I hereby give you ten things to remember when you are nearing the end of your book manuscript and facing the Mt. Everest of edits:

1. Bagged salad and cold cuts might be the dinner of choice for the next few months. Toss a handful of baby carrots alongside and all will be fine. Promise.
2. Deep breaths when someone tells you that your writing gig is such a nice hobby. Resist the urge to spear them with your #2 Ticonderoga. They know not what they say.
3. Now repeat to yourself: This is a reader I am called to love and serve, not spear.
4. Thank your family and friends in advance for honoring your banker’s hours–swaths of time spent hunched over your desk, feverishly writing. They will deserve a medal as you cross the finish line, their due reward for generously granting you those twin, golden sunbeams of silence + time.
5. Stand up, stretch, and take a walk. Gulp the fresh air and revel in God’s magnificent creation. The world is much bigger than you and your book.
6. There will come a day when you will reach into the depths of your wardrobe and choose to dress in something other than your favorite ratty t-shirt and sweats. Respect and honor the fact that today is not that day.
7. You will find yourself struck by powerful waves of new and fanciful writing ideas. Exquisite concepts for books, blog posts, and articles. Visions that have absolutely nothing to do with the book coming due. Jot them down in haste and fling them into your bottom desk drawer. Return to the task at hand.
8. Oddly enough, you might find yourself bombarded by strange ideas while striving to finish a book. For instance, perhaps as you are typing away, you choose the word carve and wonder: Why does former NFL QB Brett Favre pronounce his last name to rhyme with “carve?” It is an impossible pronunciation by all accounts given the fact that the letter ‘v’ precedes the letter ‘r.’ Wild-eyed and despondent, nearly delirious by this horrifying, unmentionable anomaly, you look up, glance at your surroundings, only to realize that you are babbling, and no one else cares a whit about such a flagrant mispronunciation.
9. Which sparks fresh insight: It is time to resolutely step away from your book for two entire days. Take in a good movie or crawl into bed and sleep. Immediately.
10. This too shall pass. Praise be. Only two chapters to go. As you finish this marathon, keep in mind that God has designed you, and when you write, you feel his pleasure (as Eric Liddell did while running.) God alone has graced you with this present opportunity. Thank him for it and keep going. One year from now your mind will be deliciously rested and you just might find yourself reaching into that bottom desk drawer (See #7), pulling out an idea for the next book. Make sure to stock up on bagged salad and cold cuts.

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I whisper into the phone like some fugitive on the run, telling my daughter that I am weary, bone-tired, and discouraged. She knows the backstories, as she has lived them alongside me.

The stresses of ministry life, as a pastor’s wife, clutch my throat; the burdens have grown cumulative. We are living in chaotic days.

I am writing this in real time. Time when sleek wolves prowl and sheep bite, and few have eyes to discern what is truly at play.

My sleep, come Sundays and Wednesdays is in the wind, as melatonin has ceased to work its magic. The difficulties creep and pounce, a feral anxiety. I awaken from nightmares, breathless, gulping for air.

Spiritual attacks are terrors–dark and foreboding shadows.

How do I slay the dragons of discouragement and exhaustion, and live with joy?

I am no fan of fake-it-til-you-make-it, pretending everything is golden and sunny when it is anything but. Such a tune rings hollow in my ears. But neither do I endorse selfish moodiness, perpetually dreary and dismal, an ongoing raincloud sprinkling overhead.

Honesty + hope is all I have.

And my hope is Christ.

***

I write of the treasures in Bible reading so often because God’s Word has sculpted my entire life. Every time I open Scripture and partake, a padlock is opened as God moves close, speaking truth to me, verse by verse. I am forever learning something new, and this is wonderfully exciting. God’s Word is his speech, breathing and working and constantly stretching me in holiness.

Often, the shaping hurts.

These spiritual attacks, I have come to discover, are a good type of suffering. Good in that I am whisked into a dark and unsettling place; rendered helpless. My only rescue is God, and would you believe me if I told you that such fierce attacks have worked against Satan’s schemes? That my faith blossoms through trials?

Within those deep pits of darkness, when I feel most alone and desperate, God draws near, lowering his lantern and scooping me to safety.

During those pitch-black nights, upon awakening from terrifying dreams, I am not reaching for self-help books, or delightful fiction, or even good books about God. I pray hard and reach only for my Bible, desperate for God’s voice.

The Bible is my dragon slayer. I read it and reverence it and believe it and digest it and pray it, all the while seeking to obey it. As I do, the discouragement scuttles away, always undone by Light, as the narrow path is suddenly swept clear, strung with bright, glowing lanterns to guide my way.

Gentle Reader, spiritual nourishment is at your fingertips. It is yours for the taking. All of the Good Book’s pages are bursting with honesty and hope…God’s voice to us.

Yes, the Bible is a thick book. Do not despair. Stay the course, reading little by little. It is not a race to be won, but a treasure to unearth. Memorize verses. Pray your way through the Psalms with King David. Obey God’s commands. Learn to love what the Lord loves and resolutely turn from that which he hates. Imitate the saints of old, who repented and turned and trusted God. Hold fast to the beautiful and good and true words spoken by Jesus in the New Testament. Prize your Bible by wearing it out with repetition.

The time will come when your faith, if veritable, will be rocked. This is always true for the authentic child of God. Wolves will circle and snarl and snap and although you might feel alone, you are not. Such spiritual attacks are an indicator that you pose a significant threat to Satan’s pathetic kingdom. Stay tethered to God and Scripture and remember that it is the highest of honors to suffer for faith in Christ.

***

Who is my safety in this harsh, depraved world?

The Lion of Judah is his name.

And who may defeat this Lion?

No one.

Cling to his mane and hear him roar for you.

***

Monday morning, after my long walk, I pour steaming chai into my Mama mug and slip past the dining room into to my office. It is still early as I cradle the hot drink in both hands, warming the chill away. Sinking into my chair, I gaze out the tall windows and into our front yard.

The leaves have flourished overnight, a gentle canopy of shaded privacy. It is lovely, watching as the morning sun plays peek-a-boo through leaf and branch, while dancing in the gentle wind. Songbirds awaken and flit to the feeder, taking their fill, three at once: cardinal, chickadee, and house finch. They are tiny masterpieces.

Out of habit I shift the mug to one hand as my other grazes the top of our dogs’ heads, our two Goldens sitting side-by-side. Their eyes relax at my touch.

How peaceful it is now, in these still morning hours. I am tired from a poor night’s rest.

After a time, I open my Bible to John 10. God is so kind to place me in this passage, knowing that on this given Monday I require magnificent words. It had been a grim weekend, indeed.

