Memorizing Moments

Last week's vacation? It was a gift. A treasure.

And I want to memorize every single moment. 

I want to memorize my soul mate. My best friend. The one whom my soul loves. 

I want to memorize my Love in sandals and soccer jerseys, with a two-year-old tugging his hand. I want to memorize the way our little boy shines, beams, radiates adoration for his Pai. 

I want to memorize the boy with two cowlicks. My own Huckleberry Finn. All bare feet, sandy knees, and unruly joy. 

I want to memorize the way he throws himself into the waves with fearlessness and laughter. The way he plays hard, laughs long, loves deep - and reminds me that I should do the same. The way my heart beats, pounds, throbs with love for him.

I want to memorize my parents. Together. A love story over 30 years in the making.

I want to memorize the way they talk and laugh and care for each other. I want to memorize their commitment. Their vow. The way they promised forever and still mean it.

I want to memorize my parents with Asher.

I want to memorize the way my Dad stoops low to play with his grandson. The way his heart is young when he chases, spins, tickles. The way he gathers Asher into his arms to share a moment. A memory. 

I want to memorize the way my Mom delights in her grandson. The way she forsakes sleep to play one more game. The way her eyes crinkle when she laughs. I want to memorize the way she is always game for a light-hearted moment or a deep conversation.

I want to memorize my brother as an uncle. The way he understands just what a little boy needs - a fishing pole, a squirt gun, and his own little chair. The way Asher smiles shyly when Uncle Andy walks into the room. The way Asher begs for Uncle Andy to hold him like Simba.

I want to memorize the way my sister makes me laugh. From my toes. Like no one else. I want to memorize the way joy seems to follow her. Like a shadow. Never far behind. 

I want to memorize Lake Michigan at sunset. Sun kissing water. Golden hour. I want to memorize the way people gather on benches and blankets to say good night to the sun. 

I want to memorize fields of cherry trees. Branches bending with scarlet fruit. Boughs bearing the weight of rubies. 

I want to memorize the moments. The memories. The togetherness.

Because these moments? They are my gift. My treasure. Pearls strung together to make a life.

Reclaimed, Redeemed, Restored

He knew that she was going to be unfaithful.

He knew that she would leave his home, his arms, his bed to seek pleasure from other men.

He knew what they would call her. Adulteress. Harlot. Prostitute.  

He knew that she would bring him shame. Disgrace. Dishonor.

He knew that people would whisper, that he would become the butt of his neighbor's crude jokes. "There goes that cuckold," they would mutter under their breath. "The husband of an adulteress. He can't even keep his wife in his own bed."

     Yet? 

     He married her anyway. 

In Hosea 1:2, God tells Hosea, "Go, take to yourself an adulterous wife and children of unfaithfulness, because the land is guilty of the vilest adultery in departing from the Lord."

And Hosea? He obeys. 

He marries a woman named Gomer. Who bears him many children, though some have been fathered by other men. Who leaves Hosea's home to satisfy her lust. Who scorns her husband's kindness so that she might live selfishly. Sinfully.

In her sinfulness, Gomer breaks her vows, disgraces her husband, and shames her family. 

Gomer's life? It's a tragedy. But an even more tragic truth lies beneath the surface of the story.

     We are Gomer.

Remember Hosea 1:2? God commands Hosea to marry an unfaithful woman because He wants Israel - His chosen people - to acknowledge their own unfaithfulness. You see, the people of Israel have strayed from the Lord: "She [Israel] has not acknowledged that I was the one who gave her the grain, the new wine and oil, who lavished on her the silver and gold - which they used for Baal" (Hosea 2:8).

The people of Israel? They've lost sight of the fact that God is the Giver of blessings. In their selfishness, they have taken the provisions supplied by a generous God and used them to worship Baal, an idol. God's message to the Israelites is very clear: In departing from the Lord - in committing idolatry - you have been found guilty of the vilest adultery.   

     You and I? We do the same thing. 

     We chase after the gifts God gives rather than the God who gives the gifts. 

     We turn our backs on God to pursue the pleasures of the world.

     We depart from the Lord.
   
     And that makes us like Gomer. Guilty of the vilest adultery. 

It hurts, doesn't it? To be called an adulterer. To be labeled unfaithful. To be capable of such ugliness.

But friends, this is not where the story ends - for Gomer or for us. You see, we serve a God who reclaims, redeems, and restores.

After Gomer leaves Hosea to satisfy her lust, God commands Hosea, "Go, show your love to your wife again, though she is loved by another and is an adulteress. Love her as the Lord loves the Israelites, though they turn to other gods and love the sacred raisin cakes" (Hosea 3:1).

And Hosea? He obeys. Again. 

Hosea writes, "So I bought her for fifteen shekels of silver and about a homer and a lethek of barley" (Hosea 3:2). Did you catch that? He buys her. Hosea reclaims Gomer from her life as a slave or mistress. He redeems Gomer by removing her from her place of brokenness. He restores Gomer by bringing her back into his home and remaining faithful to his vows in spite of her infidelity.

