Training

Theologians.

Seminarians.

What’s the first thing that comes to mind with these words?  For me, it’s stuffy old men in starched white collars and traditional all black attire.  Gigantic King James Bibles, overstuffed leather armchairs, solemnity, severity.  Aloofness.  Almost a holy distance from reality and the people who inhabit it.

May I admit that I’ve had a love/hate/scared-out-of-my-mind/love relationship with the idea of seminary?  When I first came to faith, anyone who had more time in the faith, and certainly anyone who had devoted their life to studying God’s word, was in my mind far superior in spirituality than I.  Frankly, this was true to a degree.  I was an infant, and they [whoever they were] had more experience with God, more maturity than I.  These people, with their formal religious training, were untouchable. Pious and righteous in ways I didn’t think applied to me; and I admired them from a distance.  This was the case for quite some time.  But as I grew in my faith and matured a bit, I began to realize that the same Holy Spirit who indwells the Billy Grahams and Beth Moores of my time also indwells me.  It was then that I wondered at the need for seminary.  I even scoffed at it for a period (yes, I was anti-seminary for a while), feeling that those who undertook this type of training were puffed up and rigid in their thinking.  Yet, after a measure of time and certain events too lengthy to relate here, my husband decided to go.  He loved it; he couldn’t stop talking about all that he was learning.  And honestly, these discussions reshaped my faith quite a bit.  I let go of prejudices, opened my heart to different ways of spiritual growth, revamped my study techniques, and even started reading his textbooks and listening to lectures for fun.  I eventually audited a class and couldn’t get enough.  In the end, I loved it.

During this time, I was given the opportunity to revise a curriculum that is close to my heart [a work that is still in progress].  At first, I was obstinate [a familiar theme, no?], it was a scripture based work that, frankly, worked.  But I started trying to modify it to fit the parameters I thought I’d been given. I met with individuals I greatly admire to get their take on it.  And one day, as I was plugging away, the severity of what I was trying to do accosted me.  This was God’s word that I was attempting to use for a specific purpose.  What if I got it wrong?  What devastation could follow?  My work ground to a halt.  I was petrified of inadvertently hurting someone with my inaccurate, inexperienced use of the sword of the Spirit.

That’s when it dawned on me: I don’t need theological education for my personal study.  But if I ever want to apply God’s word to other people’s lives, I’d better know for certain what I’m doing.  Much like training for battle, anyone can pick up a sword and learn to use it on their own.  But on the battlefield, if my only tactic is to wildly flail about, I will eventually wound my brethren.  To fight or lead effectively requires training.  Such training can come from multiple different sources: a seasoned warrior [mentor], a group of soldiers further along than I, or a school which specializes in technical training.

I picked all three.

At the inception of my training, I was strongly admonished by a dear professor regarding the extreme importance of using God’s word accurately, appropriately, and for His glory.  It was during this particular lecture that I slunk down in my chair, feeling the weight of her words on my chest.  I don’t really want that responsibility.  I’m afraid of it.

So do I now think that seminary [the specialized training to which I am subjected myself] will launch me into superior knowledge of the scriptures and God?  Hardly.  I will merely train with new [to me] tools and gain experience in the life of a follower of Christ.  I will be stretched and challenged by life-long teachers; encouraged and strengthened by the faith and insight and testimony of fellow students.  Hopefully through this process, I am better able to recognize my presuppositions and mistakes; and quicker to revised and correct them.  I pray that I leave more humble than I came in; knowing a bit more [while realizing how little that “more” really is] of our unknowable God.

Just 2 inches deep

On somewhat of a whim, we decided to pull up our front lawn [composed mainly of: creeping vines, crabgrass, and dandelions] this weekend and replace it with new sod.  We were weary of fighting a loosing battle with weeds and thought a fresh start would be best.  So, we bought the sod, [to be delivered later today], tore up the existing “grass” and began prepping the ground for the new.  Sadly, we discovered that originally our soil had been poorly prepped, if at all.  A mere two inches down, the roots stopped; because the ground had not been prepared, not loosened, not even broken.  It looked like the crews had come along and slappdc down the rolls of sod on top of whatever was already there.  We found more discarded construction material than not, and little [if any] soil enhancers.  Needless to say, we finally understood why our yard has been such an uphill battle these past few years.  Our grass was only two inches deep, and everything that lay under those two inches, or that could penetrate that depth, was taking over.

