Category Archives: Devotional Thoughts

It was rather anticlimactic, to cross that “due date” calendar square out and still be pregnant. Especially since I’d really thought (for the 5th time) that I was in labor the night before. We had even taken the kids to my parent’s house for the night thinking “this was it.”  Though it’s certainly common, I’ve never had false alarms like this, certainly not so many, and never gone past my due date. I also had really been praying for an early arrival, as I was hoping to attend a family camping trip and family wedding with Jeff in the coming weeks. As the days slipped by, I could feel the disappointment rising, and yesterday the fatigue and disappointment swelled up something fierce. It sounds so silly to an outsider, but anyone who’s waited for a baby knows that feeling, especially when you have a series of ups and downs: “This is it! Oh, this is not it.”

Lack of sleep doesn’t help either.

BUT.

Yesterday was so good. It was kind of freeing to feel like all my expectations were out the window, and I might as well just move on with LIFE and loving and serving and REJOICING, rather than focusing all my energy on waiting for Justice.

And I realized … there’s a lesson there for me.

The Bible (and the world!) is full of folks awaiting Justice. Folks legitimately suffering. Sure, I feel pretty uncomfortable. This baby is unlike the others I’ve carried, and he makes his presence known somethin’ fierce. I could barely walk yesterday morning. I’m really sick of sleeping on my side, my back hurts so bad, and this heartburn business is getting old. But these are the TINIEST irritations. I have legs. I have a bed. I have a husband who gives me back massages every night. I had the luxury of lounging in a swimming pool yesterday for crying out loud!

But as I mention in Sacred Mundane, these irritations, inconveniences, and small disappointments serve as “mundane sufferings” — that is, opportunities to put into practice what the Scriptures command about greater sufferings.

They are practice. 

Every night that I’m kept awake with “false” labor, I tell myself: More opportunities to practice. To practice breathing, practice relaxing, practice all the things I’ve been reading about, that are critically important to remember when “real” labor comes.

This morning I just happened to be in Philippians 4 in my Bible reading. Paul writes:

What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me–PRACTICE these things, and the God of peace will be with you (4:9).

Do we take this seriously? That we need to PRACTICE patience, PRACTICE joy, PRACTICE steadfastness, PRACTICE kindness.

Just as slow-breathing and relaxation does not automatically happen when seized with a contraction, so virtue does not automatically happen when seized with life’s inevitable sorrows. 

We must practice. How?

Philippians 4 tells us:

Rejoice in the Lord ALWAYS, again I will say, REJOICE…do not be anxious about ANYTHING, but in EVERYTHING by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is honorable, whatever is JUST, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is anything worthy of praise, THINK ABOUT THESE THINGS.” (V. 4-8)

It’s a discipline of the mind. It’s a choice. Yesterday it was so good to get over myself and get busy loving others, doing some specific things to serve my mom, making a big delicious dinner for my family and parents, intentionally reading what Dutch is reading so I can enter his world more fully and discuss what’s on his mind.

And while this is always helpful, I realized this morning a significant key to it all. It seems obvious, but sometimes pregnancy-brain can make us a bit cray-cray. The truth is: Justice IS coming. I’m not going to be pregnant forever. It might still be a ways off, but Justice is coming.

The certainty frees me up to wait joyfully.

The same is true for you, friend. And ALL who wait and ache and long. I do not mean to trivialize true suffering by comparing it to pregnancy, please hear my heart, BUT it is true that for all who ache for justice, for healing, for all that is busted up and broken and just plain WRONG in this world … there is hope in the waiting, there is JOY in the waiting. Why?

Because Justice IS coming. Guaranteed.

The certainty frees us up to wait joyfully. 

From the smallest trial to the most significant: Like the faithful martyrs in Revelation 6:10 who

“cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?”

They wait for justice.

And it will come. 

Honestly, the hardest part of yesterday wasn’t not having a baby, it was sitting with my mom and seeing the effects of the most cruel and merciless disease that has stolen so much of her life. It was feeling my heart break all over again, sitting there feeling hopeless seeing how virtually everything has been stripped away from her. It was seeing her struggle to speak, this woman who has one of the greatest minds I’ve ever known. It was that righteous anger that THIS was not how God created her to be. It was longing for the time when all things will be made new and JUSTICE will be served and everything evil will be undone.

Justice will come.

The certainty frees us up to wait joyfully. 

Friends, I don’t know what significant suffering you are facing. I don’t know what wrong has been done that you ache to see made right. But whatever it is, I know God’s Word is true and sure. It is certain. And I pray you know the joy of this hope, even as you wait. Justice IS coming.