You see, Hosea did more than simply humble himself by marrying Gomer. He humiliated himself. He knew she would be unfaithful, yet he chose to love her anyway.

Describing Hosea's relationship with Gomer, Philip Yancey writes, "What goes through a man's mind when his wife treats him as Gomer treated Hosea? He wanted to kill her, he wanted to forgive her. He wanted divorce, he wanted reconciliation. She shamed him, she melted him. Absurdly, against all odds, the irresistible power of love won out" (What's So Amazing About Grace? pg. 66).

Friends, that's good news for Gomer, but even better news for us. Because God - the Creator, the Sustainer, the Author, the Perfecter - loves us with the same irresistible love. 

You and I? We are Gomer. 

     Sinful.

     Unfaithful.

     Idolaters and adulterers.

     Breakers of God's heart.

And yet, in spite of our sinfulness, the Almighty God longs to be in a relationship with us.

Let that sink in for a moment.

The Almighty God, the Alpha and Omega, the Deliverer, the King of kings, the Lord of lords longs to be in a relationship with us. 

But ... why?

Friends, we have nothing to offer. We are sinful. We are broken. We repeatedly break God's heart.

     To put it simply, God does not need us.

And yet - God loves us. 

God knows us. He sees our hearts, our intentions, our words, our deeds. He sees the way we turn our backs to Him and yield to the tug of this world.

And yet - He refuses to leave us in our place of brokenness.  

Like Hosea, He steps into our darkest moments. He reclaims us as His sons and daughters, though our hearts are black and our heads hang low with shame. He redeems us from the darkness, the brokenness, the disgrace. He restores us with His abundant mercy, compassion, and grace.

Our God? He is like a lovesick husband, desperate to be reunited with his unfaithful wife. 

This love story? It puts all others to shame!

Because this is God stooping low. 

     This is heaven touching earth. 

          This is God humiliating Himself to love broken, ugly, sinful us. 

Giving to Gain

At the beginning of summer, I made a resolution. To read through the Gospels. To walk the dusty roads of Galilee and Jerusalem with Jesus.

To become a disciple. 

I finished the Gospel of Matthew last week, and my mind won't stop reeling. One parable in particular stopped me in my tracks. One verse. Two sentences. A beautiful depiction of giving to gain. And I'm convicted.

Speaking to his disciples, Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field" (Matthew 13:44).

Did you catch that? The kingdom of heaven is our treasure. 

It is rare. Valuable. A prize. Paul describes this treasure as "the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ" (2 Corinthians 4:6-7). So you and I?

     Our Treasure is more radiant than rubies, more splendid than silver, more costly than gold.

     Our Treasure cannot be tarnished, devalued, or stolen.

     Our Treasure is great-made-least, high-made-low, God-made-man.

     Our Treasure is Jesus Christ. 

And because our Treasure is priceless - because our Prize is the nail-pierced hands and the empty tomb - shouldn't we be willing to give everything for it? 

Think about it for a moment. The man in the parable is so full of joy when he discovers the treasure that he sells all.his.possessions. 

Selling all your possessions to purchase buried treasure? Sounds crazy. Risky. Foolish. But the man in the parable has seen the treasure. He knows that the prize buried in the field is more valuable than anything he owns. He's not taking a risk at all.

He knows that what he stands to gain is infinitely more valuable than what he stands to lose. 

So he forfeits everything. With joy.

That's when it hits me. The cost of being a disciple is more than simply following orders. Or saying a quick prayer. Or being a good person.

The cost of being a disciple is leaving everything to follow Jesus. 

The cost of being a disciple is giving to gain. 

And really, this shouldn't surprise me. After all, Jesus makes it clear that his disciples must forfeit their wealth to follow him: "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me" (Matthew 19:21). In other words, give away your earthly riches so that you might receive a heavenly reward. Try telling that to your wealth manager or retirement planner! Sounds crazy. Risky. Foolish. But just like the man in the parable, this sacrifice involves little risk. Jesus asks us to part with that which is momentary to pursue that which is eternal. What we stand to gain far outweighs what we stand to lose.

     To become a disciple, we must give our earthly possessions so that we might gain heavenly riches. 

Jesus takes the idea of giving to gain a step further when he says, "Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first" (Matthew 19:29-30). First Jesus wants his followers to part with their riches. Now he asks his disciples to say goodbye to home and family. Seems like a daunting request. Yet Jesus promises to reward those who make this sacrifice. And this reward? It's not a consolation prize. Those who forfeit their earthly homes and families will receive a hundred times more than they've lost. And they will be called first in the kingdom of heaven.

     To become a disciple, we must give our homes and families so that we might gain eternal life. 

In addition to giving possessions and family and home, Jesus informs his disciples that they must be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice if they wish to follow him. They must be willing to forfeit their lives: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it" (Matthew 16:24-25). I read the words, and I catch my breath. To save my life, I must lose it.

     To become a disciple, we must give our lives so that we might gain a new life in Christ. 

So Jesus expects his followers to forfeit their riches, their homes, their families, and their lives to follow him. It's a bit overwhelming, right?