After digging and hauling and raking the results of shoddy lawn prep, this Sunday I heard a teaching about 2-inch deep spirituality [I love how God uses visual metaphors with me].  Our teacher was trekking through chapter seven of Ecclesiastes and noted that oftentimes we are the fools who prefer the vanity of laughter, which is like the crackling of thorns in the fire, to a wise man’s rebuke [vs. 5-6].  He noted that we would rather pretend that we’re okay, that we’re not going through struggles, than be vulnerable and admit it.  Or to even ask for help.  This teacher noted that we, as a Church [big C], don our plastic smiles and “everything’s-peachy-keen” attitudes when around others and try to hide what’s really going on behind closed doors, in our own hearts.  Because it’s the outward appearance that we’re striving for, not genuine transformation.

When we allow ourselves to be these plastic people, our relationships and spirituality become much like my lawn.  At first blush it’s green [we even had people driving by pull over to ask why we were tearing it out]; and our lives, at least to those on the outside, are nice and tidy.  But little by little, the creeping vines and dandelions and crab grasses start popping up.  Christ warned us of this, of the state of our hearts, when he said, "What comes out of a person is what defiles him.  For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness.  All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person." [Mark 7:20-2].

Initially, there were only a few weeds, and we were able to control them by pulling them out; much like the darkness in our lives, we treat the external symptoms by trying harder at being good enough, at not letting the ugly parts of ourselves show through.  Then there were more, so we resorted to specific chemicals [retreats] and fertilizers [Bible studies] to feed the grass that was left.  It is like still striving under our own power, not really letting anyone in to see the problem underneath, just treating the symptoms.  But in the end, there were too many weeds, their roots were deeper, and they simply overwhelmed the tenuous hold the fescue had on that plot of land.  And if we, as followers, continue in this course our spirituality, our relationships, even our testimonies will mirror my lawn: choked by weeds, slowly dying, hopeless.

But if we give up our plastic selves, turn these masks over to God, we will be a new creation in Him.  He will till the ground, so our roots may deepen. He will remove what defiles us, if we let Him.  He will change us, and transform those with whom we share this remarkable journey.

The Psalmist marks just this [Psalm 119:25-3]:

Daleth

My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your word!
When I told of my ways, you answered me; teach me your statutes!
Make me understand the way of your precepts, and I will meditate on your wondrous works.
My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word!

Put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law!
I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I set your rules before me.
I cling to your testimonies, O LORD; let me not be put to shame!
I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart!

We cling to that which is useless, our strivings and appearances.  It is dust.  The only lasting and meaningful life is found rooted deeply and daily in the word of God.  We have to tell our Father the truth, not merely platitudes of praise, regarding the state of our hearts.  If we hurt, we need to tell him.  If we’re mad, we need to tell Him.  If we’re struggling, if we’re trapped in sin, if we’re so lost we no longer know the way out ~ we have to tell Him!  He will answer us.  He will teach us, strengthen us, change us!  If we ask Him, He will help us abandon our plastic selves.  He will reinforce our faithfulness with His own.  He will not shame us, but use our stories to free others and increase His glory!  He will enlarge our hearts to be more like His.

We will be what draws others to the Savior’s arms; a lush, and green pasture that invites the lost, the broken, and the weary to lie down and find rest, find peace ~ in Him!

Jesus wept.

Two words:  Jesus wept [John 11:35].

The shortest verse in Scripture, encompassing the full humanity of the Christ.  Wept, in the original Greek, is rendered dakruō, [δακρύω] meaning “to shed tears.”  It is neither a silent cry, nor a dramatic wailing.  It is visible, possibly audible.  It is a very human reaction to a poignant situation.

Which then begs the question, why was the Messiah weeping?

In the verses preceding, we learn that Jesus received word that His good friend, Lazarus, was ill, possibly dying.  Scripture tells us that “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus;” Martha and Mary being Lazarus’ sisters [John 11:5].  Jesus stays where He was for two more days before departing to see Lazarus.  Following conversations with the disciples, “on His arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days” [v. 17].  Christ has conversations with both Martha and Mary before Scripture tells us that when Jesus “saw [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled” [v. 33].  Then Christ asks, “where have you laid him?