I read the passage once, twice, three times over, and feel life trickling back into my bones. I read it yet again and now my heart leaps at the promise: I will never be snatched from God.

Slowly, the discouragement and fatigue melt away. The dragons have been slayed.

It is critical to understand that not one iota of my outer life–the hardships and ongoing stresses and pressures of ministry– has changed.

But I am changed in the secret places, flooded with fresh hope, comforted, and strengthened in the depths of my soul. God has seen fit to wrap me up in Scripture, as he speaks.

My sheep listen to My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give them eternal life, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.

~John 10:27-30 (NASB)

It is the summer before eleventh grade.

I babysit frequently, for several families, and word spreads. One bright June morning I receive a call from an older mother, with a handful of young children. She and her husband are comfortably wealthy, this I know, as I was informed by one of my friends who attends their church.

I care little about such things and only desire to work, fattening my savings account. College is coming.

The mother offers me a one-day trial run prior to the dog days of summer. If all goes well, I will be offered four days of babysitting per week, including some light cleaning. She announces the pay and I quickly agree.

I am sixteen-and-a-half, and don’t sweat the details.

Day One.

I arrive and the mother seems tired, melancholy, and is poor of posture. Her weighty diamond ring is muted by a faded L.L. Bean t-shirt, tattered khaki shorts, and worn-out Birkenstocks.

I find it uncomfortable to babysit when the mother is at home. Uncomfortable like this: As I read aloud to her children, I refrain from speaking the funny voices I would normally use when the parents are gone. Books like Where the Wild Things Are.

Typically? I would roar my terrible roar! and gnash my terrible teeth! and roll my terrible eyes! pretending to be the monster, prompting the children to giggle and scream in delight. When the mother is home, however, I read quietly, in case she is working or conversing on the telephone, or who am I kidding? In case she considers my reading voices weird.

I am also nervous that I might be doling out a few too many goldfish crackers or cups of apple juice to wash them down. I wonder: is that her shadow watching us play jump rope and creating sidewalk chalk figures on the driveway? Is she spying as I construct wide forts with old blankets and soft sheets?

I also wonder why in the world she is paying me large sums of cash to watch her kids while she is actually watching me watch them?

So yes, she remains at home all of day one, and as the children and I come in and out of the house, I pay attention to all of the stuff. Expensive trinkets, and tasteful. Well-made, attractive. But there are so many things, that I feel all beauty has been lost.

Plus, when the children go down for their naps, these knick-knacks will definitely make my dusting duties difficult. Heavy glass paperweights, miniature sailboats carved of fine wood, dozens upon dozens of picture frames, pewter candle stick holders clutching beeswax candles, boxes of pricey herbal teas, dozens of Longaberger baskets, and Russian nesting dolls, cleverly painted. Weighty blankets are strewn over the backs of high back Wing chairs. Furniture that cries heirloom yet has been tastefully reupholstered.

There are enormous wood hutches pushed against the east wall, two of them, side-by-side, smooth and painted a robin’s egg blue, lovely and swollen with at least four full sets of fine bone China, each.

The home is not dirty, per se, but stacked and cluttered and dusty and disorganized and I wonder why. It feels insatiably hungry and sad and although packed to the gills, empty.

At the end of the day, she walks downstairs and offers me the summertime job, and I accept.

Day Two.

I arrive, and she throws a small leather satchel over her shoulder, hair wet and pushed back by sunglasses. She escapes quickly, but not before handing me a pretty feather duster, with a please clean the downstairs when the children take an afternoon rest.

The children and I have a good morning romping in the fresh air, playing tag before the boys turn to their Big Wheels while I push the baby in her stroller. When the sun stretches high and the children’s cheeks grow flushed, we slump onto the porch and slurp popsicles while consuming one gigantic stack of books. I create all the voices and the children giggle. After peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches it is naptime.

I tuck them in one by one and locate the feather duster. The trinkets are legion, and the work proves tedious.

Late afternoon, I reach into the massive (and stuffed!) refrigerator, plucking some applesauce and cheese sticks from its depths, and the children feast. Soon the mother returns home laden with shopping bags. Crusty French bread peeks from the top of one paper bag, alongside alouette, gouda cheese, six green apples, and a head of dark Romaine. The other three bags are filled with baubles: expensive stationary, a pewter candlestick, a pair of fragrant cranberry candles, several coffee table books, a leather bracelet, a breakable China doll complete with eyelet bonnet for the baby’s dresser, and a miniature, pressed-wildflower paperweight.

Shopping is therapeutic she murmurs, and her face looks tired. I wonder where all of the things will go.

I glance at her children, little people who would likely never want for any material thing.

***

Last week our church sang When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, written by Isaac Watts.

Stanza two sizzled and seared:

Forbid it Lord that I should boast

Save in the death of Christ my Lord.

All the vain things that charm me most

I sacrifice them to His blood.

***

I sang this beautiful hymn and immediately knew — I have been giving myself a pass.

I prefer clean open spaces and few trinkets, and this is why our home is not filled with stuff. I rarely go shopping, except for groceries.

But.

I am perfectly charmed by high-quality goods, such as fine furniture with good bones. I take pleasure in books, and sometimes grow impatient waiting for them to be delivered free of charge to my Libby library app. It is so easy! so convenient, to click on amazon and pay too much, when I could patiently wait in line, or read something I already have.

I am charmed by delicious smelling hand soaps and hanging plants and bright hummingbird feeders. I choose thick, expensive wrapping paper rather than going cheap. I prefer things of quality, built to last, and food that is simple and delicious. I buy quality meats and bright, tasty produce. These things are not obvious, or showy, and not excessive in the way that trinkets or fancy shoes or a closet bulging with high-end clothing might seem.

Yet, as the hymn pierced my heart, I paid close attention to my soul, knowing full well that yes, I have vain little things that charm me most.

That stanza? It nudged me awake, bringing me back to Jesus, himself.

***

Not too long ago my husband and I went out to dinner with another couple. Afterward I came home and kicked off my heeled shoes, heated our teapot, and sighed–beyond happy to be home, introvert that I am.

I turned to Jon as he shuffled through the mail, and I told him that he had it easy, being married to me.

I ask for nothing compared to her, I said.

I know, he said.

Jon, she steamrolled her husband. Talk about beaten down! She was awful to him.

He nodded.

I thought about all of the things that the restaurant man had bought for the wife, who had shamelessly demanded it.

