It Means Everything...

I met with a friend and coworker for dinner at Panera today.  We discussed the book we're currently going through-- Humility by C.J. Mahaney.  It's a butt-kicker book, for sure, but we're used to that.  This particular chapter focused on Christ's atoning work on the cross.  It seems that lately, God has wanted me to focus on that.  It's easy to take it for granted when you grow up in the church.  So I've been thinking about it quite a bit, and what came to my mind today was this:

Picture Christ: the sinless Son of God who left the glory of heaven to live on earth and experience trials and temptations, hunger, thirst, and fatigue. He knows the end of the road leads to a torturous death and complete separation from the Father as he takes on the sins of mankind and experiences the wrath of God to become our righteousness so that we might have the opportunity to repent and believe and have a relationship with God. And yet he is willing to experience all of this to reconcile us, the sinful, the profane, to God. Then he will rise again to conquer death and return to the Father, victorious.

Now picture this man walking towards his death.  He carries the crossbeam on the back that has been ripped to shreds already by whips in the hands of sinners.  Silently he walks to the place where he will atone for the sins of the mankind.  People on the left and right spit on him, mock him, insult him.  People on the left and right for whom he was about to die.  People on the left and right that he created.  People on the left and right like you and me.  And then he was crucified.  He endured not only the physical agony of the cross but the far greater agony of separation from the Father when he carried my sins, your sins, our sins, and the Father forsake him.  With a victory cry he said, "It is finished," and gave up his spirit; the Lamb of God was slain.

And what I find so unbelievable, so insulting, and so sad, is that people have the audacity to look at that and say in effect, "That didn't happen, that isn't important, that means nothing."

It means everything.  It changed everything. 

And I just wanted to leave you with that thought tonight.

Like a Gazelle Among Hyenas...

I was just walking normally, I promise I was.  I mean, that's how I walk-- I zoom past everyone else, bobbing and weaving through the crowd.  My shoes clack-clacked on the ground and I felt the wind on my face.  My hair flowed freeling behind me.  Like a gazelle among the hyenas, I glided through the hallway towards my destination.

"Go, Miss Hardt, Go!"  a particularly energetic student at the end of the hall squealed with laughter.  I was just walking normally-- I promise I was!  Apparently my normal walking speed is... just a little faster than most.  While I laughed with the student and reminded him that I'm a city girl, I remembered another incident that made me realize that my gait may be abnormal:

It was July.  In Florida.  It was hot and humid, and I was on my very first and one and only date; this was a date about which I wasn't even enthused.  Imagine my uneasiness.  Imagine the awkwardness.  It didn't help that I was nervous, I'm sure, but I was walking beside (let's call him Carlos) Carlos with a quick step.  I didn't realize it, of course, because I always walk that fast.  Suddenly, a hand descended upon my shoulder, slowing me and taking me by surprise.  Is he getting fresh?!  The outdated, only semi-serious thought barely flashed through my mind as I looked up at him in surprise.

"You walk really fast," he said.  I slowed, I laughed nervously.  Awkward. 

I'd like to say I learned my lesson, but how many times have I been walking through the mall with friends as they pant desperately, "Can you slow down?!"  Apparently I can't.  Apparently I walk through life at a breakneck speed, intent upon my destination and unwilling to waste any time getting there.  And I suppose that's how I live life, too.  My eye becomes fixed on the goal, and I waste no time reaching it.  That's not to say I can't stop and smell the roses, but for the most part, I glide.  College, Europe trip, job.  There was a time in my not-so-distant past when my next goal was marriage.  I didn't know how I'd reach that goal, but everything in me was focused in that direction.  That's no longer my goal.  I've already written about my new and improved goal. 

As I thought about my walking habits as a symbol of my life and my new goal, it brought to mind two verses in particular:

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race that is marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith..." 

So I walk fast.  Good.  It reminds me of the way I should be pursuing the Lord.  Walk with me?

P.S.: notice how legit this early 90s illustration is.

Illumination...

The twinkling lights blinked with thousands of holiday memories, the magic of the present, and the promises of Christmases to come. Though no snow fell, her spirits rose with the anticipation that can only come with the season. Shine, sparkle, glitter, and glow.

How is it possible that this season has so much magic? I'm not talking about Santa here. I never believed in the "man with the bag," even as a small child. I remember wanting to believe. I can distinctly recall lying in bed on Christmas Eve, under the afghan Grandma crocheted, straining my ears with the hope that maybe if I heard hooves on the roof, Santa would be real. But really, I knew. My biggest clue was the rustling downstairs once Dustin and I went to bed. Especially the year we got our art desks. Clunk. Clang. Crash. Clang.

But truly, there is a kind of magic at this time of year. Magically, people smile at each other. People participate in random acts of kindness. People spend time with family. People slow down enough to taste a snowflake on their tongue or drive past a street with beautiful lights. Lights illuminate everything. Things sparkle that never sparkled before. The eyes of children are alight with anticipation.

