You know that verse that says God delights to give us good gifts?   I don’t think I properly understood this verse until I became a parent.  The extent of my love for my child is that not only do I love to give my child gifts — but I have to restrain myself from giving her too many gifts.  I come across so many things that I know she will enjoy, but I know that if she had too many good things, she wouldn’t enjoy any of them, so I am selective of what I do give her.  And when she receives a gift — the delight in her eyes makes my heart happy!  It must be the same for God.  We’re here begging him for more gifts, wondering why he’s so cruel; when, in reality, if he were to give it all to us, then he would really be cruel.

“If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”  Matt. 7:11

In contemplating the endless sacrifice of being a parent, I sometimes think, “What sort of insanity drives people to want to purposely make babies??”  And then there are other moments when I scoop up my own little one in my arms and my love overflows — she is the sunshine of my life — and I know full well why.  And I recognize why it is so that God created humanity and why he loves us despite our tendency to wander from him — just ’cause we are the sunshine of his eternal being.

Actually, I was a little deceptive a few entries ago.  It takes me two weeks to prepare a Bible study.  I spend a few days reading the passage and reading commentaries and leave it for a week while I let all those truths settle down into my soul. 

Then the second week, I begin to think of how it all comes together.  What’s the point?  And then… how do I get us there?  This is the point of serious rumination and prayer — of desperate cries.  Lord, what do you want to reveal of yourself here?  What does the group really need to hear?  Lord, please don’t let us leave this passage unchanged or missing what you intended.  Actually, I think I pray this through the whole process.

Then I will spend a day walking through the passage again, jotting down whatever questions naturally come to my mind that I want answers for.  And then at last, I bring it all together, trying to come up with the best questions that will bring the group to the main point, that will allow for good discussion and at last, application.  The last day, I pray like crazy so that I don’t throw up as I contemplate leading a large group of people. 

I love Bible studies.

It wasn’t long after I started seminary that I came face-to-face with the fact that I know nothing at all.  My first class made me realize that I had been doing it all wrong all along.  Well, not all wrong, but I wasn’t all right either.  I was horrified that I may have been distorting God’s word for the last decade — rather than illuminating it.  And for the first time in my short spiritual journey, I felt like I was truly seeing myself for who I truly am.  Not Mary Ann, a spiritual giant, but Mary Ann, a novice in the faith.  Who was I to think I had something to teach anyone? 

What followed was a necessary period of humbling silence.  Helmut Thielicke calls this period of time ‘theological puberty’ — when a young theologian has gained intellectual understanding of spiritual matters but has not yet applied it to her own life or reproduced it with the freshness of her own faith.  Cognizant of my immaturity, I thrust myself into a season of learning; and, in refraining from imparting (my so-called) knowledge or asserting authority, I realized that I really had so much to learn.  That season of life coincided with our transition to a new community of believers, and that anonymity lent itself to being the perfect environment to set aside whatever I thought I knew and just receive.  I resolved that I wouldn’t make mention of my spiritual resume (because what was that worth, really?).  Meanwhile, I would say yes to every opportunity that was presented to me.  Perhaps teaching wasn’t my gift, after all.  Perhaps God hasn’t called me to such a role.  But I prayed that if I that was something he was really calling me to do, then he would draw me back into it. 

Much time passed, and I had grown accustomed to not teaching and not being a leader of any sort.  At most, I was serving in the nursery in the children’s ministry, enjoying seminary and a baby on the way.  Still, Sam and I continued to pray every night that God would show us how he wanted us to participate in our community.  And I wondered constantly whether I was burying my talents in the sand, an act — if true — would be something with which God would disapprove.   

One Sunday, in a sermon, Pastor Jamie asked the congregation, “Have you been hiding?  Jesus is telling you, ‘Come down (out of hiding) and follow me.’” 

I realized then that I had been hiding.  Fears of failure loomed large.  Wounds of the past still felt raw.  As I pressed into those things which bound me, I begin to experience freedom.  And then, at just the right time, opportunities came to me to teach again.  I didn’t feel ready at that time, but I knew that God had answered my prayer to draw me in again, so how could I refuse?