My eyes peered over my husband’s shoulder and into our living room. I studied our hand-me-down furniture, and gently worn carpet, and felt an irritation creeping in. The restaurant man had bought a roomful of brand-new furniture because his wife had put her foot down. Not only that, but they had also recently purchased–

I am wondering... I said aloud, and Jon looked up.

Maybe I do not ask for enough. I grew up asking for little…and I somehow intuited that it is wrong to ask for material things. But Jon, it is okay to wish for things, and to dream.

Kristin, he said, gently. Don’t ever be like her. You are on a far better path. Keep chasing God.

My eyes stung. He was right. That worn down consignment furniture, and carpet had been perfectly fine before dinner. This I knew.

Later, much later, I could not sleep as I turned over my husband’s words. Something nagged at me, and it was this: While perhaps I am not prone to bossing or demanding, I still have vain little things that charm me most, even if they are not obvious. And they don’t need to be obvious to be vain things that charm, do they?

How I long to chase God, and nothing more.

The Bible is perfectly clear. We are to be storing up treasures in heaven, and this means treasuring Christ Jesus more than anything. It is that simple, and that difficult.

I can be respectfully quiet and ask for precious little, yet long for much.

In Old Testament times God commanded the kings and rulers to demolish those high places, those places filled with idols that were not of God. Idols and high places and vain things must go. And when, with softened hearts we revere God alone as our High Place, our Strong Tower, and our Greatest Treasure, only then are we are able to thank him for allowing us to fully enjoy whatever he chooses to give to us or keep from us.

Like Job, we can bless God and truly say:

Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD. (Job 1:21)

I know people who stockpile and overspend at the dollar store, buying 20 bottles of shampoo, and 30 boxes of band-aids, well…because. I know people who spend their wealth in a frenzy, gobbling up every new treasure and sparkly thing and it is never enough. I know people who skimp on birthday or Christmas gifts for others, stingy, in order to spend their money on themselves and their dreams and their bucket lists. I know people who spend and spend and spend in order to give gifts in a desperate attempt to buy another’s love. I know people who are charmed by social media, charmed by their self-made grandeur and others who are charmed by people-pleasing, lusting after affirmation.

And also? I know people just like me, who are charmed by quality furniture and books and little vain things.

It is all rotten fruit, born of the same root of discontent and idolatry, isn’t it?

There is a better way to live.

It is beautiful, and it is rare.

It is choosing the simple life of utter contentment, purposing to abide in Christ alone, with a heart full of gratitude and peace. This is what I am praying for, eager for, and striving to perfect.

If the apostle Paul was able to learn, than so can I.

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Philippians 4:11-13:

***

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 16:19-21

The world is still spinning, Love.

These are the words that jogged through my mind recently, as I was playing with our 19-month-old grandson. We were in his backyard, and he was mowing the grass with his noisy plastic lawnmower.

Suddenly he paused, tilted his face upward, and smiled wide at a chirping cardinal, which sat, feathers all fluffed, trilling from the rooftop. He studied the glowing bird for a few seconds, utterly delighted and captivated, before returning to his mowing expedition.

Our grandson soon called out Papa! Papa! to his grandfather, who stood in the corner of the yard, taking a phone call. I knew from my husband’s tone that something was terribly wrong. And it was. A sorrow was unfolding in the life of one of our church members, and my pastor-husband was offering comfort in that tender moment.

But of course, our precious grandson could not possibly understand any of this.

He called again: Papa! as he continued to fly about the yard, showcasing his fine mowing skills. As Jon remained on the phone, our little buddy tried harder, and louder, to get his attention.

I finally picked him up and swung him high, kissing his soft cheek, and nuzzling his neck which made him giggle. Offering him an applesauce pouch did the trick, brightening all disappointment. He devoured his snack, pausing only to share some with me.

I hugged him close.

The world is still spinning, Love. God is here, and so is Papa.

Some things cannot be explained to a toddler, but I tried anyway, adding, Your Papa loves you, and he will soon watch you mow.

And so it goes, the warp and woof of life never quite matching our desires. Yet the planet is spinning still, held by God.

***

The world feels shattered doesn’t it? Our culture, ravenously lusting for power, control, and contentment, remains strapped in a merry-go-round of insanity, reaching again and again for life’s fruitless, dissatisfying pleasures.

I have found it impossible, (at least for me), to overthink and rehash the ongoing chaos while simultaneously remaining spiritually well.

So I have taken to practicing the discipline of restructuring my thoughts, which sounds fancy but simply means I am training myself to set my mind on things above (Colossians 3:2) since my natural, crippled inclination is to ponder worldly catastrophes and distractions.

And herein lies the magnificent gem: There is never a poor time to reset your mind, pinning it to the things of God.

I invite you into my personal mantra:

God is always working, and he is always good. He is Ruler of all, and by faith in Jesus Christ I am his, beloved and kept. My name is engraved on his hand. When I am weak, and begin to think God does not hear me, I am in the wrong. The world is still spinning, by God’s power and good purpose. The Lord knows my every thought and every ache, and he keeps all of my tears in his bottle. Whatever pain, tragedy, illness, or sorrow erupts in my life, I can know, without a speck of doubt, that He has allowed it for my good and his glory. I have died, and my life is hidden with Christ in God.

I have found that this repetition of biblical truth expands my soul, quiets my mind, corrects my faulty thinking, and steadies me in life’s whipping monsoons. It is a discipline of the will that serves to carve joy in those gritty places of life.

When hardships come calling, and life hurts something fierce, I am comforted and happy, trusting and treasuring God.

***

I gleaned an important truth from our grandson during our backyard playtime. He modeled what it looks like to be creatures of dust, enjoying the work we have been given, while also listening and pausing for songbirds. He showed me how to stop and revel in Creation by looking up and away from the tasks before us, smiling with simple joy at the wonders of life. Our days are gifts, offered to us by our Heavenly Father, who will one day mend this broken-down world.

God offers us glimpses of his beauty, to remind us of his Greatness. Although life is full of disappointments, we may choose to allow life’s difficulties to consume and derail us, or we can pause, remembering Who is holding both the nations and our days.

The world is still spinning, Love.

There will be snapshots of splendor tucked within the disappointments and chaos, as the Author of Life is continually at work, painting exquisite murals for us to inhale. Brilliant tangerine and lemony hues of sunrise, flowering cascades of springtime, morning glories and lupines and lilacs, twinkly stars embedded in the inky night sky, bright-winged birds, exotic, fluttering butterflies, and people. Knit together in secret, growing from tiny newborn babies into wrinkled, aging saints. Saints whose Bibles are marked and worn, their hearts and hands stretched heavenward, ready to meet God.

