Category Archives: Sacred Mundane

There is nothing I want to do. That’s the problem. I’ve unknowingly become a slave to hankering, and without sunshine, a burst of energy, or a strike of inspiration, I’m left lethargic and unmotivated. I have a hankering to do nothing.

I don’t want to write and I don’t want to do laundry. And I most certainly don’t want to listen to my children bicker which is exactly what they are doing while I lie on the couch with my eyes closed.

Get up. Do something. 

I’m getting should on. The shoulds come hard but they beat down, don’t lift up, and so I’m just dead weight, still on the couch, heavier than ever.

“Please stop arguing and just clean up the loft.”

I escape, like an addict, to the office. Flip open the laptop. I know full well I am escaping but I do it anyway. The wheel spins, I wait, the screen brightens and I feel the false hope rising.  Will something happen here that lifts me from this dullness? That can somehow wake me up? I know what I’m looking for and know I shouldn’t but do it anyway. Some praise or affirmation. Something stimulating. Something besides this long day of wiping crumbs and correcting tones and calming ridiculous overreactions …

And repeating, repeating, repeating.

We head down for a snack, and there I look again.  The computer offered no solace, just a feed full of faces laughing longer and harder and loving life more than I, apparently.

I open the cupboard and try again.

Anything here?

But I’m still full from breakfast and there’s no pleasure in food when the senses aren’t heightened by hunger.

I’m just not hungry for anything.

We head outside. I can almost always count on air and earth to jostle me to life. It’s cold and wet, but I kneel in the dirt and see the dozens of green shoots poking brave heads above the dark soil. Peas. Spinach. Radishes. It’s so cold. Yesterday it hailed. But they’re undaunted, and I’m sure it must be boring for them, to grow so slowly?

But they keep growing. And I suddenly have a strange compassion for them. Out there, cold and bored to death and still growing. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that they haven’t altogether quit, haven’t packed up and gone home. I’m overcome with a desire to weed, for them. It’s personal. It’s not duty. I want them to live. They’re so darned faithful out there, braving the hail, holding up their tiny 1/2″ necks. I pull weeds carefully and smooth the soil around each tiny shoot. Gently. Like dabbing the milk from a baby’s chin. It’s ridiculous but I’m so grateful for those plants.

And as I’m dabbing their dirty earthen chins, she pulls up. My forever friend. And how’d she know I’d love a Dutch Brothers’, right now, at this exact moment? And how’d she know to say, “Of course!” when the barista asked if I’d like whip?

She hands me the drink, “Just thought you might like this.” My hands are covered in dirt and I hold the cup close and feel its warmth. Her four kids are lively in the back of the minivan and she ignores them and smiles at me and I just look up at her face and all the weight is gone. I’m beaming ridiculously because one person did something ridiculous for me. And I’m suddenly just so glad that she does what she does, day in and day out, raising those kids and cleaning that house and driving that minivan and being my friend and saying yes to whipped cream every now and then.

It hails on her too; I know that.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth today,” I tell her, and I don’t know why I say it but it says everything. And she smiles and I’m known and loved and accepted all at once.

She says goodbye and the kids wave and we head inside, now hungry. Apples crunch sweet and grilled cheese oozes salty and the hummus is cold and creamy. And though it’s already afternoon I’m grateful to have finally woken up.  There’s still a lot of glorious day ahead. 

{In case you have these days … Thanks for reading. 

“What if God planted RENEW Church just for Julie?”

Several of my close friends have posed this question to me. Of course I smile because it is the same question the Holy Spirit has posed to me more times than I can count, in different ways.

It’s a fair question. Would God take a family and send them on a wild goosechase of selling their home and seeking after an Isaiah 58 lifestyle, plop them in another city, on a street corner in front of Bus Stop 32, and have them plant a little ragtag church full of odd characters (I say this with endearment, guys–we’re included in this description!) patched loosely together by a passion for the gospel and serving the least?

Would He go through all this effort just to find The One drug-addicted woman and lure her to His love through this church’s fumbling efforts of generosity and grace? 