But in beginning again, I know that I am a different person now.  I’ve lost the need to prove myself, and, most importantly, I am well aware of the fact that I don’t have to always be right.  The realization has been fixed — I am yet still — and perhaps will always be — a novice in the faith.  The mysteries of God are unattainable and that is something to rejoice over.

Jesus came to bestow on us a crown of beauty instead of ashes.

Beauty for ashes. 

There are few more breathtaking verses than this one (Isaiah 61:3). 

In the place of sorrow and mourning, God will trade it out for something beautiful and good — something called joy. 

[selah]

My meditation on Psalm 27 this morning — particularly verse 4 led me to these thoughts:

The Lord is full of beauty.
He is worth seeking,
and he is able to be found.

“One thing I ask from the Lord,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple.”

I recently came to a decision regarding my blogging.  Writing something is better than nothing at all.  It used to be my goal to craft something stupendous — or at least, somewhat polished — rather than throwing up raw thoughts.  But with time so limited in my life these days, I realize that just taking a moment to jot down my current ruminations will make all the difference to me — and perhaps someone else.  My writer’s pride has always flailed against making first drafts public — but God says simply writing will hone my craft.  I have to start somewhere, and that somewhere is right here. 

Yesterday, I heard Brooke Fraser’s “Still Standing” come on my Pandora.  I was immediately warped back in time — I was in the car, Sam was driving up the steep mountain to church on a Sunday morning, and I was nauseated because of my pregnancy.  It’s funny how songs can send you back in time.  This morning as I was driving to church, listening to the same CD I’ve had in my car for the last few months, I wondered what this season in my life would be marked by.  When I hear one of these songs at some future time, what will I remember about this time?  That put things into perspective.  Probably, I would remember the tension of trying to figure out how to balance being a parent, studying at seminary, doing ministry and being the spouse of someone who has his own ministry all at the same time.  And then I realized that it’s only been 6 months of juggling the first three and only 2 months of the last addition to our lives — not that long.  And in a few months, things will change some more, I am sure.  The point though is how I have lived through this time.  There will always be some new mountain to climb — but who am I in the midst of it and am I becoming the person I want to become?

I’m always nervous when I’m going to lead a Bible study or teach a lesson.  The nervous energy usually means that I can’t eat or attend to a conversation.  My years of teaching high school Sunday school are full of flashbacks of running into the prayer room seconds before the class would start, falling on my face with desperate cries to God.  I think the anxiety is mostly due, on one hand, to my need to control and the need to give up control if I want God to work, and on the other hand, the anxious anticipation of God to do something unanticipated.  Bible studies just don’t work like formulas.  And that’s what’s so exciting and terrifying to me.  I can’t control the outcome.  The Holy Spirit breathes wherever he wills.  You don’t know exactly where he’s going to go or what will happen, but you know with certainly that something will happen.  The inability to foresee, predict and control outcomes can be so terrifying to me.

I just finished spending a day plus a week to prepare a Bible study.  Does anyone else spend this much time?  I think I am on the slow side in Bible study prep, but I’m realizing that my goals act as a tension which push me to keep refining.

As I write the study, my goals include:
1.  Writing questions that will lead to discussion easily:  They need to be thought-provoking but not too impossibly perplexing.  They need to not be dead-end questions with one-word answers.
2.  To be accurate in my interpretation of the truth and lead others to those accurate interpretations.
3.  To not have a boring Bible study.

Of course, ultimately, I am sending up desperate prayers that God would show up.  What’s the point of a Bible study if he doesn’t?  Who wants a mental exercise?  Not me.  I’m not a literature teacher, leading a discussion on a piece of literature.  I’m a rough-hewn signpost, hoping to point others to Jesus — an unremarkable facilitator, hoping to open ways for the Holy Spirit to manifest his power and his presence.  I wouldn’t ‘throw away’ so much precious life if I didn’t fiercely believe that God’s word has the power to transform lives.  God’s word has an explosive dynamite impact on souls.  I believe it, I believe it, I believe it.  I might not get to see explosions every time I lead a Bible study, but I believe it’s happening and bound to happen in visible ways.  And so I pray desperately, Lord, please show up!