

But tears won’t have the last word-
Father’s stories in ashes don’t end. 
For in times, I myself will also arise 
All death with life to suspend. 

Modern Problems & Ancient Solutions

The first Tim Keller sermon cassettes (that’s right, cassettes) I owned belonged to a series on the Psalms called “Modern Problems & Ancient Solutions.” Yes, I realize I sound ancient myself speaking of the yellow sports tape player upon which I played those tapes. At the time, most of the words ran in one ear and out the other as I ran around my small college town; however, as the Spirit is prone to do, He steadily brings them out of storage for practical use even today, some twenty years later.

Modern Problems

While the beginning of the series title might be changed to postmodern problems or even postChristian problems, the solution needs no tweaking. I say that to remind myself and others that, while the presenting issues may have changed, the biblical solutions to those issues remain rock steady.

Lately, I have been overwhelmed by the state of our world. I barely read the news, but when I do, I literally feel a burden in my throat and my tummy. Listening to our new Burmese friends speak of what their families in Myanmar are experiencing, seeing pictures of Gaza being blown to pieces by rocket fire, watching churches rip each other to shreds over modern solutions to racism. We don’t have to go looking for these things to find them in our faces.

As a mother, I tremble as I pray for our boys who are entering their teenage years. While those years are already fraught with identity struggles, our boys are literally being assaulted with worldly “wisdom” at the deepest levels of identity and sexuality. It all feels so impossibly upside-down. I feel paralyzed by postmodern problems.

This morning, as I sat down to study Psalm 18, I heard David singing a similar tune.

The cords of death encompassed me; the torrents of destruction assailed me; the cords of Sheol entangled me; the snares of death confronted me (Psalm 18:4-5).

Listen to the imagery David uses here. Cords of death surrounding and suffocating him. Floods of destruction coming suddenly upon. Entangled by evil. In fact, the Hebrew word qadam translated “confronted me” might be translated into modern vernacular as “got all up in my face.”

David’s ancient phrases perfectly describe how I feel about our modern problems. Suffocating, sudden, and all up in our face.

Ancient Solutions

The verse immediately following David’s lament, while it sounds simple, struck me as deeply profound this morning.

In my distress, I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears (Psalm 18:6).

David’s solution to the stultifying and suffocating ancient problems which surrounded him was to cry out to God. The Ageless One who stands outside of time, readied Himself to come to the aid of His people.

He bowed the heavens and came down (Psalm 18:9)

David writes in imagery what we know as history though the Incarnation of Christ. Only, when our Christ bowed the heavens and came down, He came in gentleness and meekness. He allowed Himself to be encompassed by death. He did not need to be held by cords, as He willingly gave Himself to the ignoble death of a criminal. The flood of the consequences of our sin surrounded Him. God turned away from His cries so that He could turn to hear ours.

So we cry out to our God. When the sexual ethic shifts all around our children, we cry out to God. When people continue to turn against people, we cry out to God. When the evil within our own hearts leaves us shocked and paralyzed, we cry out to God.

And our cries fall upon open ears. And the One who enabled such cries to be heard prays for us (Hebrews 7:25).

Oh, that our Ancient Solution would be freshly brought to bear on our modern problems, beginning with a fresh reapplication to our own hearts and homes.

Mind the Gap: Leaving Gaps for God to Fill

In high school, I had the privilege of spending some time in London. Even though we saw Buckingham Palace and the changing of guards and nearly got mauled by the murder of crows in Trafalgar Square, what stuck with me most was the British recorded voice saying, “Mind the Gap!” every time we disembarked public forms of transit.

Lately, the same phrase has been running circuits in my mind as I seek to parent teenagers. After all, the teenage years are marked by gaps: age gaps and height gaps, as well as gaping needs for peer interactions and gaping needs for security, identity, and affirmation.

As it is graduation time, I keep seeing those precious side-by-side pictures. You know, the ones where a cute toddler picture is juxtaposed with a grown teenager and captioned with sappy words from sad but proud parents?! I am clearly not opposed to these modern forms of marking out, as I have often posted similar side-by-side pictures of my own crew. However, what you don’t see in all those pictures are the agonizing moments of parents stepping around, praying over, and minding the gaps.