Is that it?

If it is, is it worth it? Just for The One?

A few weeks ago I had the hair-brained idea to bake up a huge batch of The Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls and hand them out to homeless folks Easter morning. Sure, there’s no better news than “He is risen!” but “Here’s–an-ooey-gooey-buttery-handful-of-sweet-sticky-goodness-because-Jesus-loves-you!” is a really close second. So I had this grand idea to find out where they’d be sleeping and go find a whole slew of them.

But when I sought how to find them I was informed  that a large church was already hosting a huge pancake feed at their church building, so “all of them will be going there.” When I asked if we could just go out looking for some on the street, as I wanted to go to them, she said, “You can, but you probably won’t find any.”  Though I felt deflated at first, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper, “If only for The One … go.”

So we piled into the car Easter morning. My kids sat in back and my mother-in-law in the passenger seat holding the pan of ooey-goodness.

After weaving in and out of the downtown streets under the railroad, we caught sight of him.

The One. 

He sat alone, on the ground, in the shadows, hidden back in the corner of a vacant lot lined with dumpsters from the nearby produce stand. His head was down. I wheeled the car around, loaded up a napkin with rolls, pulled out a babywipe for cleaning his hands after, and stepped out of the car.

I stood and looked across the long, empty lot where he sat. Between us lay shattered glass and strewn trash. I was wearing bright yellow and white and high-heeled sandals. My Easter best. My eyes blurred as I stepped over the broken bottles.

He looked up. His eyes widened. I smiled. The sun poured through the trees.

He watched me walk across the lot.

“Good morning, Sir. Would you like a warm cinnamon roll?”

He smiled, mostly toothless, probably in his 60s, handsome.

“Wow. Well, yes. Yes, Ma’am I’d love one!” I held out the rolls and a baby-wipe. He reached out his hands, open, palms up, black with grime. They brushed mine, every so slightly, as I handed him the napkin-bundle.. “They’re kind of messy,” I explained.

I looked into his eyes and smiled again. Yes. Kind of messy. All of it.

“Sir, do you know that it’s Easter?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Do you know Jesus loves you, Sir?”

He smiled again. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

I said goodbye, walked back to the car. Coming out of the shadows, the light of the sun was so bright my teary eyes couldn’t see.

But I could see clearer than ever.

He was The One.

At The Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference William Paul Young, author of The Shack, spoke on the importance of The One. Considering his book has been read by nearly 100 million people, it’s surprising to interact with him and see his genuine concern for each person he meets. He knows no handshakes, only hugs. He treats the college-freshman sound guy the same as the other award-winning authors. And one of Young’s main points was that if God wants you to write a book for one person, is it worth it?

Am I willing to write a book for one person?

Am I willing to chase after one ridiculous baby goat?

Am I willing to hand out just one cinnamon roll?

And could it be that sometimes the crowd must be small so that that one person can be found?

In the words of John Piper, “There are saving works that God will only do through small churches and ordinary people, not through large churches and more sophisticated people.”

Both large and small churches are needed. Both large and small events, retreats, conferences. We need large-scale reform and we need to walk across the street and talk to our neighbor. We need huge pancake feeds and a single cinnamon roll. I’ve been impacted by the 90,000+ attended simulcasts by Beth Moore, and I’ve been impacted by my husband, housemate and I quietly keeling together, faces to the floor, to pray. I value the energy of a large group, and I value the sacred intimacy of small circles.

But above all, hopefully, I’m learning to value The One.

Because I am The One. 

I have been and continue to be The One. This past weekend I was the broken woman, the prostitute washing Jesus’ feet with her tears. I was so convicted of my own filthiness at one point all I could do was escape to the prayer chapel and lie on my face before Jesus. I was that woman. I am her. And Jesus continues to seek  me. 

Those who understand they are The One are more likely to seek after other Ones.

I am The One.

You are The One.

Our simple task is to move through the world with eyes to see The Ones God brings across our path.

