Remember the Future

Faith & Patience: Thoughts on James 5:7-12

Remember the future. Keep it in mind. Let it bear weight on all my actions and interactions. This world is temporal. I’m constantly striving and grasping to squeeze every last bit out of this here and now. I run constantly for here to there to fill my time and thoughts with as much as possible without physically exhausting myself, and usually don’t succeed.

Remember the future. I am enamored with the present. I’m consumed with it and with the next step. This culture perpetuates it with its constant bombardment of stuff I need to buy, things I need to fix about myself, the endless possibilities that really only serve to create discontentment in my present circumstances, this ceaseless fixation on war and controversy and blaming and hating.

We live in a time that says grab, move, change, strive covet, compare, consume, retaliate, destroy. This is it. You’d better work your tail off to get it now or you will miss it, regret it. You have to fight for your rights because meekness doesn’t inherit the earth.

But Jesus is coming again.

Our hope then, should be grounded in the future, not the now. Christ is our goal, our aim, our home, our hope, our rest. Christ is our breath, our light, our peace, our eternal glory.

And my life should flow with gratitude out of Him.

Gratitude. Every time I get discontent with my current lot in life that is what I am missing. I forget the bigger picture. I stop holding on to the hope of the future. The best is yet to come. This world with its strife and war and bickering will fall away.

God’s plan of redemption steadily grows brighter in our current darkness.

James tells us to strengthen our hearts. Strength through patience. I have a hard time reconciling those two qualities together. Everyone who knows me well knows that patience definitely doesn’t rank as one of my strengths.

Strength through patience means people: the height of my daily angst and struggles. Stop grumbling. Stop complaining. Stop avoiding. Stop going around people. Stop festering in impatience at quirks and personality differences and inconveniences. Remember the future. Remember what Christ has done for me, in me. A wise make overlooks offence. A soft answer turns away wrath.

Each of us is made in the image of God. Each. One. None is ordinary. None, a mere mortal, easily dismissed and diminished. Love your neighbor as yourself. See the beauty in another soul. Stop the current of busyness and search it out. Look up from the phone. Put it away and smile and say hello and mean it.

Establish my heart, for the coming of the Lord is at hand. Steadfastness. Endurance. An indication of inevitable suffering. And I will waver. I can’t pretend I will stay strong in the resolve of faith I feel now. But even in my imperfect steadfastness God is gracious, patient, and ever constant. His mercies are new every morning.

My faithfulness doesn’t determine God’s faithfulness to me. Christ’s faithfulness on the cross determines God’s faithfulness to me.

Gratitude fills with joy overflowing with freedom. Freedom from terror at current events, from fear of sideways looks of judgement, from anxiety of the unknown of tomorrow. Gratitude at the sunrise, the open sky, the changing seasons. Joy at the peculiarities of another immortal soul made in the image of my Creator. Another hint of the divine stamp of artistry.

God has not left us here to toil and worry and fail to flourish. He is with us like the timely rains and the cool relief of dropping temperatures. Give what I think is missing in the world. Give mercy and grace and love and forgiveness and a kind word. Give what has freely been given to me, while still a broken sinner.

Remember the future. My hope is in Christ – him crucified, then glorified, and coming again.


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at


We Become What We Behold

Faith and Flesh Thoughts on James 4:13-5:6

What am I investing my time, talents, and money in? Out of that, how do I plan for my life? Wealth is a poor investment of a life. Invest in things with eternal significance. Those are all from my notes this week. I stare at them, waiting for them to come to life and take on something profound.

My mind turns to a dear friend of my father’s that passed away unexpectedly this week after visiting my parents  just three weeks ago. No one is guaranteed tomorrow.

Again, this is the hard part. The empty white screen stretches on and on. There are no cohesive thoughts in my head about what I want to say. Maybe I don’t want to write it because I don’t know what to say. Maybe because it’s not tied up in a little bow in a little box in my brain. And the worst part is that I know it won’t ever be – no matter how much I process it in my head and try to get it all to make sense.

God is sovereign.

He is over all things. I repeat that mantra in my head. I keep repeating it until it takes over and then I question what the point is. What’s the point of prayer? I can’t bring to mind the times where it has “worked”. But then again I can’t bring to mind the last time I really got down on my knees and prayed without distraction either. It’s easy to forget the benefits of the things that require something hard of me.

I’m waiting for the peace that passes all understanding to descend like a tsunami on my overactive mind and for the way forward to materialize out of the maze of arrows ahead of me. I want to write down an eloquent narrative and exegesis of how Sunday’s message radically revolutionized my thought patterns with clarity and insight. Instead, this jumbled stream of consciousness recklessly falls through my twitchy eyes and fingers onto the screen.

My life is nothing how I planned it. Yet, when I really stop and examine, all of the blessings and my striving and missteps and rebellion and failed attempts at holiness has perfectly led me here. Or rather, the omniscient Creator has perfectly led me here – every nick and flaw in my character perfectly ordained for this time to teach me this thing.

