Right

God gave me a strange gift when I was seventeen. At the time, I didn’t realize its value, and sometimes since then I’ve forgotten what I saw, but I’m brought back, sometimes painfully, sometimes with great amusement, to see again what I saw so clearly as a skinny high school senior.

I had planned, for years, where I was going to go to college. My grandmother didn’t like my plan, but from every other direction the endorsement was strong. Then, through what seemed like a clear word from God and some compelling circumstances, I found myself considering something very different.

The problem was, my first choice seemed like the best one. And when I started making lists of reason, weighing out the pros and cons, I found I could make the thing stack up either way. In fact, in talking to people around me, I found I could present either case so compellingly my listener would have to agree. Of course! But then, from the other side, of course!

Which is when God stepped in and gave me an interesting glimpse of my own tenacious mind, my own need to be right, and a simple, stunning truth: I could have all the reasons on my side, have it all lined up, be right on paper, right in logic, right in every way, and still be wrong.

One of my favorite poems at that point in my life was Invictus, the well-known poem by little-known poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903).. I had memorized it, and had printed it neatly inside one of my notebook covers. I was aware of its questionable theology ("I thank whatever gods there be"), but I liked the idea of standing up to the “bludgeonings of chance,” and I looked forward to somehow becoming “captain of my fate,” and “master of my soul.”

Choosing a college was my first chance to begin navigating my own course, but I remember sitting very quietly and considering what I knew of people who had marched forward as captains of their fate. My family was full of smart people, smart in all the measurable ways, logical, persuasive, able to explain the rightness of their choices. But many of their choices, while logically right, had been painfully wrong, for them and those around them. In fact, as I sat looking down the path of the future, it occurred to me that “being right” could be a destructive thing, a license to ignore other people and their needs, a justification for doing great harm, a path into great danger.

College applications on the table before me, I made a decision, a decision that has stayed steady for almost four decades now, despite occasional wavering and brief moments of amnesia. I decided I wanted to do what God called me to do, what He invited me to do, and to trust my decisions to Him, even if my own plans, ideas, opinions seemed better, more logical, more “right.”

I applied to just one college, the one I believe God called me to. And continue to thank God for the way He used that time in my life.

Does that mean God always tells us what choice to make? Not at all. Should we wait until He does? Not at all. Are we wrong for having our own ideas, our own plans, our own agendas? No. 

It’s how we hold our plans – lightly, or tenaciously. With stubborn, prideful confidence our plans are right, or with a sense of humble, listening prayer: this is the way I’m going, Lord, unless you show me a better way.

Praying today with family members considering an important decision, I was reminded of our family’s move to Virginia, thirty years ago. We had been living in West Philly, in a neighborhood I’d grown to love. We had a two year old and a baby on the way. I wasn’t thrilled to be moving south, (I was born in New York), but I’d decided that it would be okay on one condition: we needed to buy a single family house, with a decent yard, preferably fenced, and room for a vegetable garden.

My plan made sense. Except we were losing money on our hundred-year-old twin in West Philly, couldn’t afford anything anywhere near my husband’s new job, and he thought a townhouse in Reston, the planned community where he’d be working, would be a better choice.

I was sure I was right. So sure, I couldn’t even begin to see his point of view. Reston, on our first visit, was a hot, burned-over, weird, new place. The one townhouse I agreed to look at had tiny bedrooms, avocado and harvest gold bathroom fixtures, and bright orange, pink and green wallpaper throughout most of the first floor. No way.

He thought it was a great buy. I assembled compelling arguments against it. And then, in Truro Church the next day, John Howe, Truro’s rector at the time, preached a sermon about sin. I remember very clearly what he said: “Sin is wanting your way more than God’s.”

Of course. I knew that. I’d seen it. And I’d decided, years before: I wanted God’s way, not mine. And once I stopped arguing, it was totally clear: that small brick townhouse was God’s answer to our prayer.

I can’t think of a better place for a family of young children than that townhouse community where we spent fifteen years. In fact, when we outgrew our first townhouse, we scoured northern Virginia for something better and finally bought a larger townhouse just down the street. After that move, our kids were sure they lived in the best house in the best neighborhood in the best town in the best state in the best country in the world. God used those two homes for great good in our lives, and in the lives of others we came to know.

When I was a camp counselor one summer, a friend made me a small gift, a rock with Proverbs 16:9 painted on it: "The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." 

I’ve saved that rock as a reminder of God's earlier gift. A reminder that God's not counting on my wisdom; instead, if I listen, He'll give me his own. A reminder that it’s okay to plan, to make lists of pros and cons, to envision the future, to think about which way is best. But to hold that lightly. 

Because God is the one who knows the future, knows me, my kids, what’s best for us all. I want Him to be the one to direct my steps, and theirs, through the unseen dangers, the unexpected tests along the way.

The news has been full of people arguing about debt, spending cuts, national priorities. There are lots of reasons, lots of people sure they’re right. I confess I’ve done some arguing myself, and there are days when I’m not quite sure who’s right, but very sure about who’s wrong.

But being right isn’t the answer. Not in politics, not in personal decisions. Our only hope is in listening, carefully, to the One who is beyond our reasons, our logic, our pride in our own wisdom. If He directs our steps, we can't go wrong.

       The shepherds are senseless
           and do not inquire of the Lord;
       so they do not prosper
           and all their flock is scattered. 

       Listen! The report is coming—
           a great commotion from the land of the north!
       It will make the towns of Judah desolate,
           a haunt of jackals.

        Lord, I know that people’s lives are not their own;
           it is not for them to direct their steps. (Jeremiah 10)

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments. 