***

My personal mantra is based on these Bible verses: (John 5:17, Mark 10:18) (Psalm 121:5) (Isaiah 49:16) (Psalm 18:6) (Psalm 24:1, Psalm 95:4-5) (Psalm 139, Psalm 56:8) (1 Peter 1:7) (Colossians 3:4)

I know what you are thinking. Life is difficult, and serious.

I agree.

But life is also brimming with humor, if you pay attention.

And humor lightens our hardships, doesn’t it?

Laughter is a gift.

***

Our oldest son, Caleb, now a husband and a father, has been playing and organizing sports competitions since he was in grade school. He is a fine coach with a quick mind and the ability to clearly explain skills and systems and rules of most any game. He once competed in more college intramurals than anyone I have ever met, and there now hangs a shiny plaque in his honor, displayed in the workout facility of his alma mater.

Caleb never believed in competing haphazardly or playing without keeping score. (Why would you do that?) He consistently executes game play with excellence, fairness, and the drive to win. He also adheres to the team mindset.

As in, there is no “I” in the word team.

We are a team, and the best team players will be placed in the right positions to increase the chances of a victory. Selflessness, always, for the sake of the team.

Enter Gary.

One fall, late in his college years, Caleb coached an intramural kickball team. The team ended up being so large that Caleb created a rotation of players.

One of the players was a commuter student named Gary.

Gary was a solid decade older than everyone else, a man in his thirties.

It soon became clear that Gary was a mighty legend in his own mind and had made it his life’s mission to shine as brightly as the North Star on those intramural fields–fields that had long since passed him by.

The first problem was that there was not a speck of team mindset buried within the crevices of Gary’s soul.

He began to press Caleb for more playing time, scoffing at rotations.

Caleb is not one to be pressed, and while gracious and kind, Caleb remained firm with Gary, who, how shall I say it? did not excel on the field.

Caleb adhered to his ongoing rotations, and it was a remarkable grace that Gary was permitted to play at all.

Gary began to simmer.

Our son holds little tolerance for sulky behaviors (the apple clearly does not fall far from the tree) and ignored Gary’s mood swings. Caleb happily captained his team, who in spite of Gary’s shenanigans, was having a blast on those hilltop fields in the cool of evening. As the weeks passed the team racked up enough victories to propel them into the playoffs.

As playoffs began, every team member played at least a portion of the game, but only a chosen few participated in both offense and defense.

Gary was not one of those selected to play both sides.

He desperately clung to the notion that he deserved to play the entire game and like a whiny child, moaned about it.

I know my son well enough to picture his wide blue eyes locking in on the demanding player before him. I can conjure the set of his mouth, a firm line, and his gravelly voice: low and serious and quiet.

Where should I go? Gary whined; this petulant man turned child.

Caleb pointed to the bench. Right there.

Gary huffed and stormed to the bench, enraged.

The game kept rolling and it was close.

Caleb called out: Let’s go! Defense on the field!

Defense flooded the field, and Gary joined, scurrying onto the grass, rebellion darkening his face.

Gary, I said defense. You are not on defense. Caleb said.

Gary countered. You need your best people playing right now.

I know that, Gary. Back to the bench–you are a sub.

A cool wind picked up and Gary stared at Caleb, who did not budge.

Gary, a member of the I mentality rather than the team approach, tightened his fists and again stormed off the field to the bench.

Caleb rallied the defense, clapping and offering encouragement.

Another inning passed and then?

Crunch time.

Two outs and it was Gary’s moment to shine. He was up.

The pitcher rolled the kickball straight to Gary who lifted his foot and launched that ball as high as he possibly could into the air. Something no one had ever done that season, and for good reason.

It was an intentional, easy out. Anyone with a pulse would be able catch that airborne sphere, which they did.

Game over.

Gary, who could have catapulted the team to the championships, chose to kill their entire season.

And it did not end there.

He jogged to first, patted the base, and careened off of the field and into the parking lot. He drove away, never to be seen again.

Later that night he sent Caleb a scathing text, which our son wisely ignored.

I cannot stop laughing whenever the story is rehashed.

Such silliness from a grown man, benched.

***

Here is another funny story of a man who benched himself.

My brother and I spent our elementary school days playing in the sunshine with friends. These were the golden days of the late 1970’s, when children actually romped outside in the delicious fresh air, for hours on end. Who had time for indoor games while the sun was still high in the blue sky?

It was grand.

Holly and Stu were a brother and sister who were the same ages as we were, which worked out perfectly. For a time, we lived in the same neighborhood, and frequented each other’s homes.

Holly and Stu’s father was named Al, and he was known affectionately as Big Al. I am not sure exactly how tall he was, but my best guess was that he stood six foot four: a massive man with an ample tummy and a friendly, booming voice. Al perpetually smoked a thick cigar, (my brother and I called it a stogie) dangling it from the corner of his mouth, clenched between his molars, and there it remained, bobbling and flaking through each and every conversation and good-natured belly laugh.

People flocked to Al, because he was friendly, generous, and the life of the party. He did not know a stranger, as they say. Soon after we were introduced to this family, Al’s career skyrocketed, propelling his family into the highest of tax brackets and into a mansion of a home that overlooked one of the finest valleys in all of New England. He built a swimming pool in their gorgeous, and enormous backyard, and graciously invited us over to swim any time during the high heat of summer.

All of this to say: Al did not change with his sudden windfall. Yes, his family’s zip code was new, but he still slapped every friend and acquaintance on the back, chuckling at a story or joke or at anything, really. He waved at his short and tiny wife, beckoning her his way, with: Honey, thaw a few more steaks, as he randomly invited so-and-so and another so-and-so for dinner.

Al loved to feast. Steaks, burgers, baked potatoes, cake, cookies, and ice cream. The more people the merrier, and the tastier the delicacies, the better.

During this time, Al and his wife stopped at a convenience store while out driving one weekend, purchasing two of Al’s favorite candy bars and on a whim, a scratch ticket.

Go ahead, honey, let’s see what we didn’t win, he said with a laugh, handing her a key to scrape away the shimmery coating.

The 5 then became a 50 which became a 500 and finally? $5000.

He laughed as he shared this story with one and all, his cigar resting lightly between two fingers while he paused to guzzle a Coke. Good fortune seemed to rain upon Al, and no one else.

In due time, as his waistline expanded further, his wife insisted that it was time for a checkup.

He obliged, and the doctor told him he must get in shape: the candy bars and potatoes and steaks and cokes were catching up with him. Time to lay off the cigars, too.

Al took the warning in stride and hit the department store, purchasing a velour jogging suit paired with a matching striped sweat band. (Anyone else remember when those suits and sweatbands were the hottest style?)