Emotional and relational gaps between what is expected and what is real concerning friends and fun. Physical and mental gaps exposed at try-outs, losses, and moments of risk and failure. Spiritual gaps shown between what heads know and what hearts struggle to believe. The strange, suddenly-shrinking-then-suddenly growing-gap between childhood dependence and young adult independence.

The Temptation to “Mend the Gap”

It sounds so simple to “Mind the Gap.” After all, to mind gaps is merely to notice them, expect them, factor them in and readjust to them. However, when I hear the phrase, my fleshly momma heart hears it as, “Mend the Gap.”

When my children are experiencing the gaps that mark the teenage years, so often, I want to fix and fill them as quickly as humanly possible. I don’t want them to experience the confusion and loneliness of wondering where to sit at the lunch table in a huge high school. I don’t want them to be bored on a Saturday evening, feeling like there is something wrong with them or that they are missing out. I don’t want them to feel stigmatized for speaking up about their faith and not fitting into because they are standing on convictions. I don’t want them to feel like they don’t measure up physically or don’t have what it takes to be strong compared to friends who tower over them.

But God doesn’t call me to mend these gaps, at least not always. He calls me to notice them and acknowledge them, sometimes quietly and sometimes aloud in relationship with my boys. He invites me to have conversations about these gaps with my guys. He most assuredly asks me to bring them to Him in prayer.

For these are opportunities both for me and my boys to watch and wait on the Lord and eventually to wonder at His goodness, graciousness, and wisdom.

I have found myself praying Psalm 25:1-3 for my boys as they experience various gaps right now.

To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul; O my God, in you I trust: let me not be put to shame; let not my enemies exult over me. Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame; they shall be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous (Psalm 125:1-3).

It is so easy for me to want to offer up self-made, knee-jerk solutions when God is merely asking me to offer up the stories of my sons to Him as yet another fragrant offering.

When I mind the gaps, rather than seeking to mend them, I leave room for my children to wrestle and cry out the God who has sovereignly allowed such gaps. I leave room for His Spirit to do what I cannot and should not do. I leave space for disappointment and confusion that could be gifts to lead them closer to the God I so long that they will know.

When Furrows Fight Back: A Theology of Work

Complaining about work is the adult equivalent of college students complaining about mid-terms and finals. And let’s be real, we all have those days when work feels like a weight too heavy to carry and “Everybody’s working for the weekend” is our theme song.

We are wired for work. Contrary to popular belief, it is not a result of the fall. Challenges in work and struggles with identity around work were most assuredly a consequence of man’s rebellion against God’s created and careful order; however, work itself honors God and is a needed part of human flourishing.

In his pattern of the perfect world He had newly minted, God offered Adam and Eve significant freedom to do significant work on the fresh earth. There were animals to name and gardens to tame. Carl Linnaeus had nothing on them. Work was not a burden, but a particular privilege for those made uniquely in God’s image.

However, in Genesis 3, when God explained the natural consequences of rebellion against His good order, he included work in his description of the curse.

“Cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, til you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:17-19).

But its not all thorns and thistles. He who wore a crown of thorns also had hands blistered from the beautiful work of carpentry. As such, both Christ’s active and passive righteousness inform our view of work. Our work is not in vain when done Coram Dei (before the face of God). As those who have been made right with God, we are freed to work under His favor. We don’t work to secure it, we work freely because it has been secured.

One day, in the New Heavens and the New Earth, we will experience meaningful, nuanced work that fits the way we were wired by God. We will roll up our sleeves happily and without stress, without sin, without the haunting need to provide security or provision. For our Christ will be all of those things and we will see Him face to face.

Furrows 

God intended faithful furrows,
The product of purposed labor,
The contented crown of creation
Working out of His full favor. 

Pushing against His protection, 
We sought power and control. 
Collapse and consequent curse 
Thoroughly took a terrible toll. 

Now the furrows fight back 
And enemies plow our backs,
Bruised bodies, furrowed brows,
Heavy plows on tired tracks. 