But. One thought should bring us to our knees. One thought should make us lift our hands in praise. One thought should make us desire, crave, yearn to give.

Jesus Christ - our Treasure - is not asking us to sacrifice anything he has not already sacrificed. 

     Riches? Jesus gave up his heavenly crown to don a crown of thorns.

     Home? Jesus parted with the splendor of his heavenly home to walk the dusty streets of Galilee.

     Family? Jesus left his all-powerful, perfect Father to minister to the weak, the sick, the lonely.

     Life? Jesus - who was and is and is to come - endured death so that we might live.

And when you think about that - about what Jesus has already sacrificed - giving becomes a privilege. An opportunity. A joy.

Because we don't have to give up wealth and home and family and life to satisfy the demands of an oppressive God.

     No, we get to forsake that which is temporary to pursue that which is eternal. 

     We get to write a love story to our Savior. With our riches. Our homes. Our families. Our lives. 

     We get to give so that we might gain. 

Jim Elliot said, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."

We are not fools. We are disciples. And we take joy in giving to gain.

Love Notes

Twilight wraps its arms around my neighborhood, and in its embrace are stillness, moonlight, shadows.

And fireflies.

They begin their dance at dusk. When sun gives way to moon. When day and night collide. One by one, tiny flickers appear in the darkness. Robed in moonlight, their glow is sudden. Fleeting.

I marvel at their witching hour waltz, these winged beauties weaving on my lawn. Only moments ago, there was darkness. And now a star-studded galaxy rests like jewels on a twilight crown.

I am bewitched.

From the darkness I pluck a single summertime ember. Even in captivity it is resplendent. Earth-bound star in cupped hands. Moon beam confined to a Mason jar.

I can't hide my smile.

Because these fireflies? These six-legged stars? These little luminaries?

These are my gifts.

My pen writes thankfulness. For the fireflies. For the twilight. For the half-moon in her silvery gown.

     For the gifts lavished upon me by the Lover of my soul. 

I've been writing thankfulness for one month. Capturing God's goodness with pen and parchment.

     And the gifts? I have more than 300.

Really, it's enough to make a girl blush.

Because these 300 gifts - scrawled with gratitude in a lime-covered journal - are evidence. Of God's love for me. Of the way He longs to be my delight, my joy. Of the pleasure He takes in a personal relationship with His child.

     These gifts are love notes from my Maker. 
   

As I reread pages filled with gifts, my heart echoes with the words of James: "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17).

So the gifts I've been recording? They're from the Father of the heavenly lights.

     Which means the Father of the sun, moon, and stars has chosen to lavish gifts upon me. 

My heart races at the very thought.
  
And the Father of the heavenly lights - the Giver of good and perfect gifts - is unchanging.

Which means that the God who lavishes me with every good and perfect gift is the same God who ...

     gave Sarah the gift of a son in her old age

     gave Moses the gift of waters spread wide

     gave the Israelites the gift of manna in the desert

     gave humanity the ultimate gift - a gift of nails, thorny crown, and empty tomb

That journal, whose pages are lined with good and perfect gifts, is enough to make my heart burst.

Because I serve a God who does not change - 

     Who cradles the moon and cups the sun in His hand - 

     Who hangs the stars in the sky and blankets the cosmos in darkness. 

And that same God? Gives good and perfect gifts to me.

The psalmists write, "Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his love endures forever" (Psalm 107:1). So I write thanks. For good and perfect gifts from a good God whose love endures.

Visit Ann Voskamp's website to take the Joy Dare and write thanks to a God whose love endures.

Looking Glass Lives

I brought the kayak to a stop in the middle of the lake. A lake unruffled by wind. A lake stretching wide in uninterrupted silence. A lake of glass.

The kayak, a drop of orange buoyed by metallic waters, cradled me above the glassy surface.

Looking down, I could see a bed of seaweed. Unmoving. Suspended. Otherworldly.

Looking up, the afternoon sun shone brightly, its rays tattooing a golden hue upon my skin. Meanwhile, whipped cream clouds fastened themselves to a cerulean sky.

If the heavens declare the glory of God, then that day hollered. Bellowed. Roared with His glory. 

Really, this brazen beauty, this arrant artistry could make you breathe bliss. Sigh satisfaction. Whisper wonder.

But do you want to know the best part?

     The beauty of the sky was repeated upon the water's surface. 

     Golden sun and whipped cream clouds were painted on a canvas of glass. 

The lake - mirror, reflector, looking glass - captured the beauty of the heavens and imprinted it upon the earth.

     Isn't this exactly our job as followers of Christ? 

In Ephesians 5:1-2, Paul writes, "Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God."

Did you catch that? We are to be imitators. Reflectors. Mirrors.

     We are to capture the love of Christ and imprint it upon the earth. 

We are not here to make a good impression or amass followers. We are not here to garner fame or acquire wealth.

We are here to mirror. To reflect. To live looking glass lives.

     We are here to love. 

     With a giving love. A sacrificial love. A love that puts others first. 

     We are here to love like Christ.