And then, when the excuses had finally run their course and the luscious spring weather blew in on a breeze, Al laced up his sneakers, pulled the sweatband above his ears and around his forehead, and pecked his little wife on the cheek.

Honey, I am going jogging, just like the doctor said.

This, if not a miracle, was certainly an enormous accomplishment, because Al preferred anything over exercising.

Little wife breathed a sigh of relief, and watched her husband scoot down the road, albeit at a slow lumber.

Al turned the corner, having huffed and puffed for less than one quarter of a mile when a familiar car, windows rolled down, pulled up next to him.

Hey! said the friendly fellow, an acquaintance from the office building next to Big Al’s.

Al, still breathless, was delighted at such good fortune. An unexpected reprieve! He leaned in, resting his arms on the vehicle’s window frame, as his friend spoke.

Say, Al, there is a brand-new doughnut shop across town that is holding its Grand Opening today. Care to join?

Without missing a beat, Al hopped in the car and off they drove.

And that is how Big Al benched himself.

His exercise days were over before they truly began.

He stoked this favorite story, building it up, tending it like a perfect campfire, warming and drawing his rapt audience in as he roared with laughter, bringing everyone to raucous delight, his cigar shaking as he passed more chips and soft drinks to the many guests circling his table.

And this was his charm: not the house with the view, nor his $5000 scratch ticket, nor his swimming pool, nor his prominent job.

The charm was his invitation to join him in laughter, never taking himself too seriously.

***

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

…A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

I needed the Phillips-head screwdriver, which was supposed to be in our kitchen’s junk drawer.

I sifted through the chaotic space, searching wildly, and without luck.

For a person who cherishes the neat and the tidy, I was horrified at this state of disarray. A disaster! How had I allowed it to become such a wreck? The previous week my husband had combed through it in search of super glue. The week before that it had been scissors. And prior to that? Tape.

With the Phillips-head nowhere in sight, I was done, frustrated, and now determined to fix the real problem, which was not a missing tool.

My problem was a dreadfully disordered drawer.

***

One hour and eighteen dollars later, I held a junk drawer organizer in my hot little hands. In only a matter of minutes, peace and order returned.

Band-Aids, cough drops, screwdrivers, scissors, rulers, chip clips, pencils, sharpies, post-it notes, tape, birthday candles, super glue, nail clippers, and even a mini flashlight now each have their own compartments.

We slide open the drawer and take what we need.

It works.

***

Unless you are living beneath a rock, I do not have to explain that disorder is decimating our culture. The ruler of this world, Satan, is having his heyday. It won’t last. (Revelation 20:7-10)

But in the meantime, I ask you: As a Christian, how do you plan to flourish spiritually in such chaos?

Perhaps it is time to clean out your junk drawer.

Go ahead–start by emptying the contents and tossing everything that is displeasing to God.

Your Bible will serve as your junk drawer’s organizer.

We have the only instruction book required for living well, and it is the Good Book. In order to know it, you first must read it. This requires setting aside gentle swells of time to spend with the Lord.

Be unrushed in your prayer and Bible study time, as you read God’s Word, savoring this treasure. Seek to obey the Lord as you learn what he loves and what he opposes and what he requires. Do not rely on Sadie from small group or Steven from Bible Study to be your conduit to truth. We are living in warped times, where multitudes of professing Christians are not only embracing but sadly teaching worldly solutions to spiritual problems.

Truly, you must know God’s Word for yourself.

And it is paramount, kind reader, to faithfully teach your children and grandchildren the delight of obedience to God through Scripture.

Genesis.

Explain that God created the entire universe with his strong voice. (Genesis 1) Step outside with your family and name the constellations and discover the face of the moon. Openly wonder at the shapes of the cumulus, cirrus, and stratus cloud formations. Show your loves the difference between the brilliant maple trees and the stately pines. Toss whirly birds into the air and watch them flutter earthward.

Tell them that our Creator knows the number of hairs on their little heads (Luke 12:7) and that he painted the beautiful color of their eyes. (Psalm 139:13-14) Emphasize that God never makes mistakes and that all of his promises hold true. (Psalm 145:13) Inform them that God intentionally fashioned our microscopic DNA, weaving us together.

Speak truth:

We must respect and honor the fact that God made you, my dear son, to be a male, and you, sweet granddaughter, to be a female. (Genesis 1:27) Children, God was not joking when he created each one of us, and we must never disagree with his perfect design and craftsmanship by trying to be something we are not.

Never, ever, apologize to your children and grandchildren for that which God created, declaring it to be good.

With these thoughts in place, God’s Word front and center, you have now given your children and grandchildren a biblical framework in which to place life’s tools. It will now make better sense to them as you seek to help them deposit godly tools in life’s drawer, while discarding the world’s lies right into the trash can.

As you model joyful, narrow-way living, do not swerve from direct Bible reading and discussion. You will be bombarded with other options, so flashy! so fun! Build the wisdom and discernment to say No, firmly and graciously declining, willfully discarding poor choices in favor of God’s way. Children will gladly rise to the level of expectation that you set. Open your Bible and expect them to open theirs. It is delightfully simple, and children are perfectly capable of understanding clearly spoken truth.

Teach truth to your children and grandchildren when they lie down, and wake up, when you go out for ice cream, and play on the swing set, when you drive home from the ball game, and when you throw stones in the pond. Laugh and have fun and build memories and forts and sandcastles and snowmen. Enjoy the goodness of God through the pleasures of nature and the gift of family.

Practice spiritual discernment before your family, another invaluable tool for life’s drawer as you seek to choose godly friends, good books, and kind speech. Flood another compartment with Scripture memory, and another with humble service to others. Teach your children and grandchildren that they are not the center of the universe, and neither are you–God is. They are not to be worshiped, and neither are you–God is. Pray together and openly model confession and repentance and forgiveness.

Instruct your children in the joy of obedience to you as parents. Your little ones must first respect and obey you before they learn to fully respect and obey God. Love them enough to discipline them well.

I once taught a children’s Sunday School class in which a youngster consistently rebelled, throwing furniture and dark scowls and unkind words around the room. It stunned me until I realized that this child was permitted to run the show at home by controlling the mood of the house. The child’s parents did not discipline their youngster, and clearly feared their offspring more than God. This kindergartener was never required to obey and was therefore utterly miserable–perpetually angry and rebellious.

Living in obedience to the Lord is serious, serious, business. Our children and grandchildren are observing what we believe to be true, through our actions.