{Thanks for reading.}

“Well that was a waste,” I thought to myself when I woke up, blurry-eyed, exhausted, after realizing that the seven hours of contractions from the night before had produced … nothing. There was most assuredly still a baby inside my belly.

It was early, the 4th of July, and the night before I’d been up from 9pm-4am with intense contractions. Real ones. I’d been a bit confused, as they came every ten minutes, and never got closer together, never progressed like normal labor. What was this? 

Well, of course many of you are probably smiling because you’re familiar with this phenomenon called ‘prodromal labor’ — I looked it up and “prodromal” comes from the Latin meaning, “A torturous teasing process where overtired and enormously pregnant women are kept awake all night in labor, with nothing produced from the process.”

Or something like that. 

Actually I was encouraged to read up on it and realize it’s rather common. Reading dozens of comments from similar-situations made me sigh with relief, “So this is a thing!”

Of course pretty much every comment was basically a lament about how horrible this process was. Of a continual labor that produces nothing. 

Of wasted work. 

But there was a common thread among every woman who’d had this experience in the past–her actual labor was markedly shorter.

Aha, I thought to myself, it’s not all for naught. 

Of course there are no guarantees, but it was definitely a consistent theme, and yet, the lamenting continued.

And of course I don’t know how this will all shake out–but I couldn’t help but think about this process of bringing life into the world, and how unique it is and yet not unique it is because it’s a picture of all our labors for the Lord, in one way or another.

Our Creator created physical processes as pictures of spiritual processes. This whole world is a glorious illustration, if we have eyes to see. 

Did I?

While I woke sorely disappointed that first night, I found that the next time it happened, I didn’t experience the same frustration. Sure, the outdated term is “false labor” but there’s nothing false about joyfully, patiently enduring toil that is for the sake of a greater good.

That’s true life. 

So the next time it happened, I grabbed my earbuds, swiped to my favorite worship playlist, and settled into several hours of lifting up praise to our good God. In the quiet, in the dark, paced by 10-minute contraction intervals, I was able to interact with my Father in sweet worship and prayer.

That’s no waste. 

And then the next time it happened, I’m not kidding when I say I actually looked forward to it. I thought maybe it was the “real” thing, but when the contractions didn’t get closer together I knew it was just another round of practice. Another opportunity to remind myself, “Nothing’s wasted.” Every contraction, though it feels futile, is doing something. I’m learning. I’m growing.

And it’s preparing my body for the good work ahead … of bringing Justice into this world.

You’re doing it too, you know. Bringing Justice into this world. Every follower of Jesus is. We bring His Kingdom forth when we partner with Him, when we become co-laborers with Christ, yoked to Him, and we work to bring His truth, holiness, righteousness, justice, and love into this world.

Sometimes, doesn’t it seem like we wear ourselves plum out thinking some great work is being done, only to wake up the next morning and discover, in a sense, that the baby isn’t yet born? We’re plagued by a nagging sense of doubt:

Is any of this worth it? 

Is this work a waste of time?

In the morning, every morning, I look at my fridge before pulling out the cream for my coffee, and there on that fridge reads one of my favorite verses:

Be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord, your labor is not in vain.” (1 Cor. 15:58)

Not. In. Vain.

Do you believe that, friend? That if we even give a cup of cold water to someone (bedtime with small children, anyone?!) in the name of Jesus, because we belong to Him, we will certainly not lose our reward (Mark 9:41).

The smallest acts. The simplest kindness. The most hidden obedience.

The middle-of-the-night labor that brings no baby.

Do we believe? It takes faith to keep joyfully engaging in labor that seems to not produce any results.

In whatever way you are tempted to give up, give in, quit, lament, because it just feels like your work is wasted.

Please don’t. Before we know it, Justice will come. 

{Thank you for reading.}

“If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.” —Proverbs 18:13

This last week, I was so grateful for good doctors, midwives actually, who listen. Every time I go to my prenatal appointment, they sit, patiently and attentively, and listen. They ask questions, take notes, and make every effort to understand. Only then do they dispense diagnoses, prescriptions, or advice. Then at the end of each appointment, they always ask, “Do you have any questions at all? Is there anything else you wanted to talk about today?” I always leave feeling heard, understood, and cared for. I’m so grateful!

The Proverb above is one of the most oft-repeated in our home. Since Dutch was little, it’s been a go-to reminder that an over-eagerness to respond, answer, jump to conclusions, or advise, without listening first is a folly and shame.