‘Come and see, Lord,’ they replied” [v.34].

In the very next verse we find the heartrending words, “Jesus wept;” followed immediately by, the “Jews [saying], ‘See how He loved him!’” [v. 36].

It bears mentioning that Jesus, being fully God, is omnipotent.  He responded to this news of Lazarus’ illness by saying, “This sickness will not end in death.  No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it” [v. 4].  On the way to Lazarus’ side, Jesus tells the disciples, “Our friend, Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up” [v. 11].  Yet the disciples misunderstand, assuming that Jesus literally means a state of sleep as opposed to death; so Christ clarifies in verses 14-15: “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe.”  He even assures Martha, upon meeting her, that “Your brother will rise again” [v. 23].  Armed with knowledge incomprehensible to our mortal minds, and assurance of the outcome of the entire situation, Jesus weeps when He is taken to the tomb of His friend, “the one [He] love[s]” [v. 3].

Why?  Could His tears have been triggered by the sadness of those surrounding Him as He accompanies His friends to the tomb of their brother?  Certainly.  Could He be exhausted from travel, frustrated with the limited belief of those around Him, even keenly and supernaturally aware of the plot to kill Him brewing amongst the Pharisees?  Possibly.  Or was Jesus overcome by the death of His friend?  Did He feel loss, as we do?  Did He miss Lazarus; think of the joyful times they shared; wish that He hadn’t had to wait, to inflict sorrow upon those He loved, to help them believe in Him?  I can not, with any authority, say for certain.  Every time I try to ascribe a reason for the Messiah’s tears, I look again, only to find a new potentiality.  Scripture, so far as I am aware, does not reveal the complete explanation behind Christ’s tears.

What I do know in examining this passage is this:

1. Jesus had friends, for whom He cared a great deal; to the extent that their pain caused Him pain

2. Jesus knows what it is like to loose someone you love

3.  Jesus is the only true and lasting comfort.

..and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor,  Mighty God,
Everlasting  Father, Prince of Peace.

~Isaiah 9:6 [part]

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

~Revelation 21:4

What makes you a celebrity?

O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD ~ Psalm 139:1-4

There is something within us that longs to be recognized.  Something that wants others to notice when we walk into the room.  We want to be known, to be special, to be significant.  We want to matter.

It’s how we were created.  We do matter to El Shaddai, the Almighty God.  He notes our comings and goings, our sittings and risings, our every breath.  He knows us so well that before we even speak, our God knows what we are going to say.  To Him, we are so important He not only sent His only Son to die in our stead (while we were still sinners ~ Rom 5:8), He also places a piece of Himself in the heart of every follower ~ the Holy Spirit.  We are so significant God the Father marks our every breath, God the Son sacrificed Himself for us, and God the Holy Spirit lives within these dilapidated vessels of flesh.

Yet, we (as flesh) junk it up, don’t we?  We fail to revel in the wonder that is the Trinity delighting in us; and we begin, ever so slightly, to desire more earthly outlets.  We want people to know our name.  We want our deeds to be noted, complimented, and spoken about to others.  We want our face to be recognizable, even in select groups.  We crave attention from our peers, our superiors, those whom we respect.  We start to keep lists (perhaps mentally, perhaps not) of what we’ve done for whom.  We notice when someone whom we consider inferior latches onto our goals, makes them their own.  We become jealous of others’ attentions and opportunities.  And slowly that feeds bitterness, sows discontent and disillusionment with our calling.  And we try to manipulate what isn’t ours to control.  We use relationships to get what we want; we seek our relationships purely for selfish reasons.  We look for ways to get noticed by the powers-that-[seemingly]-be.  We push and strive against the dreaded invisibility.

And however noble the cause, whatever good our actions bring about, whatever friendships spring from all of this, our hearts are in the wrong.  We are sinning.  Granted, God can and will use any situation to bring about His will; however, if we focus on His will instead of our personal celebrity, His name is glorified.  And that’s the point, isn’t it?