The Biblical order of the home is clear: little ones are to obey their parents in the Lord. (Ephesians 6:1) Wives are to submit to their husbands as unto the Lord (Ephesians 5:22), and husbands are to love their wives as Christ loved the church (Ephesians 5:25). If this hierarchy is out of whack, the family will not thrive.

God is kind to give us the blueprint of well-ordered living, isn’t he? Obedience to Scripture it is meant to bless us.

The next compartment?

Transparency in sharing the real hardships that authentic Christianity brings. (John 16:33) This understanding of truth is a tool children must have. If you insist that life is meant to be all blue skies and smooth waters, your family will be prone to giving up or giving in to sin when difficulties arise through obedience to following Christ. And as you truly follow him, hardships will multiply. (1 Peter 4:12)

Another crucial compartment to fill is your unwavering commitment to be in church every single week. Your family’s spiritual health depends upon it. Our prone-to-wander hearts must be under the regular teaching of God’s Word in order to mature, and not in a once-in-a-while fashion. This habit will reap spiritual dividends, deepening those roots of faith. Place the priority of consistent church attendance above sports, shopping, birthday parties, work, sleeping in, and socializing.

We are instructed to not forsake meeting together. (Hebrews 10:25)

So don’t.

From time-to-time I counsel women who are desperate and hurting, their lives in shambles, disordered from top to bottom. Mothers and wives and daughters suddenly at loose ends. There is a common theme at play, and it goes like this:

I don’t know what’s wrong…our family attends church at least once a month, (excuse my dusty Bible, we are just so busy with sports and birthday parties and vacations) and I drop my children off at youth group once a week. Shouldn’t that be enough to do the trick?

Do the trick?

The trick of forming ardent Christ-followers, burning with devotion to God?

I assure you, there are no tricks.

There is a simple drawer of God-honoring disciplines, based purely on Scripture.

And each person, within each family, must learn to reach for those tools.

But to own the tools you must first truly love and cherish God above all else. If your confession of faith is false, your life will eventually prove it.

The beauty of submission to God leads to a rightly-ordered life.

***

Keep steady my steps according to your promise, and let no iniquity get dominion over me. Psalm 119:133

Actually, I am not gone, nor am I fishing, but I am knee deep in a few projects.

Plus, I am pushing away from my desk in order to spend uninterrupted time with my favorite girl in the whole world, as she is home for Spring Break.

I have been told that there are some new readers here, so this week I have decided to dip back into the archives and link to a few stories for your reading pleasure.

Thank you, kind readers, for gracing me with your time.

***

Twenty-Eight

Bulletproof

It Rots the Bones

My Brother

That One Common Ache

The Story of the Substitute

My favorite pastime, hands down, is walking.

I thrive on long walks, listening to podcasts, or sermons, or music, occasionally removing my earbuds, enjoying the notes of nature. Up and down the hilly paths I fly, deeply inhaling the clean, fresh air, observing robust wildlife: bright songbirds and Canada geese, clusters of deer, chipmunks, and squirrels.

Flowering trees signal the dawn of spring, while high heat ushers in blooms of summer, giving way to autumn’s celebrated blaze: trees of fire. And finally? Bare, spindly branches capped with snow, to round out the calendar year.

Whether the sunshine dances over the shimmering pond, or snow clouds yield bleaker skies, it does not matter– I think and pray and always return home refreshed and eager to write.

It works. God’s gift of nature inspires me, without fail. It gifts me the words, sentences, and paragraphs.

I was terribly saddened when, over the past six weeks, an injury necessitated that I stop walking for a time. There was little that I could do, other than ride a stationary bike.

It was abysmal.

How I missed those splendid daily walks, so different from exercising in a stuffy, indoor gym. Air that feels stale, never fully circulating, as people mill about from machine to machine with smudged phones and neon water bottles, sweat soaking their white neck towels, while the news blares from the small corner television, loud and discouraging.

Rather than growing inspired, I inevitably returned home dull of mind, realizing that this was my new normal for at least a month.

***

Through this inconvenience, I have been surprised to discover that it is good to be disrupted. For life, as we know it, to be jolted, even in diminutive ways. God wastes absolutely nothing but designs hardships for our good.

Something as small as being unable to exercise outdoors has awakened me to pleasures that I had taken for granted. Things such as healthy muscles, the wind in my face, the ability to walk without thinking twice.

***

One morning, after returning from stale air, I grabbed the oversized coffee can from the garage, chock full of birdseed, and filled our bird feeder with a special winter cherry mix. I sat down on the front steps, Bible opened, and as I studied the tiny-boned creatures, so bright of feather, greedily flitting from feeder to branch with ease, I began to feel rather sorry for myself, and my present state of immobility.

With a long-winded sigh, so dramatic, and heard only by the birds, I read Romans 12:3.

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.

Sober judgment.

In that split second, I snapped to attention, considering a simple truth that had previously eluded me.

God had assigned me this time of slight injury.

How should I respond? In trust and faith? Loving God most, serving him in all things? Or selfishly, with a moaning and whining spirit, thinking far too highly about myself?

I confessed on the spot, nipping my sour attitude.

Good riddance.

***

We live in a world where nearly everyone will instruct you to: Cut yourself some slack! Life is hard, and it is okay to sulk and cater to those crummy attitudes of the heart. You are only human, and deserve to mope a bit, feeling all of the feelings, serving and thinking only of yourself. Who wouldn’t?

Here is the problem with that narrative: it is nowhere to be found in Scripture. (Philippians 2:14-16)

Ephesians 4:21-24:  when you heard about Christ and were taught in him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus.  You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

Here’s my encouragement today:

Just do it.

Obey God.

No need to overthink biblical fidelity, drawing up spreadsheets of pros and cons.

Simply be speedy to obey, no matter how you or anyone else feels. The world will suggest easier outs, but, as Christians, those options fall in line with our former life and deceitful desires.

Put off the old, corrupted self, and become more like God, practicing righteousness and walking in holiness.

It is delightfully freeing, and despite all hardships, your soul will happily soar in swift obedience to God.

I know it seems elementary, but obedience to God through Scripture is always right. (And if you are like me, the task of returning to the elementary principals of Scripture serves up a hearty reminder, plus a much-needed swift kick in the pants.)

Sadly, I am prone to forgetting that those ugly moods of the heart: complaining, sulking, bitterness, and envy, are horribly sinful. If left to flourish, they will inevitably mutate into more tangled sin. And sin always serves Satan, not God. If I consider my ugly attitudes with this renewed frame of mind, I will be much quicker to mortify them.

Yes, even those faintly visible whiny moments, if left to simmer in my spirit, will grow into greedy, lengthy weeds, stretching tall and choking me, thus grieving and quenching the Holy Spirit.