Recently I was on my way to meet with someone, and on the way there I was considering what to pray for. It struck me afresh, what I really needed was understanding. “Lord, help me to really listen and really understand.” What I need, always, is the ability to actually understand where someone is coming from. Indeed, isn’t it the most frustrating feeling to have someone jump in, cut you off, finish your sentences (off-base), or brush off your words, thinking they already understand what you mean or feel?

Maybe it’s just me, but it can be a frustrating feeling. And I know I do it. I remember years ago reading a great book on how the importance of leaders learning to be good listeners. They nailed it when the authors explained that the goal is not to “be a good listener,” the goal is to understand others.

While it might seem like splitting hairs, one goal is self-focused, it’s centered on self, and as long as we’re centered on self, we’ll never learn to truly understand, empathize, and wisely counsel others. But if we can forget about our blessed selves, and not care whether or not we are a “good listener” but instead get busy putting all our effort into seeking understanding, we are well on our way to being a good spouse, counselor, confidant, and friend.

Recently, I had the privilege of listening in while several of Jeff’s friends affirmed him. He has some pretty amazing friends, so it was quite an experience, and I found myself wanting to say, “Yeah! What they said! I think that too I just can’t articulate it that well!” But the essence of what they were saying, which is remarkably high praise, was that Jeff actually listens and cares. He wants things for you, not just from you. He doesn’t dispense life-advice, assuming he knows what you need, he takes the time to hear, and, whenever possible, understand. I can attest—he does indeed do this well.

And I want to grow in it too. Just as it would be preposterous for you to walk into a doctor’s office, and before you said a word the doctor was already writing out a prescription, so it is equally inappropriate when we assume we know what other people need, or feel, without taking the time to truly hear them. To listen, and, Lord willing, to understand. Of course, to understand isn’t to agree; this practice certainly doesn’t mean we affirm every thought, habit, feeling, or behavior, but how much more effective is exhortation (and correction) when it has come slowly, only after thorough listening, caring, hearing.

The same principle can be applied to current events, politics, news, how we view the world. How often we jump to conclusions on some issue based on a headline, a Facebook post, a tweet. What if we were slower to take a hard stance, until we really did our due diligence to listen to the matter, to take the stance of a humble learner, rather than an already-expert.

Of course that’s just it, right? Listening takes humility. It takes humility to suspend judgment, to hear, to learn, to seek to understand. It’s so much quicker and easier to assume! But how blessed would be our marriages, friendships, churches, communities, if we all heeded this one simple Proverb: “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.”

{Endeavoring to grow in this, with you. Thanks for reading.}

It’s interesting how few things matter when eternity hovers, gleaming, just over the horizon. When things get stripped away that you thought were so important, and then you chuckle to yourself because you can’t remember why they mattered so much.

“All the deciding factors” dwindle down to the deciding factor: “God, what do You want?”

Oh, friends, I know it’s only April but this year has been SO good. This year of taking off speaking, of letting the laptop rest, of pausing on all projects and letting the ground lie fallow, so to speak. I mean, I’m still growing a human (almost 30 weeks!). Still raising and schooling a few little warriors and caring for one great man and loving (oh how I love them!) the sisters at Renew, and seeking to serve and savor days with my parents. God has also given me a sweet little opportunity to love and serve my elderly neighbors, who have won my heart. One is teetering near eternity, just weeks or months until her departure, due to cancer, and the other, 85-years-young, so needs the love and truth of Jesus: Fresh bread is my offering, and it’s amazing how gluten can go where no glossy gospel-tract ever could.

I mean no disrespect (Jeff was saved by reading a tract!), but trust-building takes time, so.much.time, and who has time to invest in the elderly when there’s so many more important things to be done?? 

The gift of time has been a rich blessing this year.

We’ve slowed. So many projects that felt urgent, now aren’t. We don’t have to have that done by such-a-such a date, because projects will always be there, but people won’t. 

But there is a breaking, a dying: Accomplishing things brings a steady-stream of affirmation, boxes checked, achievements wrought. Loving people brings considerably less affirmation. In fact, it often brings exactly the opposite.

Pride dies hard.

I wrote here about an experience with discouragement. I’ll just tell you clearly: I had received a statement on my first 6-months of book sales, and I was caught off guard by how few had sold. I mean, it’s still sold way more than average, and the feedback I receive from you precious readers is amazing (!), but compared to what I expected, I felt sorely disappointed, and the enemy used it convince me that the work was a waste, that I was delusional to even think that writing was part of my calling, that I was stupid, foolish, that I should quit writing, quit speaking … quit quit quit. 