But the faithful, flawless Son
Gave His body for our flaws. 
His beautiful back was furrowed
To secure redemption’s cause. 

As the beloved, we labor in hope.
We dig furrows, He brings fruit. 
We faithfully cultivate our place,
As branches fed by the root.
 

If the proverbial furrows are fighting back as you work this week, know that the work story is not over yet. If your eyes are stinging from the sweat dropping from your brow, know that one day, those eyes will behold the One who sanctifies our work with His life, death, and resurrection.

Keep your hand on the plow and your eyes on the Pioneer and Perfecter of your faith.

Come and See

“Come and see,” Mary and Martha pushed out the words through sobs, leading their shaken up Rabbi to the cave into which their dear brother had been laid.  Martha, practical in nature, hestitated at Christ’s commands to take away the stone sealing the dead from the living. “It’s been four days, Teacher. You don’t want to see him. It’s not the Laz you remember. The staggering smell of sickness and death will overwhelm you as it has us these past painful days.”

Studying John 11 this week knowing we have dear friends who have lost loved ones and received heavy diagnoses, the bravery and vulnerability of the simple phrase, “Come and see,” jumped out at me.

What faith it must have taken these sisters to invite the same Jesus who came too late, in their honest opinion, into their messy grief. What trust it displayed that they invited Jesus into their pulsing, palpable pain, this same One whom both sisters had said could have saved their brother had he been there.

Come and see how our hearts are aching and nearly bursting with waves of grief at the separation. He is right there, not twenty feet away, yet we cannot access him, we cannot laugh with him and cry with him. Come and see the impossibility of our situation; join us, we trust and love you, even though things did not turn out the way we so deeply desired. We want your presence even though we are confounded by confusion.

We all love the Psalms of Triumph that pulse with praise, and well we should.

Shout for joy to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise! Say to God, “How awesome are your deeds!” So great is your power that your enemies come cringing to you. All the earth worships you and sings praises to you, they sing praises to your name. Come and see what God has done; he is awesome in his deeds toward the children of man. Psalm 66:1-5. 

But we do not get to the joyful Come and see without the risking, vulnerable Come and see that invites Jesus into the desperately broken places in our lives and hearts. And the life that happens between the two phrases is often a long, arduous, undulating battle.

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Jesus must be so honored by our trembling Come and See, inviting Him to tour our pain and brokenness. When we open unto Him the door to our terribly broken marriage or our dark past or our ongoing struggle with addiction in its minor and major forms, Jesus must smile a sober smile. For He who is outside of time knows the coming Come and See and can see us shouting in victory, even in that moment of vulnerability.

There will certainly be battles and scars and hope-deferred heart sickness between the two signposts, yet that initial Come and See begins the great work. The One we invite into our tombs and empty wombs is no mere man, He is the God-man, the Great Healer, the Captain of Salvation, the Mender of Mangled people, places and things.

Come and See

“Come and see,”such a brave little phrase,
Inviting God into grief on our darkest days.

To stay vulnerable when pain does wrench,
Bringing Him to tombs filled with stench.

The Maker of Life can handle grim facts.
Dark invitations precede healing acts.

Touring the truth in all its hideousness
Begins His healing with all fastidiousness.

A brighter invitation will come in due time,
The “Come and See” shouts of joy sublime.

Stewarding Silence

“I have a need of silence and of stars.
Too much is said too loudly. I am dazed.
The silken sound of whirled infinity 
Is lost in voices shouting to be heard.”

William Alexander Percy’s words have been running through my mind on and off throughout the summer. In a home of three healthy, vibrant testosterone-laden little boys, silence during the summer is a rarity. In the midst of the trampoline soccer sessions and the Lego trading floor, I found myself longing for the proximate silence that having only the little fella home once school began would provide.

However, now that my boys have been back in school for a few weeks, I have been reminded that stewarding silence and stillness is a struggle. As much as I have craved it and cried out for it, I had forgotten that silence can be terribly uncomfortable.