So I’ll ask, imaginary reader, hoping you realize this inquiry stems from my own internal search: what makes you a celebrity?  Is it the people you know or who know you?  Is it the shiny, new ministry with which you’re heavily involved?  Is it who greets you when you enter a room, who visits your house?  Or is it, simply, the Trinity: God the Father as your Master, God the Son as your Savior, and God the Holy Spirit as your constant Counselor?

Because, when all is tested with fire, the only thing that won’t be consumed is the latter.  And that’s the point.  Not your celebrity, but HIS.

Day 34: A --less update

Psalm 93: The LORD Reigns

The LORD reigns; he is robed in majesty;the LORD is robed; he has put on strength as his belt. Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved. Your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting. The floods have lifted up, O LORD, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the LORD on high is mighty! Your decrees are very trustworthy; holiness befits your house, O LORD, forevermore.

Under the veil of transparency I sit, searching for a conversation with you, imaginary reader, that captures what has happened up to this point. I promised, a few weeks ago, to keep you abreast of my fasting. I had, quite honestly, hoped that I would have a report filled with spiritual wonders; a greater closeness to the Lord; a deeper understanding of the mysteries of Heaven. But between you, me, and the keyboard, this hasn’t been the mountain top experience I’d envisioned…and yet, I have felt the Lord move in ways that were missing before. I am coming out of a drought, parched and weary, into a place of new growth. Tiny shoots of life scratching through brittle soil. I am moving towards unfettered joy found only in the resurrection of Christ. I can see hope on the horizon. And my expectation increases daily.

Matthew 5: 20 ~ For I [Jesus] tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

The absence of sugar. For 24 days, I held fast. No sugar. No sweeteners, other than honey on occasion. I discovered a new love of fruit. My coffee was abrasive. I delighted in the metaphor of how bitter and joyless my life is without the resurrection of Christ, every time I poured a cup, or craved a treat. I gave my cravings over to the Lord, I rejoiced in His strengthening me. And then, without much warning, I felt the quaking of self-righteousness within me. I became the master of my cravings. I was the one holding out. I could get through 40 days. Me. For me.

And then, I got sick. I was exhausted, hungry, and miserable. On the way home from the doctor (day 3 of pain and no food), I prayed. I wanted so much to honor my commitment, to stick to it with my own power. But I asked for permission to have a milkshake ~ something to numb the fire in my throat and fill my belly so I could sleep. And the answer I got: my self-righteousness had gotten in the way of my worship. I had given up sugar to take things out of the way of my relationship with my Lord. But in doing so, I’d unwittingly erected another wall ~ my works. I had become like a Pharisee, righteous for my own sake. All show and no heart. Clinging to ritualized commitments, instead of to the Lord.

So I asked for forgiveness. I recognized that I could give up sugar for the rest of eternity and still miss the point. It is only through Christ’s work (not mine) that I find right standing with God. No amount of fasting will ever change that. So I had a shake (or 3). And I got back on my fast, with a new focus: God, not me keeping away from sugar.

Mark 1:35 ~And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, [Jesus] departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed.

In regards to my snooze button: once. Only once have I risen early to spend time in prayer and meditation. And I will admit that was only when the sun had begun rising earlier (before the “spring forward” time change which causes my room to stay dark until well after I should be up). I’ll also admit that the time wasn’t of high quality; it was of “get-it-out-of-the-way” sort. And I have lamented this. I’ve been my typical guilt-ridden self. Hardly the point.

But in that, I’ve been instructed in and therefore open to the idea of 1 degree of change; which paraphrased to fit my illustration says, if I can take 1 step of faith growing closer to Christ, I have (from an eternal perspective) changed my entire trajectory. So, I’ve taken to praying differently (from a stance of relinquishment instead of pleading); and focusing more time throughout the day on God, His word (even just 1 line of scripture repeated at different points throughout the day), and His attributes. And, not surprisingly, I have grown. My worship is reflecting a slight difference. My thoughts are quicker to quiet, more readily on my Father when I wake than before.

While from the outside it looks like I’ve failed in this, I am changing. I am discovering new means of quality time with my Heavenly Father. And for that, I am glad.

