Armor of God

I've found there's only one way to approach each day as a follower Christ... It’s to get up every morning and put on the armor of God. I visibly go through the motions, when I remember, which may seem childlike and silly, but I’m a visual person, so it helps me think about the words I’m saying and to have a little fun with it too.

When Abby was visiting a month ago I taught it to her one morning. We started by putting on the belt of truth. (I get dressed in the order I read in Ephesians 6:14-17.) Her eyes immediately lit up at this need to use our imaginations. I knew she’d love this. Then we draped ourselves from head to toe in God’s righteousness, ending that sweep of our hands flowing in the air from head to ankle, inches from our body, by putting on shoes of peace. Immediately and abruptly we then stood tall, and boldly pushed our left arms straight out from our bodies with our hands held in high-five position for the shield of faith. We finished with our hands making an upside-down “V” for the helmet of salvation, then exuberantly raised our right arms high in the air with our fingers pointing, as we yelled, “and the sword of the Spirit!”

It was fun. We did it a couple of times together that morning so she could learn it, and then went on our way... Well, a couple of weekends later she was back at my house, with her mom and brothers this time. I came downstairs after showering and dressing and saw that she and Sam were engrossed in a Clifford video. Now they, like most kids I know (including my sons, years ago), get so engrossed in videos that it practically takes an act of God to bring them out of the fantasy and back to reality. Well, I guess it likely was an act of God this day because when I walked into the room, Abby turned away from the TV, smiled, tilted her head knowingly and said, “Grandma, did you remember to put on the armor of God?” I was shocked and speechless for a second or two. Not only had she remembered, but she broke out of Clifford’s exciting story to ask me if I remembered! And she caught me. I had forgotten.

I love children. They are so genuine and eager, and not too little or too big to be awesome followers of Jesus.

This blog features stories about God’s faithfulness through generations. It began with stories of my Grandpa and Grandma Revne as they pioneered to northeast Cameroon to tell people about Jesus and His love and plan for them. And while they were serving God far away, one day a granddaughter was born and I came into this world. And even though I hardly knew my grandparents while they walked this earth, I feel I know them so well now. Yet the story continues... Now I’m the adult. Not in Africa (right now, anyway), yet walking with my Lord through this life. And now there's another granddaughter. This time it's Abby, and there are six more dear young children. And with all of this life come stories, and stories, and stories...

I continue to get up each day and, when I remember, visibly put on the armor of God. I’ve found it’s the best way to walk through these days. It begins with the belt of truth…

Each day's mission

A couple of weeks ago I scribbled something in my notebook right before I went to bed. I just reread it and decided to post it here:

I’m going to get up every day and put on the armor of God. Then I’m going to do what is in front of me to do for that day. And I’m going to earnestly pray that God will show me when it’s the right time to break out of this…to the next thing.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to pray, seek, and do what’s in front of me – giving all for His honor and glory.

He has not forgotten me or my willingness. He will show me the way. And it won’t be too late or too early.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my Lord is faithful and trustworthy. He is the Good Shepherd; I am one of His sheep. His sheep know His voice. I know His voice...it is loving...it protects. Thank you, my Lord.

Time for fun...

Recently, after struggling to write about some of my core beliefs - a task which I found both exhausting and clarifying - and also after taking some uncomfortable, yet courageous steps in a particular area of my life, I sensed the Lord whisper to me: “Now it’s time for fun.”

Being the analytical person I am, I thought, “But wait, is fun ever a worthy goal? I mean look at you, Lord Jesus – the one I’m following – your fun was dying on a cross? Do you really mean it's time for fun? It sounds so appealing...so desirable...but could it possibly be your voice I'm hearing? Fun is supposed to be what the weak long for - what the undisciplined accomplish, right?" And then I considered something…

When it seems I’m having the most fun is when I’m living with purpose. Whether I’m laughing-until-I-cry with family or friends, or if I'm praying with a friend while tears of sorrow are streaming down both of our faces - either could be defined as fun if fun's definition includes living a relational life of purpose.

And who in this world has ever had more relational purpose than Jesus? His death was incredibly painful – I can’t even imagine. But if having purpose brings fun, then has anyone ever had more fun than Jesus Christ?

So I’ve accepted the words from my Lord. I’m looking forward to a year of fun as I live out my purpose by His grace and through His strength.

God & Annie

After Abby and I wrote our tale (previous post) I started thinking about how there might be some similarities between our process, and the process God and I are going through in writing the story of my life.

So here’s how the process with Abby went:

- I initiated the process…supplied the computer, the blog – i.e. provided the tools.

- Some of me is in Abby. While Abby’s definitely her own individual (there’s no doubt, right?), she’s also got some of me in her as she’s my biological son’s, biological daughter. There’s some Annie blood running through her, if you will

- Abby and I both wanted to create a story. We were both excited and eager to bring something into being that wasn’t there before we created it.

- I asked her to get us started… What kind of a story should we write? How do you want to begin it?