Is it worth it?

Absolutely.

{Praying for spiritual eyes peeled for The Ones you may encounter this week. May He chase you down with His extravagant love. Thanks for reading, and please check out the opportunity below.}

*I’d like to invite any of you local readers, if you wish, to a small, private opportunity for renewal — a short, one-night retreat April 19-20. There’s just a few of us–some women from our church plant, some friends, The Sonflowerz (the precious sister-duo worship leaders from Colorado Springs), and me. I’ll be teaching from God’s Word, we’ll worship, pray, listen. You can interact with others or you can retreat into the woods. You can hike or nap.  Seek fellowship or solitude. It’s free, it’s relaxed, and there’s just room for a few, so if you are interested, please contact me here and I’ll share more information with you.

• Sweet times playing with the neighbor boy. Love how kids find common ground instantly. In this case common ground is literal.
• Them in the morning–kitten breath and puppy breath.
• Her bird-chirp voice.
• Our first pets! Two goldfish–Penny & Glowy. I thought my children couldn’t become any more enthusiastic about life. They just out-enthused themselves.
• Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference. So much good material I can’t see straight.
• Kindness, grace, humility.
• When those who stand so high are willing to bend so low.
• That William Paul Young doesn’t know how to handshake. He hugs everyone. 
• Empathy.
• Embracing imagination.
• Learning to see through others’ eyes.
• CS Lewis woven through the conference.
• Justice and love. One holy pursuit.
• Wilson Smith rockin’ the worship circle. Singing at the top of my lungs to my Beautiful Savior!
• Kindness.
• Coming home.
• Foot massage from my favorite man.
• Having him there at the conference by my side.
• That at least a dozen women came up to me and said, “Your husband is so great!” Yup. What can I say. 🙂
• Inspired by forward-thinking, visionary, life-giving, faith-filled men and women.
• Hope.
• Trust.
• Repentance.
• Conviction.
• Quiet prayer chapel.
• Time alone to just be honest with Him. 
• Water.
• Great neighbors.
• Plans to wear yoga pants, slippers, and no makeup for the next week. Friends, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
• Hummus.
• Rest.
• Oh how He loves us. 

{Thank you so much for your prayers for my weekend. What a gift! May He show you His abundant LOVE for you this weekend. God is for us! Thanks for reading.}

Two years ago this week I typed Why I Write with trembling hands. It was on this post that Ann Voskamp commented, and I started crying. Two years ago this weekend I attended the first Faith & Culture Writers Conference and faced the Scary Guy who changed my life. 

At this year’s conference, which kicks off today, I’m the MC. Seriously. Let me tell you why this blows me away:

Two years ago I was scared stiff just to walk through the door.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have a nice big dose of nervousness today. I’ll be shaking like a leaf before I walk on stage. I’ve envisioned plenty of times me tripping on a cord or pronouncing Ken Wytsma’s name wrong or dragging up toilet paper on my shoe.

But … two years ago I was almost too scared to even attend. And if you would have told me last time, that at the next conference I’d be emceeing, I would have said you were crazy. Or cried. Probably both. And you know what that tells me?

That God is able to change us. 

When I wrote the “Why I Write” post I was so afraid of rejection I almost couldn’t submit it.

I’ve now been rejected more times than I can count by agents and publishers alike. Rejection is pretty much a monthly occurrence around here, and you know what — it’s okay! I don’t even cry anymore!

There are still plenty of fears for me to face. Plenty. But looking back fuels my faith and inspires me to tackle new things because I realize, I’m not the same afraid girl I was just two years ago. God is changing me.

God is changing you.

So how do we move forward and do scary stuff? My favorite method is the Worse Case Scenario Method. In Beth Moore’s book, So Long Insecurity she discusses fear and recounts a conversation she’d had with God where she has wrestling through her own fear issues.  She very distinctly sensed Him asking her to tell Him her greatest, deepest fears.  So she did.  Then, surprisingly, she sensed Him saying, “Let’s say those things did happen.”  Then, “Picture yourself going through the whole process of one of your worst fears becoming a reality. Get all the way to the other side of it. What do you see there?”