Daily it is a wrestle for me to get myself to my favorite spot on the couch by the window for long enough to have my heart stilled. There is always another load of laundry I could fold, another email I could send, another sermon I could listen to, or another book I could read. My flesh resists quietness before God, which is all the more reason to fight for it. It seems our enemy and our shadow selves know the rich benefits that only silence before God can offer.

Bonhoeffer, in his thin treasure of a book called Life Together, defines silence as “the simple stillness of the individual under the Word of God.” He continues, “Silence is nothing else but waiting for God’s Word and coming from God’s Word with a blessing.”

Andrew Murray writes something similar in With Christ in the School of Prayer. He explains that all true prayer can only begin when we are stilled enough before God to truly say and mean the simple phrase, “My Father sees, my father hears, my father knows.” That sounds simple, right? It’s only three three-word phrases; however, it is no simple thing for a human heart to be able to say and believe them.

Much of my time on the couch is spent attempting to empty my heart of noise, fears, worries and self-sufficiency by the Spirit’s leading and empowerment. It is far easier to stifle silence by quickly filling it with noise or words or to selfishly squander silence than to steward it.

Mother Theresa taught the Sisters of Charity about the need for silence. “Listen in silence, because if your heart is full of other things you cannot hear the voice of God. But when you have listened to the voice of God in the stillness of your heart, then your heart is filled with God.” She goes on to say, “I shall keep the silence of my heart with greater care, so that in the silence of my heart I hear His words of comfort and from the fullness of my heart I comfort Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.”

You know I love me some ethereal pondering, but here are some practical ideas to steward silence:

Leave your phone charging in another room while you sleep and during your stolen moments of silence. God gets the first and last word of the day.

Take a walk or hike in a local park or nature center. I do this even with my three yahoos in tow. Even though it is far from silent, God usually gives me a few moments of intimacy with Him somewhere in there. Additionally, this sets a precedent and pattern for our children that being quiet and out in God’s creation is valuable and fun.

Drive a few times a day without the radio. It’s amazing how much time we spend in the car. Little stolen moments add up.

Much depends on our sitting in silence and stillness before God. Much peace is lost, a peace with God that Christ died to secure for us. Many seeds of good works that might have been planted in silence are not sown.

The struggle is real and ongoing, but it is worth the fight to steward our silence.

Strengthened to Stay

Sometimes a slow, incremental exertion is harder to achieve and maintain than a sudden burst of strength.

My mother-in-law being daily empowered to care for her ailing husband is not as exciting in the world’s eyes as someone receiving a burst of dramatic strength to climb the warped wall in American Ninja Warrior; however, her staying strength honors the Lord far more than a sudden burst of short-lived faithfulness.

While marriages that last 25, 50 and 75 years don’t often make headlines here on earth, the sustained staying power deeply pleases and adorns God and His gospel.

Stay-at-home mommas washing the laundry, packing the lunches, and sifting through sibling spats don’t seem like they require slivers of the kratos (dominion power) of God; however, a decade into this calling of motherhood, I can vouch for the fact that the dailyness of motherhood most certainly requires His moment-by-moment empowerment.

Of late, I have been camped out in Paul’s letter to the Colossians. It has been a few weeks, but I haven’t been able to move on from his profound and power-packed prayers for the saints in Colossae.

Reading the depth and sincerity of his prayers is convicting to the core. He goes far beyond “God bless the Colossians” or “Please be with my friends,” placing very specific requests before the throne of God on their behalf.

And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God. May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light.
Colossians 1:9-12. 

Notice that none of what Paul asks on their behalf is circumstantial. Paul is not asking for a secure housing situation or safety or provision of a physical need; rather, Paul daily begs God with his ministry partner and son in the faith, Timothy, that their knowledge and understanding of God would continually grow.

Auxano. To increase. To grow. To become greater in size and maturity. Paul uses variations of this word three times in a handful of verses. In the opening of his letter, as he was introducing himself to a church he had never met but only heard about through yet another ministry partner, Epaphras, Paul shares his joy in the way that the gospel had been spreading (Auxano) internally in their hearts and externally in the world. Then, he uses it a third time in his prayer that this same expansion and growth would continue always.