- She thought a moment and then began. And what you couldn’t see if/when you read the post, was a sweet part of the process to me. She gave me one word at a time, because she is learning to read and wanted to see each word appear as I typed it on the screen. As she watched her words appear, she smiled – first at the computer, then up at me. My heart was brimming with love...

- Then, after she gave me a sentence or a few, she stopped talking, looked up at me and declared, “Your turn.” And this is how we continued, going back and forth with our story line.

- When the baton was passed to me, I paused, considered what Abby had put on the page, and began adding to the story. Now here’s where it got interesting... I both adored Abby’s creativity and found it somewhat challenging, because from my adult, inside-boxes perspective, I was hoping for an end result of a story I would somewhat understand and be proud of. Yet I desperately did not want to “take control,” knowing then it would be my story, and not our shared story, which is where the fun is.

- So what did I do? I lovingly accepted every word Abby gave me, only once or twice saying, “Do you mean X, instead of Y?” – to which she would nod enthusiastically, and say, “yes!” And then when it was my turn, I steered my pieces of the story toward something that I thought would bring the best end result, yet with no guarantees, because once I passed the baton back to Abby, who knew where it would go (which brought as much excitement as it did challenge)?

So how might Abby’s and my process be similar to the process of us writing our life stories with God? Doesn’t God start out by giving us life and some tools in this world? And to His believers, and Christ followers, we definitely have His Spirit within us, inherently making our story His story. And I do trust and imagine that He is delighted with us the way I was delighted with Abby. That He is eagerly waiting to see what we want to do with the story line and accepts our inputs lovingly, because clearly our goal is to write a good story together...

I don’t think I should worry as much as I do about the individual words, lines or paragraphs I give my Lord. Our all-knowing, all-powerful God has a remarkable way of weaving a glorious tale out of the pieces we eagerly offer Him.

Abby & Annie

Today I got to hang out with my five-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter, Abby. She's incredibly special, and super creative. We decided to write a blog post together. Below is our story, improvisational style. Abby's words are in bold, Annie's are not. We hope you enjoy!

Title: Never Feed Wild Animals

One day Abby and Sam were going out to play. When they got outside what they saw in the bushes was a fox…and a parrot…and a wolf. And in the tree was a big black bear…and a monkey. Abby and Sam ran back into the house.

They told their mom about all the animals they had just seen in their yard, but their mom didn’t believe them. She laughed, and winked at them and said with a smile, “Oh did the animals talk to you?”

“Yes,” said Abby and Sam. “We really saw them.”

“Well then, were they hungry? Maybe we should prepare a snack for you to bring to them,” their mom said.

“Yes they looked hungry. They were asking us to bring food to them.”

“Okay then,” said their mom, still smiling. “Let’s get started. What should we prepare for them to eat?”

“For the black bear, we should bring meat. For the monkey, we should give him some berries, because this monkey likes to eat berries,” Abby said. Sam added loudly, “And I think the parrot would like some fruit, and the wolf and fox really want some chocolate cake!”

Abby said, “Wolves and foxes can’t have chocolate cake!” But mom quickly said, “Well, if Sam would like to bring these wild animals some chocolate cake, then I’m happy to put some in two bowls for you kids, I mean, for the animals. I hope the cake doesn’t spoil the animals’ dinner.” And Mom began to dish up some cake and put a little summer sausage, berries, and fruit in a picnic basket.

“Wait Mom,” said Abby. “Animals just can’t have chocolate cake. They will get sick if they have chocolate cake.”

Mom looked at Abby, because she was surprised at what she was hearing. She had never known her daughter to turn down chocolate cake. Abby was really into pretending today... Well, since Mom wants Abby to eat healthier anyway, she decided to be pleased, and suggested only sending out one bowl of cake.

“For us?” asked Abby, “Or for the roses - the big, red, roses?”

“Roses?!” Mom asked. “What do you mean roses? I thought we were talking about feeding wild animals in our yard?”

“Yeah, but animals would get sick if you gave it to them.”

Mom said, “Roses can’t eat, Abby, but I could use the roses petals to make blankets…little blankets for your stuffed animal Reepicheap."

Right then, Sam came back into the room and said, “Let’s hurry! The animals are going to be gone if we don’t hurry up and go back outside.” So Mom gave Sam his basket of cake, berries, fruit and some sausage, and told him to “go feed the animals,” as she smiled and winked at him.

Then she asked Abby if she wanted to help her make the rose petal blankets. But right then, they hear a loud roar and a scream from Sam who was already outside with his basket of food.

The bear was angry at him. The bear was starving, and he just wanted ALL the food.

When Mom heard the roar and the scream, she dropped the roses and yelled in a scared voice, “Oh no, what’s happening?!” as she ran out the door toward Sam’s voice.

The big black bear was bringing Sam up the tree to a bunch of big black bears. Mom was so startled to see the big bear with her dear son Sam in his arms that she screamed super loud and long. So loud and long that she startled the bear and he loosened his grip on Sam.