And the next day I heard His tender voice so clearly—keep writing even if no one reads. Keep writing even if you never get another book contract. Keep writing because it has nothing to do with worldly success or affirmation, it has to do with obedience to Me. And so I shook off my pride and set these fingers to keys, but, I’ll admit, I’ve still felt disheartened, and considering quitting. Besides, there are neighbors to visit and people right in front of me to love.

Why waste time writing words when bellies are hungry and babies are dying?

And then I read Uncle Tom’s Cabin and realized that the godly wordsmith Harriet Beecher Stowe changed the course of history with her words. That she liberated the captives by telling their story. That she preached the gospel to hundreds of thousands by her story. I read how Madeline L’Engle received a rejection notice at age 40, and vowed to never write again. But she decided to write, even if no one ever read her words, and later that same manuscript was accepted, and we now know its name: A Wrinkle in Time.

And at this same time a few speaking requests trickled in for 2019. And I’ve just stared at them. Wanted to say, “Nope, that season’s over. Hunkering down here forever, thank you very much.”

But as I’ve quieted, stilled, destroyed all the “deciding factors” and instead just let God’s and Jeff’s voices be the only ones I hear. They’ve both said:

YES.

Slow yeses, prayerful yeses, cautious yeses.

But slow doesn’t always mean no.

I go visit my dying neighbor whether I feel like it or not. Is it not the same spirit of obedience that stands at a podium and humbly seeks to serve a message of truth and hope? Is it not the same spirit of obedience that pounds out words that will, Lord willing, refresh a weary soul?

Yes, it is the same obedience.

But it’s the brokenness that makes us better able to hear His voice. The dying of pride and striving, the death of vanity and ambition. The glory of self crumbling so the glory of God can be clearly seen.

So whatever He’s stripping away, let it be stripped.  Something so much cleaner, purer, better will be born.

{Thanks for reading.}

[PS I still have Sacred Mundane available, on sale, with free shipping! Or here from Amazon. Thanks!]

It was late, too late, when Jeff brought me the letter. I was already in bed, blurry-eyed, exhausted from a full day and our Good Friday service. But I’d been waiting so long for this letter, he knew I’d want to see.

I blinked. That can’t be right… Jeff could read my face without even seeing the paper. I just shook my head. This can’t be… 

But there it was. Plain as day.

I took a deep breath and refolded the letter, placing it on the nightstand, putting the whole ordeal out of sight. So many other things of more import in this world.  I picked up Uncle Tom’s Cabin instead. Entering another’s plight, even mentally, always brings perspective.

The kind master, St. Clare, had just been killed in a freak accident, mere moments before following through on his promise to legally free Tom. In the span of several hours, Tom goes from the certainty of freedom–of reuniting with his wife and children after years apart, of being able to work for wages and buy their freedom, of a future and hope and the end of slavery … to standing on an auction block like a head of cattle, horrified as he’s sold to the cruelest of slave-holders, Simon Legree, who sees his slaves as disposable property, to be worked into their graves. At this point we are at least 3/4 of the way through the book, and Tom has become our hero. We want nothing more than to see him set free … and in moments, all the years of hoping and praying, all the work doing what is right, all the hours investing in the promise of freedom … gone.

Hope, buried.

And even though it’s nothing in comparison to Tom’s plight, I pull the covers over my face and sob that same sorrow of bitter disappointment, of feeling foolish and stupid and what a waste all these years have been. What a waste all the hours, all the time, all the energy and agony of pouring heart out in pen to paper and nothing’s changed but everything’s changed because this silly paper feels like the death of a dream and the verdict of “WASTE” pronounced over my most precious offering.

And I know it won’t even make sense to most people but what do you do when your dream dies?

As my beloved friend buried her son this past year, another precious honest soul whispered, “There goes our miracle, into the ground.”

And it was not lost on me, of course, that this was Good Friday. That untold numbers of hope-filled followers stood horrified as the Light of the World was extinguished right before their very eyes. That the whole earth went dark. That disciples scattered, wild with grief and confusion. That Peter must have experienced grief and guilt and shame compounded beyond our wildest imagination. I cannot fathom his despair … How can this be? 

And as I opened my eyes this morning, Holy Saturday, I thought of them, those disciples, who must have woken the next morning blurry-eyed and wondered with slowly sinking-in horror, “Did yesterday really happen? Is Jesus really dead? Is our hope really buried in the ground?”