Luke 10: 38-42 ~ As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

Finally, to the one thing I’ve given up and actually stayed away from: the internet distraction of a certain social networking site. I haven’t visited it, haven’t thought about it, haven’t even wanted to. And I’ve found lots of time, time previously wasted, to devote to the Lord. But all that time has only resulted in was more doing, more busy-ness, more activities, more weariness, more striving – SIT DOWN, MARTHA! My soul is screaming. Sit at the Master’s feet. Be filled. Be still. Be at peace.

So there it is: seeming failure on all fronts. And yet, maybe not. Perhaps each is 1 degree of change, movement in a more Christ-like direction. I will keep trying, with the help of the Holy Spirit to guide and support me. And I will quietly delight in the metaphor that without the resurrection of Christ, all of my striving is hollow ceremony.

Wait

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.   I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."

~Lamentations 3:21-24

Wait.  It’s a word not frequently heard in our society.

Want your tax refund?  Well, give us 20 minutes (and $300) and we’ll write you a check…  Want a house?  Apply now and we’ll approve you immediately…  Want to lose weight?  Take these pills and drop 10 pounds by morning…

No, waiting is not an American trait.

Yet, that is what we, as followers of Christ, are called to do.  Wait.  Not just wait; but wait on the Lord.  In our culture of “gimme NOW,” we can loose sight of what it means to wait on the Lord.  I certainly have at times.  I want to be used by the Lord right this second.  I want my trails alleviated this instant.

Sometimes, we [as followers of Jesus Christ] are called to wait it out.  Whatever “it” happens to be.  It could be a marriage that has seemingly gone sour.  A financial situation in which there is no reprieve in sight.  Cancer.   Loss of a job.  A nebulous preparation of our spirit for our next venture.  Whatever the context, we are told to be patient, be still, and to wait on the LORD.

Waiting is never easy.  I don’t believe it was meant to be.  [Perhaps that is why as Americans, we find waiting so abhorrent ~ it’s uncomfortable at best.]  Waiting, I believe, is just another desert [think: wandering in the wilderness for 40 years] meant to draw us further into the arms of our Father.  It is a method used to focus our attention on the heart of God; to seek His face, His will above our own.

And in our waiting, we have the most amazing opportunity to discover more of the heart of God.  To attend even closer to His plans for our lives.  We are able to discover, on a new level, what it means personally for God to be our portion.  Daily.  Hourly.  Breath by breath.

I can write this now, with complete faith, because I have lived a part of it.  In years past, my husband and I were surviving our marriage at best.  We weren’t fulfilled.  We weren’t even content.  We were literally surviving one another.  And to that end, we each had to abandon our ideas of happily ever after and cling solely to the promise that God would be enough.  Each moment.  And there were days, for both of us, that God had to be enough in that moment.

And He was.  Every moment.  Every breath.  God was enough.  He was our portion.  His mercies and His love covered everything.  Years of waiting on the LORD has blossomed into an even greater happily-ever-after than I could have ever imagined, if left to my own devices.  And I believe my husband would say the same [at least, he has said the same to me privately.]

I don’t know what situation you’re facing right now.  I can’t fathom how it’s affecting you.  But I do know that the God of the universe, the beginning and the end of all things, is holding you in His hands.  He’s waiting for you to let go; to surrender control.  He wants you to give whatever “it” is to Him.  And you are just to wait.  Cling to Him; and wait.  His love and mercy will cover you anew every morning.  And He will never let you go.

It will be the most worthwhile endeavor you’ve undertaken.  Just…

Wait.

Getting out of my own way

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.  ~ Romans 12:1-2

I hate my alarm clock.