When Beth did this, with her own worst fear, she realized that while it would truly be horrific, all that she knew of God reassured her that He would still restore her, use her, love her, and carry her through, even if she lost all else.

In most cases, the worst case scenario is that someone says no, or we don’t get the job, or we receive a rejection, or our plan fails. But on the other side of that no/rejection/fail is likely a shining lesson, a better opportunity, another open door, or an increase in courage to try again.

But better than all that, on the other side is God. 

On the other side of that fear is your loving Father’s warm embrace. His words, “Good job! You did it! You were brave!”  It pleases Him when we walk by faith. When we do scary stuff, not for our own glory, but for His, He’s happy.

And when God’s happy, we’re happy. (That’s kind of like the secret to life, right?!)

Do scary stuff for the glory of God.

But watch out, because if you do, you never know what He’ll have you do two years from now!

{Thanks for reading & have a great weekend.}

 *In honor of doing scary stuff, and in honor of the Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference, Plenty and Let In Light are FREE today on Amazon (we’re unable to offer Faithfully Frugal free at this time, but it’s only $2.99) Spread the word and snag some copies for your friends. Also, many of you have asked if paperback copies are available. We’re working on it! Hopefully within the month we’ll have paperback copies available for you at a low cost. Stay tuned and thanks so much!

So  you probably noticed a theme with the last two posts that I was feeling discouraged in church-planting. Surprise! Any challenging adventure is going to be, well, challenging.

So in the midst of this, God nailed me to the wall. The truth is, we have a fabulous little church family. I love them. I’d do anything for them. They serve and love and pray and give and are team-players to the extreme. But of course it only takes one negative person, or one critical comment, or one outsider questioning your methods to make me droop my shoulders and declare the whole thing a failure.

*Sigh*

So yesterday morning I drag my body out of bed and Let In Light and read God’s Word and only a few sentences into my daily reading, this jumps out at me:

King David had been driven out by his treasonous son, Absalom. Absalom had won over the hearts of Israel in order to take away the Kingdom from his father. Absalom was not a quality individual. So David’s driven out of Judah, and a battle ensues, and Joab–David’s commander–kills Absalom, they are victorious, and they deliver the good news back to David.

Except instead of rejoicing that the Kingdom was restored, David’s devastated about his son.  

Understandable.

But, Joab rebukes David, because Absalom was the enemy, the whole point was to remove him so that the rightful kingdom could be established. David had hundreds, thousands, of faithful followers who had been fighting for him and standing up for him, and now instead of rejoicing that all those people were saved, he’s sorrowful because this one person was gone. And Joab says this,

You love those who hate you and hate those who love you.

Joab says, “You have today covered with shame the faces of all your servants, who have this day saved your life … because you love those who hate you and hate those who love you. For you have made it clear today that commanders and servants are nothing to you, for today I know that if Absalom were alive and all of us were dead today, then you would be pleased.” (2 Samual 19:5-6)

You love those who hate you and hate those who love you.

In other words, “You only care about what the critics think, instead of caring what your faithful family and followers think.”  Or:

You put all your emotional energy into trying to please people who cannot be pleased.

We’ve all encountered someone in our lives who just couldn’t be pleased. Who did or does not accept us or approve of us. And it’s as if that person, whoever it is (and however long ago we encountered them), sits on our shoulder, every day of our lives, and watches everything we do. And we live as if we have to please or win the approval or acceptance of that person. And instead of simply rejoicing in all the people who DO love us, approve of us, accept us, and are pleased, we focus all our energy on that one problem person.

Guess what? That’s exhausting.

Even though it’s enormously difficult, we have to flick that person off our shoulder, and focus on the blessed, supportive, loving people in our lives. Sure, we love our enemies, but we don’t let them live in our shoulder and dictate all we do. When we do that, we’re simply discounting (“covering with shame”) those faithful friends and family we have who support and rally around us.