Foolish. Stupid.

I can only imagine how they felt. They’d left all to follow Jesus. Their jobs, their homes, their livelihood, their reputation and friends and all they’d ever known, to follow this King Jesus, the promised Messiah, who now… was dead.

What a waste these years have been.

They went home, bewildered. Believing? I don’t know.

Thankfully, the Bible doesn’t give us sketches of perfect people, but rather real ones. Ones with doubts and disappointments, fears and failures.

The truth is, I’m Peter denying and Thomas doubting and James & John jockeying for position. I’m the collective complexities of all the disciples and HALLELUJAH for that because there’s hope for me too. And for you.

The resurrection happened, historically, once, and it happens, spiritually, often. What we thought, hoped, dreamed of, dies. We reel, wild-eyed, or shrink back, disillusioned and bitterly disappointed.

But all that is of Jesus will be raised to life. Every soul that is in Him, every heart that hopes in Him, every dream that’s rooted in Him, every purpose that’s poured forth from Him.

It’ll all be raised.

So what’s our part? To hold on. To trust that whatever was buried will rise. Not to let our hearts grow calloused or cold, but to feel and live and learn and get busy being the resurrection power of someone else’s buried hope. What sorrow can we alleviate for others? What burden can we lift? What prayer may be answered if we took our eyes off self and served the aching world around? For me? Today? Reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin, perusing my 6K for Water packet, visiting my cancer-battling neighbor and my other 85-year-old suffering neighbor, printing off another petition sheet to save the unborn, preparing to worship our RISEN KING tomorrow.

The enemy would want nothing more than to hole you up, shut you down, stay your hand, keep you bound.

Get busy being the resurrection power on behalf of others.

You may find your hope rising as well. 

{Thanks for reading.}

I stumbled downstairs, turned on the hot-water kettle, and looked at the weather on my phone. Seven days of rain. That’s not unusual up here in the PNW, of course, but it still strikes you as a bit dreary. Nothing much to look forward to.

And yet, as I curled up with my Bible, sipped my chai, and watched the sun slowly rise, I realized … it wasn’t raining. In fact, it didn’t rain at all that morning. We slipped on sweatshirts and went outside, walking and playing, enjoying the cool, crisp air, whispering thanks to God for His glorious creation.

At some point that day, sure, it rained some. I’m not sure when because we were inside curled up under a quilt, reading books and savoring the season of slower days.

I noticed, each day that week, that roughly the same thing happened. In fact, on Sunday after church, I emerged into the parking lot to a glorious blue sky, 62-degrees, and sun shining warm on my face. We rolled down the windows halfway as we began our drive home. It was brisk but beautiful.

Then I remembered that I needed gas, so I pulled in, and as the tank was being filled, I marveled again at the beautiful weather. I thought today was supposed to … I pulled out my phone, clicked the weather app and sure enough:

Current weather in Oregon City: Raining.  The app showed rain drops pouring from the sky. From the looks of that screen, it was the darkest, dreariest day you could imagine. Stay inside, people!

But the actual weather outside was lovely.

I sat there in my car, considering how true this dynamic is of life in general. If I look at the world through my screen—social media, news feeds, secular sources, etc. I am convinced that there is nothing but pouring rain in this world. Every day. No breaks. The forecast is bleak, and I better just hole up inside myself because that world out there is just. so. bad.

And yet.

When I get outside and visit my neighbors—who are incredibly diverse I might add—I am encouraged. When I sit with the 85-year-old widow who “doesn’t want to talk about God stuff” but who loves my homemade bread and applesauce 😉 I get to pray over her soul and show her, I hope, a little glimpse of God’s love. As I serve lunch to the homeless, I look in their eyes and see pain, confusion, anger, fear. I have an opportunity to treat them as they really are—made in the image of God. When I spend time with people face-to-face, even people I don’t agree with, I find myself longing to understand them, I enjoy them. When I spend time with my church family, when we do life together, when I interact with others at the store, at the doctor, in the post office … there’s an opportunity for redemption, kindness, and maybe, just maybe, an tiny crack of an open door for the message and love of Jesus Christ.

But if I only see the world through my screen, I’ll just hole up inside. Too dark and dreary out there.

This last fall, several of us came to the same conclusion: God is the only One who can handle ALL the sorrow of the world. He’s the only One with the capacity to process (and do something about) all the world’s pain. We are so tiny. We are so finite.

He didn’t create us with the capacity to carry the whole world’s weight.

Because we don’t need to.

