blog
i use my words
So far this year, we have... ...hosted 218 people ...on 13 teams ...from 11 churches ...for a total of 115 days with us.
We have...
...given 12 Thrive talks ...had 19 team leaders over for coffee (thankfully, not all at once) ...gone on 12 safaris ...eaten at the Carnivore 10 times.
Best of all? We've...
...seen 154 salvations.
And the year's not over yet!
Sometimes I'm not sure how to receive it -- or process it -- when someone points out growth they've seen in me. I realized tonight that my tendency is to negate their words -- to think of all the reasons it isn't true.
When a friend described a change she can see in me as a result of some intentionality on my part, I immediately brushed it off. I justified it. Excused it. Maybe what she noticed isn't really the result of what I'd like to think it is. Maybe I just seem to have improved because of all these external factors rather than an internal change.
And then I caught myself. Wide-eyed, I froze -- like a child caught in her mom's makeup, lipstick held to her lips.
In regard to this specific area of growth, I'd trusted for an outward, visible evidence. Why, then, am I so willing, so quick, to forfeit that? To excuse it away?
I made a choice in that instant of awareness to reach out and grab it. To fully acknowledge her comment. To embrace it like a tangible form of my freedom, growth, change.
When I see it as something I can hold in my hand, put in my pocket, it makes it feel more real. Or rather, I feel it more real-ly.
I love my battery-powered toothbrush. It does a far better job than I ever seem to do manually. And, oddly, I kind of enjoy the buzzing noise it makes. A while ago, I figured it might be in need of a battery change. It seemed to take longer than usual to brush; the droning buzz seemed to be quieter than I remembered. But it didn't seem urgent enough for me to do anything about it. So I continued brushing as is. For weeks.
Just the other day, Niel brought some batteries into the bathroom to replace the ones in his toothbrush. "Oh, please change mine, too, while you're at it," I remarked.
The next time I turned on my toothbrush, my eyes widened in amazement. The buzz was back, in all its loud glory. As I started brushing, I excitedly exclaimed to Niel, "It feels like I'm at the dentist!" The difference from the day before was startling. I hadn't realized how slow and incompetent my toothbrush had actually become. I had no idea how bad it had really gotten. Until it was better. The comparison was remarkable.
How did I not realize just how bad it was? The downward spiral was slow. Gradual. Incremental. So much so, that while I figured it might be good to change the batteries, I didn't think it was necessary. Not yet. "It can wait a few more weeks..." Slowly dying is not as obvious as suddenly dying.
But with new batteries in it, my toothbrush has sprung back to life. It's more alive than I honestly ever recall it being, so stark is the contrast between pre- and post-battery change.
Only when I got back what I'd lost did I realize just how badly things had gotten.
Regardless of how slow or sudden the death, new life is always astonishing.
A recent read in Philippians ended with this note in my Bible's margin: Constantly check the intentions and motives of my heart.
I've been wanting to lose weight for a while now. But it's only since I got back from the States that I've been more intentional about it. Developing healthier eating habits, making wiser food choices, going for walks.
I've gotten into a habit of weighing myself several times a week. The fact that my scale weighs me in kilograms bothers me some. While I can use my trusty calculator to convert the number I see into pounds, when I initially look down at the scale, the number means absolutely nothing. But its position relative to the number that was there the last time I checked is enough to make me feel like I'm progressing on my "get healthier" journey.
Anyway, my scale-stepping became part of my morning routine. Not everyday. But a few mornings a week. So what does this have to do with Philippians and motives?
Well, you see... I was fasting for a while. And about halfway through, I caught myself stepping on the scale one morning and considering my progress. (Gasp!) "Consider the intentions of your heart," I thought. When fasting became -- even for that ever-so-brief moment -- a step towards my weight-loss goal, my intentions were way off.
I literally moved the scale out of sight. I knew that if I continued to see it each morning as I stepped out of the shower, I was going to continue to be tempted to step on it. It took up residence with the dust bunnies under my claw-footed bathtub.
And I refocused my heart on what I was really aiming to accomplish with my fast.
Now when I see my dusty-edged scale, I'm reminded to check my motives. At least my mind will have something else to ponder as I try to figure out what the numbers on the scale mean.