So whoever that person is who sits on your shoulder, pray God’s richest blessings on their life, then flick them off your shoulder and live for the audience of One. Value and celebrate and appreciate the family and friends you would otherwise take for granted. Don’t give the gripers more real estate than necessary. Today, take a moment to thank and appreciate those faithful supporters who give you life and strength.

And ask the Holy Spirit to fill up your heart, mind, and shoulders so there’s no room for anyone else.

{Thanks for reading.}

I was running in a dead sprint down a country road chasing after a baby goat. What am I DOING?

You just never know when the sacred will interrupt your mundane.

That morning Jeff & I had talked in low voices, quietly exchanging church-planting discouragement while the kids obliviously ate oatmeal and discussed ocean animals.

It was really my fault. I had come home in tears the day before, triggered by the most innocent question imaginable:

“You guys all gearing up for your first Easter service?”

I was caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we’re … we’re … gearing up.”

“What’re you doing?” (Inner monologue: Kari, get a grip. This is a completely reasonable question. This is what church-people ask! Why are you about to cry?)

“Um… well, we’re going to worship Jesus together. So yeah, it was great to see you. Take care.”

I darted to my car. What were we doing for Easter?

What were we doing period? 

Well, besides fasting for 7 days, my Easter-prep included a maddening series of seeking after Julie all week, laboring in prayer that she would choose life, chasing after this one ridiculous person who can’t find her way and who WANTS life, safety, and peace, but hasn’t the slightest idea how to find it. She’s darting around, wild, lost, and I’m chasing after her.

That kind of sums up my Easter-prep. Oh, and I guess I hung out in a bar and invited my neighbors to church too but I’m pretty sure they had plans to smoke pot instead.

This was what brought on the low-voiced talk of church-planting discouragement in the kitchen. What are we DOING?

I loaded up the kids and headed out to the boonies of Molalla.

About five miles from Riversong, along a narrow country road lined with farms, I saw the goats.

Three goats outside their fence, eating grass in the ditch by the road. I pulled off and turned around, heading back to the owner’s house. (Believe me, herding the goats myself was not my original plan.) Of course the owners were not home but their FIVE dobermans (I am not joking) were there to greet us.

I stared at the five dobermans, then at the goats. Oh good grief. Here we go. 

We inched back up the road and thankfully scared two of the goats through the small hole in the fence and back into their pasture. But one little baby goat was terrified, frantic, and darted off the opposite direction. No matter how I tried to maneuver in the car, he kept going the wrong direction. Oh for crying out loud. Here we go.

I put on the hazards, told the kids to hang tight, prayed for no oncoming cars, and took off in a dead sprint for this ridiculous goat. Without thinking I started calling, “Here, baby goat! Here, baby goat!” Then it dawned on me, I haven’t a CLUE how to herd baby goats! I finally got it chased into the neighbor’s yard a 1/4 mile up the road, and since there were SEVEN old cars parked in their driveway I figured surely they were home. Surely they would help me.

No one home.

I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything as maddening as trying to herd a goat. Just when I’d get it near where to go it would just dart off the wrong direction. He wouldn’t come anywhere near me. “I’m trying to HELP you!” I shouted, standing like an idiot in the middle of the road. Then, just as I was thinking to myself, What am I DOING? I heard that still small voice:

THIS is what you are doing. 

The verses suddenly came to mind.

If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will he do? Won’t he leave the ninety-nine others on the hills and go out to search for the one that is lost? … In the same way, it is not my heavenly Father’s will that even one of these little ones should perish. (Matthew 18:12,14)

Of course I’m chasing a goat. Of course. Because this crazy little goat can’t find its way and he WANTS life, safety, and peace, but hasn’t the slightest idea how to find it. He’s darting around, wild, lost, and I’m chasing after him.

Because that’s what The Good Shepherd did.

Because Easter is all about the Good Shepherd taking off in a dead-sprint and chasing after His lost sheep. You. Me. Julie. Because we want life, safety, and peace, but haven’t the slightest idea how to find it. We’re darting around, wild, lost.