Understand that there is nothing wrong with this gadget: it works properly (oh, too properly), I can see it mocking me from across my bedroom (I can activate any snooze button in my sleep, hence the need to place it away from arm's reach), and I can certainly hear it shrieking in increasingly ridiculous decibels.  Perhaps, more than the apparatus itself, I hate waking.  Or at least waking before I'm ready. There was a time in very recent memory when I would bound out of bed (okay, not bound; but at least shuffle out of bed without malice) and head down to my coffee and quiet time.  Granted, that was in the summer months when the sun was peeking at me, just over the sill in my kitchen window; and my children could sleep until nine or so, as we had no commitments outside of the pool opening at eleven.  Even the recollection of those mornings draws out warmth and tugs a smile into the corner of my south.  But the dark, the winter, pulls at my resolve to rise early.  I dash across my floor, eagerly hitting the snooze button and take the few steps back into my bed, throwing the covers over me, silently  pleading, "five more minutes, Lord.  Just five more minutes."  And five becomes 30, then 60, until I have to get up lest the children be late to school.  Still dark, still cold; but now missing the delightful communion with my God.  I resolve to meet Him later in the day, which I generally do.  And I know that He is with me throughout my day.  His place is not scripted only in the times before my family rises.

Yet the paces of my day become flustered; my mode catch up, rather than soak up.  Quick fill-er-ups and stolen moments in the flow of the day; instead of separate, oasis in my life.

Upon meditation, I became aware of this and other tendencies in my flesh that are, though not pulling me away from God, certainly keeping me stagnant.  Pride.  Distraction.  Sloth.  [No, this isn't a prelude to one of my favorite movies.  It is merely the reason driving the next 40 days.] Which leads to me to the observation of a practice I thought I left far behind.  Though of late, I am becoming more respectful of the offices kept by our liturgical brethren.  This year, I feel the Lord is calling me to practice Lent.

Historically, Lent is observed for the 40 days leading up to Resurrection Sunday, during which observers recognize the temptation (ergo full humanity) of Christ in the desert prior to His Incarnate ministry.  It is a time where followers sacrifice something (e.g. "give up") for the prescribed period in observance of Christ's sacrifice of His place as God [leaving the Heavenly realm to live, caged in flesh, among the fallen on Earth].  Typically, a follower will abstain from something that is interfering with their relationship with God.  This is to prepare their hearts for the resurrection of Christ, the holiest day on the Christian calendar, the apex of history thus far.

I didn't exactly make my choices; more accurate would be to say that they were made for me as I  reflected upon my daily life.

Sadly, the first thing I think about when I wake is not the Lord, His plan for my day, nor even my delight in being His child.  It is: "what am I going to eat?"  Oh, how it pains me to write that.  Worse still, is the internal dialogue I have regarding the choices I've given myself.  Which will make me feel healthy and thin; which will be more satisfying, but send me spiraling into self-loathing when my jeans don't fit.  From that point, my mind is primed on its favorite topic: how I feel about, how I feel other people think about, how I feel about the way I think about how other people think about ~ how I look. Yikes.  Doesn't get more self-centered than that, does it?  Granted, I'm not one who looks at myself in the mirror and thinks everyone should be looking at me.  Quite the opposite.  I'd rather people didn't.  But that extreme is on the continuum of pride.  I spend a great deal of time thinking about how I look, and how other people see me.  Pride.

As I'm writing this, I'm having an internal dialogue with you [my imaginary reader] as to whether or not you like what you're reading so far.  You've interjected a few times.  I've made changes accordingly.  Have I mentioned that I have a desire for the approval of others?  With the painless anonymity of the internet, I can alert the world of my every thought and have anyone who is so moved respond.  Notice me.  Distract me.  My favorite social networking site has conveniently built this into my day.  And I have become a junkie.  I have a hard time getting on the computer to do anything without first getting my fix out of the way.  If I want to do a word search to compliment a study, I hop on the internet, but first check my page.  So this fixation feeds both my distraction and pride.

None of these activities/interests/practices are bad.  They are not sinful.  They are merely things that have crept into my life.  Things that if left unchecked, could settle into my life, could be habit-forming, could affect the way I engage in the praxis of the gospel. So, for the next 40 days, I'm giving up: sugar, my favorite social networking site, and my snooze button.  All three represent something in my flesh that is keeping me from realizing, rejoicing in, and proclaiming the miracle of the resurrection daily.  Without each, and in their place communion with and reliance upon my LORD, I will hopefully come out on the other side struggling less with pride, distraction, and sloth.  And delighting more in the sacrifice of Jesus, as He gave up His position in Heaven to walk among us.

I'll let you know how this all goes, imaginary reader.  If you'll hold me accountable.