This doesn’t mean we stick our heads in the sand and ignore everything. That would be the other ditch. But could it be that we bite off more than we can chew? That is, we inform ourselves of more things than we can possibly pray for or actually do anything about. We over-inform. Compulsively.  So we often miss the blue-sky outside, the opportunities to engage in the world right outside us, because we’re sucked into the online forecast, taking on the whole world’s sorrows, so heavy we can’t carry out the good work He’s given us right where we are.

So, friends, I resolve: Figure out the weather by looking outside. I don’t need to fret over the whole 7-day forecast. When I was little my grandpa had a “Weather Rock” in his garden. There are lots of variations of these, but his read something like this:

Let’s engage with the real weather outside, loving those near us now, and not let a screen scare us into hiding out inside. Have a great week. {Thanks for reading.}

We say it all the time: “You/I need to surrender to God.”

We sing about it.  It might just be one of our most oft-repeated phrases, in our spiritual conversations with each other. My own book sure contains references to it!

But … to “surrender” (to God) does not appear in the Bible.

Ever.

In the entire Bible, there is not a single command, reference, even mention of surrendering to God. 

So why have I spent so much of my life exhorting others and myself to surrender to Him?!

To be fair to us all, I think it’s just an unfortunate misnomer, that’s gained acceptance over the years, for a concept that is in the Bible.

In short: The Bible never tells us to surrender to God because the word surrender is always, ALWAYS used in reference to an ENEMY. 

God is not our enemy.

God is NOT OUR ENEMY.

If there is one thing I have learned this year, through the various heart-ache and disappointments we faced, it is that GOD IS NOT MY ENEMY.

GOD IS FOR ME. Even the hard is for my good. 

I wish I could shout from a world-wide megaphone and somehow convey to this aching, bewildered, lost and hurting world: GOD IS FOR YOU!

God LOVES YOU!

God is not your enemy!

Just this morning Jeff read it in church:

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. (Rom 8:31-34)

Friends, I honestly believe that if we had ANY INKLING how FOR US God really is, we would never doubt, never fear, never struggle to trust. We would be mind-blown at His goodness.

We would fall on our faces in grateful adoration. 

Now, what words are in the Scriptures? From what I understand, the idea of surrender really comes from two concepts: Submit and obey.

Submit

James exhorts us to “Submit yourselves, therefore, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. (4:7) The context is pride and worldliness. Interestingly, James says that although God is not our enemy, we can make ourselves enemies of God by befriending the world. But even then, the exhortation isn’t to surrender but to submit.

Is it just splitting hairs? I don’t think so. While surrender refers to an enemy, submit speaks of loving, voluntary, glad deference to a GOOD HEAD, a GOOD leader, a superior officer of sorts who is ON THE SAME SIDE. It’s always used with regard to two people on the same team. 

While surrender is always used of an enemy, submit is always used of a comrade or spouse. 

Because of Christ, and this is MIND-BLOWING, you are a friend of God. God is your Heavenly Husband. He’s a good one. He’s a GOOD leader who ALWAYS has your best interest in mind.

Submit actually doesn’t occur that often as well. James is the only one who uses it in reference to God. The other references are to fellow believers, spouses, or church leaders. The word that does occur a LOT, although it isn’t as popular nowadays, is obey.

Obey

This might be our culture’s least favorite word. I recently read about a popular children’s book where the plot-line was a girl who had to “overcome” a curse that over her that made her always obey any order given to her. Yikes! Obedience is called a curse?! Of course, obedience to evil is a curse, but in our day and age we’re almost afraid to use the word. We teach our children to be “good listeners” but if I can be so bold, I don’t think anything is wrong with their hearing, obedience is what our children desperately need!

And while surrender occurs zero times, obey and obedience occur 180 times!

Now, the bottom line of this is so significant I can’t help but get excited. While the word surrender carries connotations of an enemy, the words submit and obey carry the connotations of …

Loving relationship. 

Submit speaks of a loving husband-wife relationship, of friends and comrades, of voluntarily deferring to one another, out of love and mutual respect.

God is our husband and friend. 

Obey speaks of a parent-child relationship, of a loving dad giving good and beneficial boundaries to His children out of deep love for them.

God is our Father. 

Dear, dear one: God is not your enemy. It might be a subtle shift, but I pray it is a real one. I pray you know the loving leadership of a good God who is FOR YOU, who knows that your best life is found in Him, that apart from Him there is no joy, no good, nothing of any lasting value.

No surrender. Submit yourself to a loving God, and obey His good and loving leadership in your life.

Thanks for reading.

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