But He’s chasing after us.

He’s chasing after them.

And He calls us to go after goats. To chase wild sheep who are darting, frantic, wild, lost.

(Just for the record, it’s really maddening work.)

After 20 minutes of frustration, the kids and I prayed: “Dada God, please help this baby goat get back home.”

And with one last try, I lured her in, hid behind a broken-down Winnebago, swung the fence closed, and got my sweet baby goat safely inside her field. 

I climbed back in the car and Heidi shouted, “Mommy! We saved the day!”

Yes, sweetie-girl. That’s what we’re doing. One baby goat at at time.

~

{What lost sheep does Jesus want you chase? I pray for grace to embrace the maddening process and go after that wild, crazed, beloved goat today. Thanks for reading.}

I hung out at a bar last night.

This may not seem noteworthy unless you understand I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bar. (I was homeschooled, for crying out loud!) Not in a bar bar. Not in a tavern. And certainly not in a seedy tavern. And certainly not in the seediest of the seedy taverns the night before Easter.

Have I mentioned my husband is a pastor?

I wonder how many pastors spent last night in a bar?

Anyway …  we’d been getting to know some neighbors of ours, and they had a big bash this weekend because a friend of theirs was playing blues at a local tavern. Jeff said, “Wow, that’s great. Maybe we’ll join you.”

So last night, we were both exhausted and Jeff had more work to prepare his message for this morning, but we both felt oddly that the most important way to prepare for Christ’s Resurrection was to go the Trails End Tavern and hang out with the people He rose to save.

I’m so glad we did.

Nothing dramatic happened. No one ran up to us and asked, “What must I do to be saved?!” No exorcism. Nothing shocking.

Just a beautiful opportunity to look, see, and enter into the world of those Christ rose to save.

It was fun to just smile. To see people interact. To see how much we’re the same.

My churchy friends and my neighbors’ bar-hopping friends are all seeking after the same stuff, really: Hope, acceptance, love, touch. We use different lingo but it’s all the same.

We all just want to belong.

The truth is, I needed to go last night. I need to be continually reminded what life is like outside Kari Patterson. What the world is living through and facing and what it’s like out there in the world Jesus came to save. I need it to better understand and love Julie. I need it to better understand and love, period.

And Jesus pitched His tent among us. He came to where we already were. He lived our experience. He felt what we feel. He frequented our watering hole so that we could see His love and be wooed. 

I didn’t do any wooing (and no, I didn’t leave gospel-tracts in the bathroom), but my simple bar-experience last night made me feel alive. Something inside me cried out, “Yes, go where people are! Be curious. Listen long. Watch them. Learn about them. Figure out what makes them tick. Pray over every place you set foot.”

We carry with us the power of the Holy Spirit, the power of the RISEN CHRIST. So wherever we go we take His presence, His love, His light.

Today we celebrate, He is RISEN. He is risen indeed!

We honor His resurrection by taking His light and His life to every corner of the globe.

Even the Trails End Tavern.

 {Happy Resurrection Sunday to you, wherever you are! Thanks for reading.}

After a hectic and commotion-filled week, today is eerily quiet. The tomb is sealed. Steely guards stand watch, silent. The disciples huddle in an upper room, the door locked for fear of the Jews.

They may as well have been in a tomb too.

I can only imagine the disciples didn’t do much chatting. Peter, normally the most garrulous of them all, must have been stricken-silent. In  His Lord’s final moments Peter had denied Him. And how He was dead. Have you been in a grief-stricken situation where no one knows what to say? I can only imagine it was very, very quiet.

The land must have been quiet. It was the Sabbath. No work was going on, and all the commotion of the previous day had likely taken its toll on all those involved. The world must have felt strangely desolate without the King of Life in their midst.

What did they do? What else could they do?

Wait.

The same thing we do.