How much wiser to deal directly in biblical truth, refusing to give myself a pass, but extracting weedy sins at the root, thereby putting off the old self and renewing my mind with a joyful, thankful spirit.

***

I am back to taking morning walks, and my heart is quite thankful to bypass the stuffy gym.

The air is cold and fresh, and this morning I inhaled it deeply, smiling as I enjoyed the bright morning sunlight dancing, twinkling over the pond. A brilliant bluebird tilted its head at me from a slender branch. A branch that is only beginning to bud, a sure promise that spring is near.

It will take time to regain my former walking speed, but I am choosing to trust God no matter what, taking one step at a time.

The tongue that is quick to whisper gossip and lies, slandering in the dark, is in cahoots with the accuser of the brethren.

Satan, the hater of truth.

He licks his chops at all deceit and has spent his entire pathetic existence creating discord.

This I know.

***

Have you experienced gossip and slander among Christians? In your church?

I have received heartbreaking correspondence from many trying to pick up the pieces in the wake of such stealthy destruction.

And here is the truth: the pieces can never be retrieved.

Slander and gossip destroy beyond repair.

To partake is to cooperate with the father of lies.

***

Fault lines before the earthquake.

I have observed them, and so have you. Thin as cobwebs, snaking the ground. You step over and around the weakening pavement days, weeks, months before the quake. There is a vibe, and it is not holy.

A brush against cold hearts, frigid and fraudulent smiles, conversations hushed behind cupped hands when passing through narrow hallways. The scent of insatiable hunger for power and a thirst for control permeates everything–clashing against the clear teachings of Scripture: deny yourself, pick up your cross, and follow Jesus.

Such churlishness often encroaches even the sanctuary–as a seemingly insurmountable wall of rebellion is built brick by brick as Scripture is unpacked.

Such stony offensiveness, cheeks flaming while eyes remain cold and unresponsive towards words such as sin, repentance, and holiness.

The deception is felt, a darkness seeking a space to invade.

And suddenly the poison-tipped arrows began to fly. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. (Luke 6:45)

Slanderous lies and gossip swirl. Once airborne, they zing and slice.

They murder.

***

I can both define and explain it, seeing its corrupt conception, seeds born from parents named wickedness and jealousy, the product of tangled and bitter roots. Slander and gossip are firm handshakes, a sealing of the deal with the devil, an upfront contract to execute his wicked, crushing pleasures.

But to be the object of gossip and slander? Such a bitter poison that disrupts sleep, tarnishes one’s good name, and hinders the Gospel. I wish it upon no one.

How it stings. The tongue’s poison spewed within the church is deadly, infiltrating the drinking water meant to nourish the congregation. (James 3:8)

Whoever slanders his neighbor secretly I will destroy. Whoever has a haughty look and an arrogant heart I will not endure. Psalm 101:5

***

Last summer, I was visiting my dear friend, also a pastor’s wife.

We chatted for a bit as we do, about our families and those specific things the Lord is teaching us in the mundane. We laughed and enjoyed the sweet tartness of icy lemonade, while seated comfortably on their quaint back porch. The fat bumble bees wafted heavy about the flower garden, seeking sweet nourishment. A pair of hummingbirds hovered over the daylilies and impatiens, sipping nectar. I enjoyed the soft, gentle breeze breaking through the warmth of an otherwise humid afternoon.

My friend turned toward me and shared a painful story I had not known.

Her eyes then filled. It only took a few of the disgruntled to destroy our church.

I will share no more, suffice to say that tongues of poison obliterated an innocent family.

Her story was familiar–I have heard this tale on repeat from far too many pastor’s wives. This time it sent a shiver down my spine, because she is my friend. I could not imagine why a congregation would neglect to stand up to these few slanderers, for the sake of their pastor, his family, and the Gospel.

Fear of man is a deadly sin, isn’t it? (Proverbs 29:25) And its fiery consequences scald others, always. Such idolatry suppresses truth. And to suppress truth is to grieve and quench the Holy Spirit.

Pretenders (people who drape themselves in Christian attire each Sunday morning, arriving at church, pursuing power void of godliness, humility, repentance, or holiness) are infiltrating God’s houses of worship right now, sowing discord through gossip and slander and lies. Don’t be fooled, they are masquerading as Christians, (2 Corinthians 11:14-15) tearing apart God’s truthtellers and obliterating church unity.

Any one of us may be ensnared by the tasty trifles of gossip or slander, if we do not remain on our guard, continually feeding ourselves biblical truth.

Satan prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking to devour. (1 Peter 5:8)

Those busy whispering words of poison have been devoured.

Stay Bible-saturated, soberminded, while pursuing holiness and maturity in Christ. To wave these disciplines aside will weaken you and the entire church body. You will soon fall prey to stealthy wolves, who will snatch you up, dragging you out of the church and into the fray.

As Christians heed God’s voice through the reading and study of their Bibles, inhaling and obeying truth, the flame of Holy Spirit rushes and burns brightly, producing wisdom, discernment, and a not-on-my-watch backbone. These are the markings of a true Christ-follower. (2 Corinthians 3:12)

When God fills his children with the Holy Spirit, boldness and courage rule the day. The truly regenerate heart will not tolerate timidity and man-pleasing ways. A believer cannot play fast and loose with sin, crushing others with poisoned speech, especially in God’s house.

We need to be bold men and women in order to deal with such matters, and swiftly.

More Bible-loving devotion leads to more tender-heartedness which leads to obedience and truth-telling, and the slaying of sin.

Sins such as the poisons of the tongue: gossip and slander.

***

Lies can and must be forgiven but they cannot be retrieved. Once spilled, they spread and are lapped up, devoured by others.

The damage is catastrophic.

It shatters people into a million pieces.

***

If gossip has begun to swirl on your watch, squelch it. Spear it to death. This is not the time to soft peddle.

Be like Jesus, who admonished Peter, a man who was boldly denying the truth. Jesus responded with: Get behind me Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man. (Matthew 16:23)

Admonish each other in this same vein. If someone appeals to your flesh with whispers of: Did you hear about so-and-so? For the sake of your soul, your family, your friends, and your church: Stop the conversation abruptly. Ask them to go directly to the person they are seeking to misalign. Point them to Matthew 18:15-17. And if you know that the person before you is speaking lies, have the decency to call them out.

If everyone did this, the church would be radically purified.

What if others belittle you for obeying Scripture? What if they dismiss you, or even despise you for refusing the morsels of gossip and slander?

You have just suffered for obeying God. This is good and holy.

***

Men of the church, I beseech you to heed 1 Corinthians 16:13:

Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.