Words for the Year Ahead

In the postscript to his new book, The Radical Disciple, John Stott, now late in his eighties, says good-bye to his readers, reflects on the future of books and their influence in our lives, and says “let me urge you to keep reading, and encourage your relatives and friends to do the same. For this is a much neglected means of grace.”

I have certainly found books, and reading, an essential means of grace. For the past decade, most of my reading has been very purpose-driven, centered on youth culture, spiritual formation in the next generation, ministry leadership, mentoring of volunteers.

I’m excited to enter a new year with a new book list, focused more directly on one question: how do we live out Jesus’ words in John 14 and 15? What does it look like to be Jesus’ friends?

And what did Jesus mean when he said “Anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing? He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.”

There seems to be a deep divide down the heart of the modern church - shaped in large part by our response, or lack of response, to Jesus' words. On one side are those who have decided that we shouldn’t take what he said too seriously. When we pray for the sick, we pray for patience and fortitude, not for healing. When we arrange our lives, we set aside a circumspect amount of time and money for “the church” and spend the rest as we like.

We read the parts of the Bible that seem reasonable and easy, and skim past the rest. Words of comfort and encouragement are find, but the parts where Jesus' followers struggled with hearing, and living, the faith they were given? As one youth parent insisted, quite seriously, and indignantly: “No one should allow youth to read Romans!”

On the other side of the divide are those eager to hear, understand and live in a visible way the radical words of Christ, those hungry for something deeper, more real: unexplainable demonstrations of God at work in the world; radical disciples whose purposes reflect a heavenly kingdom; genuine communities of believers who share each other’s sorrows, eat, pray, love together, and welcome the broken, the homeless, the aliens, the lepers of our day.

Books won’t get us there, much as I love to read them. And yet, there are faithful writers who hold signposts that point the way. So here are some books I’ll be reading. I’d love to talk about them with anyone interested, and put them into practice with friends nearby.

Scripture by Heart: Devotional Practices for Memorizing God’s Word. Jashua Choonmin Kang (2010. I’ve noticed that one of the fastest avenues to change, in my own life, is through memorizing scripture. As I make God’s word a daily prayer, the Holy Spirit uses that word to transform me in ways I could never do myself. Kang’s book, featured in this month’s Christianity Today, sounds like a way to dig deeper into this avenue of transformation. Reviews say it's not well written (it's translated, a little awkwardly, from Korean), but winsome and compelling.

Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home. Richard Foster (1992). I read this years ago, and in looking for a book for this list on prayer, have been encouraged to pick it up and spend more time with it. At the same time, I’m looking for something that goes deeper into healing prayer, so may be adding Andrew Murray’s classic The Ministry of Intercessory Prayer, (reprinted in 2001) which Foster has described as one of the best books he ever read.

The Radical Disciple: Some Neglected Aspects of Our Calling, John R. W. Stott (2010).   

At 88, John Stott has written his last reflection on the Christian life, looking at aspects of what it means to follow Christ that the church prefers to ignore: nonconformity, Christlikeness, maturity, creation care, simplicity, balance, dependence, and death. It’s a slim book (just 137 pages) but full of the wisdom of a lifetime of faithful study and witness.

An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, Barbara Brown Taylor (2009). “The daily practice of incarnation – of being in the body with full confidence that God speaks the language of flesh – is to discover a pedagogy that is as old as the gospels. Why else did Jesus spend his last night on earth teaching his disciples to wash feet and share supper?” Brown Taylor is interested in the place where faith meets the minutiae of daily life: how we see ourselves in the mirror, how we experience pain, how we listen, or ignore, the mundane life happening all around us.

Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as A Christian Tradition.  Christine Pohl (1999). I’ve been noticing how much people are hungry for someone to extend hospitality, to build community – to take the first step. This can’t be a “program,” instead it’s a practice that needs to be recovered by all of us. According to my favorite book blog: “This book is one of the most important books of the last several decades, and has gotten the gracious practice of hospitality renewed attention.  Very, very good, and so important!  We've got other great books on this theme, some perhaps even more practical, but I think this is the very best.  A must-read.”

Jump Into a Life of Further and Higher.  Efrem Smith (2010). I’m reading Brown Taylor to help think about discipleship in my own (literal) backyard, Pohl to extend that into my community and church, and Smith, pastor and practitioner in urban settings, to help me think about reaching farther than the circumspect lines of my suburban community: “This is socially engaged spirituality, faith lived out in the pain of a needy world, eager to know God and jump into the fray to be used by God.” 

Surrender to Love: Discovering the Heart of Spiritual Direction (2003), The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self-Discovery (2004), Desiring God’s Will: Aligning our Hearts with the Heart of God (2005), and Sacred Friendship: The Gift of Spiritual Friendship and Direction (2004).  David Benner. The first three are short (just over 100 pages) introductions to aspects of spiritual direction. The forth is longer, and offers practical application of some of Brenner’s ideas in settings of friendship, small groups, and marriage. Since spiritual friendship, or “deep church,” is an idea I’ve been thinking about, I’m thankful for the introduction to Brenner, and looking forward to seeing where this leads.

I’m also thankful for other suggestions offered – and intend to dig into them along the way, commenting and recommending as I go. 

Heaven is Not My Home: Living in the Now of God's Creation. Paul Marshall (1999)

Living Like Jesus: Eleven Essentials for Growing a Genuine Faith. Ron Sider (1998)

Not the Religious Type, Confessions of a Turncoat Atheist. Dave Schmelzer (2008)

On Being a Theologian of the Cross. Gerhard O. Forde (1997)

The goal – always – is to hear clearly, to sconsider honestly, and to apply humbly the truth shared along the way.

God be in my head and in my understanding:

God be in my eyes and in my looking:

God be in my mouth and in my speaking:

God be in my heart and in my thinking . . .