Have you had silent moments in your journey following Jesus?  I have. In some ways, I’m in one. Sometimes my early mornings, which can be action-packed and Spirit-filled, are excruciatingly quiet. Eerily silent. Where are you, Lord?  And what do we do when He seems strangely missing?

Wait. 

We embrace the quiet wait.

For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. Psalm 62:1

I don’t like to wait. Do any of us? But waiting is the epitome of dependence, of humility, of trust.

Waiting is the essence of faith. The quiet wait is the posture of an obedient child, a loyal servant, a devoted lover.

The disciples had no idea what “It is finished” meant. They had no idea Jesus would return. When we are in the quiet wait we wonder if we’ll ever hear from Him again. Will He ever return? Ever show up again in my life? But we still wait because from Him alone comes my salvation.

All we can do is wait because He alone holds life. He is life.

The truth is: Sunday is coming and your Sunday is coming. He will show up, He will return, He will speak again. And until He does we humbly bow …

… and embrace the quiet wait.

~

{Reflection for today: In what area are you waiting on God today? How have you despised the quiet wait instead of embracing it? Does it seem eerily silent? Do you feel a hint of panic in your heart, wondering why is He taking so long? Quietly waiting with you and praying for grace, trust, and peace for us both. Thanks for reading.}

Friday’s Reading: Matthew 26:47 – 27:51, Mark 14:43 – 15:38, Luke 22:47 – 23:49, John 18:3 – 19:37

“It is finished.”

-Jesus

~

It is noon right now. I am finished.

At noon on Friday, after suffering through an excruciating night of betrayal, arrest, beating, flogging, and suffering, Jesus gave up His Spirit on the cross and mouthed His final words:

It is finished.

Never before have I identified so closely with those words. Again, it’s a tiny droplet of the ocean Jesus experienced, but I’ve spent the last 7 days doing a liquid fast, focusing on Christ and praying specifically for three key things. I’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s humbling to confess how tremendously difficult it was for me, considering that millions of my brothers and sisters in Christ around the world never have enough to eat. My one-week challenge was their normal life.

When I felt too weak and exhausted to care for my children, I kept thinking of the millions of Mamas around the world who never have enough energy to care for their children.

When I drove by restaurants and supermarkets and couldn’t buy anything in them, I thought of all the homeless and poor in our city who never have the money to zip into a restaurant and order something to eat.

When I craved sugar, flour, and all the other addictive foods I usually fill my tummy with, I thought of all those craving for substances far more addictive, and their battle to overcome the bondage of meth or alcohol.

Nothing has ever cut to my heart so quickly, heating me up to a boiling point so all the dross could rise to the surface (Ugh, there was so much dross!). Day after day God kept bringing new things to the surface. Things to change, confess. Encouragement. Insights. Ways to identify with the weak and those on the margins. There were days I felt on a high–soaring with Jesus and hearing His voice so clear. There were days I wanted to yell at everyone who was chewing and curse every straw on the planet. NO MORE STRAWS! But truly, it was so powerful. In Christianity Today this month, leading Christian pastors were asked,

“What classic discipline needs the most renewal among American Christians?”

You know the #1 answer?

Fasting. 

Baptist radical Clarence Jordan was quoted as saying, “Fasting is the opposite of slowing. It is speeding up toward the kingdom.”

That has been my experience. And I need it. When I start not caring about the poor. When I quit being captivated by Christ. When I’m daydreaming through sermons or skimming through Scripture or bored by the gospel. 

I need to speed up toward the Kingdom. 

And while all this is well and good, you know what else I was speeding toward?

Finishing.

You better believe I had my eyes fixed on Friday. 🙂

On Friday at noon, when Jesus said, “It is finished,” I knew I would be finished. Although it is the tiny droplet compared to His ocean, I had been given a task of interceding and at noon on Friday, when Jesus was finished I would be finished.

Oh I have never focused on the words “It is finished” so much in all my life! (On Monday I already had Friday’s lunch planned in my mind. And it didn’t involve a straw!)