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Paul longs that their hearts and minds would grow in wisdom (sophia) and understanding (sunesis). He then prays that such wisdom would inform their living, their manner of life, causing them to bear fruit and consistently please the Lord in all things, the big and the little, the seen and the unseen.

Next, Paul starts dropping power words like a piñata drops candy. He prays that they would be strengthened (dunamoumenoi) with all power (dunamei), according to God’s glorious might (kratos).

Why all the focus on power? At this point, it feels like we are in a roller coaster that is slowly climbing the first huge hill, building up power and momentum. But to what end?

For all endurance and patience with joy (verse 11). 

Really? Doesn’t that seem a little underwhelming. Shouldn’t Paul have given us something big and wowing, like a fireworks show?

At first, I felt let down after all the power-filled words led up to enduring and long-suffering, rather than a sudden, phenomenal act or display of strength.

Then I realized that staying the course, remaining in the places and roles God has apportioned for us, however exciting or bland they may be, takes a far greater exertion of sustained strength than a sudden and dramatic act of prowess or strength.

He strengthens and empowers us, placing his dunamis (from which we get the word dynamite) in us that we might stay the course, living lives worthy of the callings we have received.

This morning, I find myself deeply grateful for the strength to stay. To stay the course, to not despise the day of small things, to do small things with great love as unto Him.

Today, may you, likewise, be strengthened to stay where God has placed you in quiet faithfulness.

Growing Backwards: Thoughts on General Revelation

I hate to admit it, but for a long time, I lived like I had outgrown general revelation. In college, I remember taking a course called Faith and Reason that taught me the words and corresponding concepts of general revelation and special revelation.

General revelation refers to the knowledge about God that can be gained through observation of the world He created all around us. Special revelation refers to the fuller knowledge of God that can only be revealed by God’s Word through the power and insight of the Holy Spirit.

At the time when I learned these concepts, the names said it all. General revelation sounded, well,  mundane and general, compared to special revelation, whose name carried an esoteric and elite tone.

Right before college, I was brought into the world of special revelation, though the words and concepts didn’t click for a few more years. Before my conversion, the Word of God was merely a confusing reading from the lectionary on Christmas and Easter; however, with the indwelling of the Spirit, the Bible was no longer idle words for me, but my very life (Deuteronomy 32:47). Somewhere shortly thereafter, I inadvertently set general and special revelation at odds with one another.

In my mind, general revelation was like an old step stool, necessary only until special revelation was received and allowed me to stand fully in awe of God. General revelation was for spiritual babies who had not yet seen the bigger show of the gospel. In light of these unspoken, almost subconscious thoughts, I pushed general revelation into the attic where it gathered dust.

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A dozen or so years after my conversion, I have found myself growing backwards, pulling general revelation back out.

Don’t get me wrong, my view toward special revelation has not changed an iota. God’s fullest revelation of Himself in the person of Jesus is truly the masterpiece, the crux, the keystone, the cornerstone of my life.  I continue to proclaim the words the Holy Spirit spoke through Peter at the inception of Christendom. Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved. Acts 4:12. 

However, over time and with continual hearing (in bodies still ravaged by the dying flesh) we can grow accustomed to the grace of the gospel. We can begin living in a world marked by of courses.  “Of course God came to the earth and redeemed humanity. Of course He set His love on us.” Unfortunately, special revelation can begin to sound matter-of-fact or ho-hum to us, as familiarity tends to breed contempt.

When I find myself in these places, more often than not, God uses general revelation to snap me out the world of of course and back into the world of wonder at special revelation.

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The more I observe the bugs and butterflies,  the landscapes and sunsets that fall into the realm of general revelation, the more special special revelation seems. The God who created an insanely elaborate circulatory system in the giraffe to allow blood to flow against gravity to its head is the God who shed His own blood for me?  The God who mapped out the incredible migratory abilities of monarchs migrated to earth to speak to me?

General revelation reminds me of the immensity and ingenuity of a limitless Creator God. When God becomes more vast and more imaginative, more complex and more mysterious, the reality of special revelation becomes more amazing.

Today, on Earth Day, I pray that we would be Christians who lean fully into the world general revelation that makes us live more in awe of special revelation.

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