Though I never thought it would, the magic has waned a bit as I've gotten older. Even so, when I stare out the front door and watch the lumenaria flicker down our driveway and the other driveways of Midlothian; when I feel the stillness of the night and see the stained glass of St. Christopher beyond the trees; when I drink hot chocolate and listen to Nat King Cole as I study the ornaments I've known since birth, I can't help but feel the magic.

Could it be that everyone senses the magic that began it all? Could it be that even those who don't believe in Jesus Christ as their Savior intrinsically feel drawn to this holiday because they were created to worship Him? I feel that must be true. I feel that through the jumbly, thick layer of Santa and gifts, the real reason for this stillness, this peace and joy, this goodness at this time of year is because there must be a reverence for the night when Salvation was born.

The magic of that night was unparalleled. I imagine the shining, twinkling, glittering, glowing star that illuminated the night like the Baby would illuminate human hearts. I imagine the quiet humility into which the Christ child was born. Bleating sheep, lowing cows, scratchy hay, and an Infant's cry. Then I imagine with rapture a multitude of shining, glorious angels spreading across the sky, revealing the Messiah's birth to lowly shepherds, with their heavenly melodies ringing into the night. I imagine the tiny, cave-like stable being visited by these shepherds, kneeling before the King of Kings who would one day wear a crown of thorns for them... and us. Remarkable.

Maybe that is why the magic of Christmas remains. Every flickering light, every dazzling sparkle, every melody reminds me of what must have been the night of all nights.

Hi, My Name is Martha...

By now you probably know I've been reading John MacArthur's Twelve Extraordinary Women. Every chapter has revealed a gem, a beautifully human and divinely saved woman with a story all her own and a life that serves as an example to all women. As we passed through Eve, Rahab, Ruth, Mary... I knew who'd be coming. Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha, the always-named-together, Biblical sisters we all know and love. Interestingly, for as much as I've enjoyed this book, I have actually been dreading this chapter. With a look of disapproving incredulity, you might ask, "Why?!"

Fortunately, I will be taking the duration of this post to explain exactly why. It's because I'm a Martha.

From a young age I could clearly recognize myself in Martha-- particularly the incident where Martha is busy about the house and her sister Mary is sitting at Jesus' feet. I have always been, and I would wager that I always will be the girl who bustles about the house, straightening this, wiping that, baking here, sweeping there, all in preparation of guests. I'm a "get 'er done" kind of gal... busybusybusy about my business. And you know who has always annoyed me? Those "free-spirited" type of girls who flit about carelessly, not thinking of what needs to be done, or how could they help. I'd be washing dishes, the hot water curling my already curly hair, the cheese sticking stubbornly to the plate, throwing mental daggers at the girl who gets to sit and fellowship without care and without work. I'm a Martha. Marys chap my hide.

The thing is, I'd read the account of Mary and Martha and Jesus... and while I knew Mary had chosen the better option (sitting at Jesus' feet as he taught rather than busying about the kitchen) because Jesus clearly says so, I have always harbored this incorrect idea that really, Martha was right-- she was the servant! She was the one doing all the work! Her sister was lazily and thoughtlessly abandoning her duties! And I dreaded this chapter because I knew that once again, I'd be confronted with my Marthaness and be shown again that Mary had done the right thing.

And I was right. That's exactly what happened. But this time, I resolved to swallow my pride. Here's what the Word says: "Mary... sat at Jesus' feet and heard His word. But Martha was distracted with much serving..." That's where it began to sink in. Martha was distracted with much serving. Could it be that her servant hood, so good and right, had become a stumbling block? Could it be that all my busyness and activities that are so good and right can have become a stumbling block? I read on: "And Jesus answered and said to her, 'Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.'" Wait a minute, because I think Jesus actually said, "Amanda, Amanda, you are worried and troubled about many things..." I am so clearly a Martha, and Jesus could have very well said those exact words to me.

I am always worried and troubled about things being right, things getting done, things being clean, getting involved, doing my part, leading when I should lead, making things perfect, making my life perfect, making others' lives perfect... when really only ONE thing is needed. That narrows it down quite a bit. ONE thing is needed-- sitting at Jesus' feet and hearing His words.

That means that while my ministry is good and right, it is not that ONE needed thing. That means that while my job is good and right, it is not that ONE needed thing. All the good and right and important things I choose to fill my time are not that ONE needed thing. In the very act of serving the God I love, I have neglected hearing Him. God is not impressed by my busyness for Him. He does not love me more if I spend more time teaching children. The fact is, all of the wonderful ways in which I could serve Him could not ever even come close to what He has done for me. And what He asks is that I remember that and get my priorities in line. In the words of John MacArthur, "Mary's humble, obedient heart was a far greater gift to Christ than Martha's well-set table."

Ouch. This one hurt. I, the Martha, am wrong. My self-righteousness is wrong. My pride is wrong. And so though I don't know quite how I will do this yet, I am resolved to get these priorities in line. I spend time in the Word every morning. But is it really "sitting at Jesus' feet?" All of the other good things in which I'm involved need to come second to this ONE needed thing. And if that means something doesn't get done... oh well. *gasp* I will have chosen "that good part."