But early this morning, as I read through the gospel accounts of Jesus on the cross, I had to wonder: “Why did Jesus say, ‘It is finished,’ when it really wasn’t yet. I mean, it wasn’t really finished until He rose from the dead. So why did He say it on the cross.”

His work was finished.

The power of the FATHER raised Jesus from the dead. Jesus work was simply to accomplish what the Father sent Him to do, and surrender Himself to death on the cross.

The Father took it from there.

So too, certainly the three key things I prayed for aren’t finished. My mom’s not cured of Parkinson’s. Julie’s not freed from addiction. I don’t yet have a publisher.

But my work is finished. God gave me an assignment and I finished.

The Father will take it from here. 

And so we are simply called to obey whatever God calls us to do. To finish the work He gives us to accomplish. Then rest in knowing we’ll hear His words, “Well done, good and faithful servant …”

The Father will take it from there. 

Oh Jesus, we worship you today.

Thank you for finishing Your work on the cross.

Thank you for surrendering to the point of death.

Thank you for bearing my sin, my foolishness, my selfishness.

Thank you for your unconditional love that bears me up and carries me.

All I can say today is,

“I love you so much. Thank you.”

{Thank you for reading.}

Thursday’s Reading: Matthew 26:17-46, Mark 14:12-42, Luke 22:7-46, John 13-17

“Then all the disciples left Him and fled.” (Matt 26:56)

~

I recently felt abandoned by someone I love. 

It was at a point when my body was weak and tired. I felt exhausted and poured out, looking ahead at a long up hill road, and then someone who I thought was completely at my right hand had to make a hard choice to not be.

Suddenly the road ahead just seemed so much harder. 

It’s remarkable how much togetherness can give you courage for whatever’s ahead. Surrounded by my nearest and dearest I can scale a wall and move mountains (or that’s how I feel!). But it’s also remarkable how one person walking away (even if for good reason) can leave you feeling alone, abandoned, weary …

and completely overwhelmed for whatever’s ahead.

And it was in this exact moment that a short sentence of Scripture came to mind. It’s such an insignificant little tidbit in scripture we almost read right over it without noticing. But on this day, late on Thursday, just hours before Jesus will take on the sins of the world, hang on a cross, and receive the full weight of His Father’s wrath, just hours before this, as he gears up for the most unthinkably torturous event in the history of mankind, he experiences this:

First, Peter, James & John can’t even stay awake. They’re snoozing while Jesus is praying (Matt 26:40).

Then, one of his friends, one of the 12, Judas Iscariot, betrays Jesus with a kiss (Matt 26:49).

But then, as if this weren’t enough. With a matter of minutes, we read a short verse that nearly knocks the wind out of me:

“Then all the disciples left him and fled.” (v.56)

All His disciples.

All His friends.

All His faithful followers.

All His “core team.”

Every last one.

Gone.

After spending years pouring into them and loving them and giving His life for them. In a matter of moments, every last one of them is gone.

And He is alone. In every sense.

I can only imagine in Jesus’ humanity, in a point of weariness, utter fatigue and exhaustion (he’d been up all night praying) the abandonment would have made it even more overwhelming to face what was ahead.

In my moment of tears, when I bowed down on the floor and poured my heart out for God, I heard this:

“You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up.”

(Now I have no idea what the first part is about. But I get the second part. It’s a pretty straightforward command.)

Perhaps Jesus heard something similar when He cried out to the Father.

“You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up.”

I don’t mean to draw too close of a parallel here. I’ve endured a tiny hurt feeling and Jesus endured the wrath of being forsaken by God and man as He hung on the cross and bore the sins of the world.

But we’re called in Scripture to identify with Jesus. To have His mind.

And if you have ever felt alone, forgotten, abandoned, left …

you can identify with Jesus.

You can enter into His story today and experience a droplet of the ocean of grief He bore. 

You can let that experience lead you to worship, gratitude, overwhelming thanks to Jesus that He didn’t give up.

And you can not give up either. 

{You’re in the middle of something revolutionary. Don’t give up. Thanks for reading.}