And then the big black bear came down the tree with Sam and gave him back to Mom. Mom grabbed Sam from the bear, while Abby watched all this from the window. Mom couldn’t believe this was actually happening. "It feels like a dream," she said, "a horrible, scary dream." Right then, she heard Abby yell, “Mom, is it time to get up yet?”

Abby had heard her mom scream and added, “Mom, it was just a scary nightmare! If it’s time to get up, just please answer me!” said Abby. Mom said, “Sleep until 7:30…” And then Mom walked into their room and gave them each big bear hugs.

~ The End ~

This, my story... (part 4 of 4)

During this adult season of questioning – of challenging beliefs – the stakes of faith were raised higher, and the enemy of truth was fully engaged. The challenge was now more sophisticated, and had more stakeholders than the simple gym class dance. But strangely, it felt similar. At a basic level it came down to the core of my faith and what it’s staked on. Is my faith staked on Jesus’ death on my behalf? Or is it staked on something else, and/or something additional? Is it how my life looks to others? Or how my heart looks to God? Thankfully, I knew...I know..it's about the heart.

And I propose that we are all trapped in dying bodies, although we are forever beings. We need to escape this destructive, evil-filled life for a glorious, evil-less future life. It’s the option I heard the essence of when growing up, and believe its truth today without any (perceived) human additions or tweaks. Now I realize that saying one has found truth (as I am suggesting here) is bold, and may seem incredibly arrogant. But is it?

I say that if one believes one has found such truth, it is comparable to finding a spring of pure, cold water in the middle of a hot, dusty desert. Not calling out “water” because you might offend those who might say, “Well, it’s a spring of cold water to you, but how can you say it is that for everyone?” seems ridiculous. Wouldn’t you risk calling out “water!” knowing how helpful it would be to a person dying of thirst. If they choose to ignore or refuse believing it really is water, at least you tried to tell them, right? When one has found such a spring, and it has nourished one’s soul without fail through all sorts of challenging circumstances, I would say to others, "Don't be so quick to doubt. What if there is a spring of fresh water?"

This is essentially what I’m trying to do with my story. I’m calling out “water!” It's why I feel compelled to write. I have one who loves me unconditionally, and never lets me go. I have incredible hope for forever. If you had this, wouldn’t you feel at least a measure of duty to try to share what you have found with others?

My Grandpa Revne said he dictated his stories from Africa “for my grandchildren and other young people." My story is for all who will consider and believe that they are trapped in a life that's temporal, and would like to trade it in for a life that's eternal and free from the current status quo we're stuck with. Jesus already paid the fee...thank Him, and ask for the credit to be applied to your life.

I look forward to hanging out with all who do - someday, on the other side.

Always,
Annie

This, my story... (part 3 of 4)

This is why I began to believe that I was trapped in my body. And I still do believe this, actually. It’s the only answer that really makes sense: I’m stuck in a body I wasn’t made for. It’s a body that is dying in a time-constrained world, and I was designed to live forever. I was purposed to live without an end point, but I ended up with a certain, destined endpoint: death. So what’s a trapped person to do? Well, even animals know the answer to that dilemma: find a way out!

It seems us humans are much more accepting, however. We do try to extend the life of our dying bodies, and for this we are due some credit, and have made some headway, perhaps. Physicians, nutritionists, chiropractors, exercise...all may help us live an extra month, year, or even a few years. But what if you want more than a few years? What if your spirit wants to live in an undying body? Then what are your options?

Christianity has had the answer all along, I think. Yet I don’t find the pure answer easily within modern Christianity. Modern Christianity and many other God-believing religions seem to stumble by tweaking (at a minimum) the truth. People or groups of people take a piece or many pieces of truth and add to, or subtract from it – sometimes blatantly, and sometimes ever so slightly - perhaps mostly without even realizing what they are doing.

Yet all degrees of alteration, regardless of intent, cause destruction. I've been in conversations with many people who have been turned off by humanly tweaked versions of the truth. I can’t say that I blame them for snubbing these versions, but it distresses me to think that they may miss redeeming truth, altogether.

But back to the story… So growing up, I listened carefully to the messages I heard in churches. I wanted to be free from my body's death sentence, and I was hearing a saving prescription being proclaimed. So I accepted the message and staked my life on it. Yet after many adult years, and much heartbreak, I became the fourth grade girl again seeking the actual truth. This time however, the issue was much more sophisticated than dancing in gym class, and much more devastating. This time, it was a broken marriage, with a whole new realm of unacceptability and deviation from the accepted norm. With pain that touched many, to match...

Now I am not going to talk specifics, here. There is no need to, really, even though that is often what people want to know: “Who’s the transgressor?” “Who cheated on whom, because certainly someone must have cheated…” At the end of those conversations, however, because believe me, I’ve been part of dozens of them, what are you really left with? Still pain…still hurting individuals and families. Still, a marriage, that for reasons most people don’t know or don’t understand, can’t continue.

(part 4 next...)