Stand up for those who are preaching and teaching truth. Stop the gossip, slander, and lies before they grow octopus tentacles, suctioning themselves to reams of people with their poison.

It is remarkable what problems may be swiftly reconciled by the sturdy backbone of men with strong, God-fearing responses.

Do not gossip.

Do not slander.

And have a zero-tolerance policy for anyone who does.

If you have a disagreement, set up a time to speak with the individual, pastor, or elders.

Practice boldness.

Fear God in utter reverence.

Cherish his Word and obey it.

Get behind me Satan.

***

To all women.

Eve was seduced by the first whispers of the Master Slanderer, Satan the serpent.

Did God actually say? You will not die. God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like God. (Genesis 3:1-7)

Women, our sinful curse lies in our desire to rule and to be in the know. To share information just as Eve shared the fruit with her husband, a man who should have stood protectively guarding his wife, while refusing the forbidden fruit. Eve was a wife designed to be a helper to her husband, and she helped him, didn’t she? Right over a cliff.

Eve was easily deceived. (1 Timothy 2:14) We, too, as women, are often slow to walk away from the deception of slanderous lies and gossip.

I remind you of an important truth, another treasure trove of wisdom:

Proverbs 20:19 – Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets; therefore, do not associate with a simple babbler.

It will cost you relationally to obey this truth. But it will cost you a whole lot more to disobey God’s decree. To associate with a slanderer, a gossip, is to partake of the hideous nature of Satan. It is to cooperate with wickedness. I have personally seen many led astray by ignoring this directive.

Burn the bridges, cut the cords, do not associate with a slanderer. Stay connected through prayer only.

This might be the very act that wakes them up to truth, and if so, they will surely repent, and your relationship may be restored.

Even if they do not awaken to truth, forgive lavishly, again and again and again. (Ephesians 4:31-32)

But do not keep company, as bad company corrupts good character. (1 Corinthians 15:33)

***

It is crucial to also examine our own words.

I grieve those times in my own life when I have spoken poorly, gossiping about another. My own agony of being on the receiving end of gossip and slander has made me walk circumspectly, hungering for care-filled words to inhabit my lips rather than poisonous speech.

I have also realized that to stand quietly on the fringes while one decimates another by way of gossip and slander makes me complicit.

I am striving instead to practice godly speech, boldly and calmly asking: Have you spoken to them directly?

***

Never about, always to. ~ Amy Carmichael

Not too long ago, I was talking with a group of pastors’ wives. We were all feeling a bit wrung out, tired of the hardships in our churches, tired of watching our husbands suffer the aftershocks of Covid, tired of such strange times in pulpit and pew, where every pattern seemed to have shifted, topsy-turvy and unprecedented.

The only place to go for rest?

God.

Below is a small excerpt from my 45-minute talk, entitled: Through Hot Fires & Deep Waters. I hope my words will serve to encourage you, my kind readers.

***

This morning I want you to walk away soul satisfied by the understanding that the Lord your God sees you, walks with you, and as you are singed and nearly drowning in trials, yet moving forward in faith, please remember this: he is shaping you, molding you, fashioning you into the image of his most precious Son, Jesus.

I watched a magnificent video recently, of a potter at her wheel. She had a bucket of broken pieces of clay–a mess really. She ground the pieces, and dipped them in water, mixing the mess into a formed heap. And then, once the clay was ready for use, and just the right consistency, she spun her wheel and began to shape the clay into her artistic design. It took time and vision and a whole lot of patience, and the clay was formed by her hands. The clay did not gripe and fuss, but obeyed the master potter, malleable, relaxed in her grip. The pieces she formed were lovely–beauty from the ruins.

And when the initial lump was designed and completed, fashioned to her liking, she placed it in the hottest of fires. The kiln. The blazing heat strengthened the piece, making it durable and fit for use. That fire, which seems too cruel, and too hot, actually perfected the bowl, and the vase, and the pitcher. After the fire, the pieces were dipped in glaze.

And then?

Back into the fire they went. For a carefully measured time. In fact, differently shaped pieces required different cooking times.

The pottery was perfected in the fire. It was ready to serve others.

The potter? She knew precisely what she was doing.

Ladies, we too are being molded, dipped in water, formed, and placed in the hottest fires to serve Christ Jesus, by laying down our lives for others, and serving sacrificially, as Jesus did.

My advice and encouragement for each of you, as you face all of those trials unique to a pastor’s family, might be different from what you are accustomed to. Many books and articles are centered situationally–beginning with the outward, the extraneous.

Articles such as:

Can I have friends at church?

Do I need to be present at every event?

How do we survive when people leave our church?

How do I handle people using me to get to my husband?

How do I swim authentically in this fishbowl?

While there is certainly a time and a place and biblical answers to these questions, I would like to skip the microscope in favor of the broader, the deeper, the eternal view.

The way I see it, tending only to those specific questions is like focusing on snuffing out a burning candle, while your entire house is on fire. Burning down.

Let’s step back and inhale the grand view. The huge fire of life, lived in fidelity to God, wherever he places us, rather than the tiny, situational candle.

If we view our situations with a long, eternal perspective, we will quickly ascertain that the words of Charles Spurgeon are indeed true:

Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, Divine Love would have put you there.

God is not only present during our hot fires and deep waters.

But more importantly?

He has plunged us deeply into them for his glory and for our good. He is completely Sovereign. God is the Omniscient Potter and we are the lowly clay.

The answer to remaining upright and strong and joyful during our trials is to be spiritually well. There are disciplines of our faith, practices of obedience that will fortify our souls, come what may. No one can do these things for you. These choices are between you and God.

(I then spoke in detail about specific spiritual disciplines that God has created to sustain his children.)

Pastor’s wife. Your main work is not within those church walls. You are not called to pastor–that is your husband’s job. There is no biblical office called pastor’s wife. Biblically, your chief work is to first be well with God, and then to love and honor and serve your husband.

Bend your knees and pray for him. Love him. Keep your hearth and home a calm, ordered, and peaceful place which is pleasing to God. All of this is done from a heart bent on love for Christ. You have a unique calling–no one else is married to your pastor, and may I suggest a word of caution? Do not become so overly involved in the church happenings that you no longer have time for your family.

God has called you to this exact place of hot fires and deep waters and will give you his strength. He who promised is faithful.

I close with a quote from Elisabeth Elliot:

If you could see with your eyes the nail-pierced hand of Jesus stretched forth toward you with a cup of suffering, would you drink it or would you refuse it? Think about what God may be offering you now. Do you have any hunger for God, any longing to understand his Cross?