We become what we behold.

The fresh loss of a one of my father’s dear friend unsettles me. The yawning cancer treatment looming before other friends and co-workers rattles my flippancy and nonchalance.

I’ve asked the empty air and the silent night what I should do next with my life a thousand times. Maybe it’s time to carve the margin into my life to simply sit and behold my Creator and sustainer and author of my faith. Maybe consistent and intentional study of the Word will inspire a new question with less selfish gain.

I am here. I am here now. If I should be there instead, he will take me there. He has a history of working things out for my ultimate good and His eternal glory. Today will be no different. I just might not see the end result.

But what about (fill in the variable)?

Pray, seek wise counsel, and immerse myself in the Truth.

Sometimes the supplication is the only thing that readies me for the answer. Submit. In humility. I am not God. I do not know best. My presumptions are just that. Guesses at best. Hesitant and cautious tiptoes. Rash headlong dives.

But God…

It’s not about me in the end anyway. God, in grace. God, in his glory. God, in justice. God, in wisdom. God, in love. God, in faithfulness.


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at

Quietness of the Soul

Words. Such an incredibly mighty force. Even that description doesn’t do them justice. They hold such power and influence and control. They are weighty and monumental. They pass down our memories and learning and inspire us to new discoveries. They teach truth and spread lies, divide and reconcile, edify and destroy. Words can turn a man, a city, a nation. They can shape a future, change the world.

And Scripture reminds us over and over that they reveal our heart and our true nature. “… for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45 ESV) What comes out matters intensely. “From the fruit of his mouth a man eats what is good, but the desire of the treacherous is for violence.” (Prov. 13:2 ESV) How it comes out matters just as much. . “Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.” (Prov. 12:18 NIV)

God spoke all of creation, except for Man, into existence. With words. Only words. The sheer incomprehensibleness of this!

This week, I had the unique and humbling opportunity to perform training for fifty custodians – fifty people who do a thankless job that most of us hate to do in our own homes, during hours that no one sees nor notices.  I covered a lot of necessary information with words. I expounded and explained. I described and likened.

With each word, I showed them that I cared about their safety, about their ability to do their job correctly. Then I spoke of leadership and hope I inspired and motivated. Then I stopped. I looked around the room.

And then I told them they were valued. I told them they were important. Each one. And I meant it.

At that moment, I saw a tiny, broken mosaic of God’s image. And the beauty stunned me. It flooded over me and started I started to ramble. I wanted them to see what I saw. I wanted them to sit up taller and square their shoulders knowing that they make a difference, daily. Believing it. Living it. And I felt the change in the room.

And then I listened to them and tried to answer all of their questions with patience and respect. And by holding my words back to listen to theirs I showed them even more honestly that I cared.

How often do we mistake God’s silence at our rants for negligence when, in reality, he may be giving us a chance to speak?

When I checked my mail tonight after work I found a poignant handwritten letter from a dear, sweet friend who lives far away from me.

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And her words drew me in and enfolded me in an embrace in the deepest places. They were a balm to wounds I hadn’t even realized were still open. They pointed straight to Christ and his sacrificial love. They painted an astounding portrait of the sacred shelter of our Father’s wings and the Holy Spirit’s unceasing intercession on our behalf.

I cannot tame my tongue completely. And I know that I will fail. But just as I stood and told that room of bodies, created in the image of God, that they were valuable, my beloved friend reminded me of the same thing. She wrote,

“You are valuable because He declares you to be valuable and His opinion is the only one that will ever matter.”

“We can breathe that truth in and out and fall back on our Father’s hands in gratitude that we are not alone in trying to make that truth sink in. In our desperate attempts to cling to truth he is with us and when it just doesn’t click he is there, too. And we can be encouraged that we don’t have to knuckle down and force this truth to click but [know] that he is with us and helping us to believe, day by day, minute by minute.”

This this week I join her in her prayer and echo her beautiful, heartening words to ask it for us all: “May we fight the good fight for quietness of the soul and rest in our redeemer.”


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at

To Do Good Works

Some things from my past chased me down this weekend. And I let them in. I bid them permission to have a good romp over my heart and self-esteem and perspective. I let them temporarily drown me in doubt and questions and shame and fear.

The last thing on my mind is concentrating on James 2:14-16 and the interconnectedness and interdependence of faith and works. It would be much easier to wallow in old wounds and wail.

But faith and works. It’s still all connected – even to my trials and failures. In all things, I need faith in God and his unwavering goodness – whether I fully understand that goodness or not. And out of that flows works. Works don’t just require me to do a good deed. Faith doesn’t just mean that trite recitation of an internet quote on courage or a Bible verse cross stitched onto a pillow.

Faith means simply holding on to what God promised. Works means simply stepping forward. One footstep. It means shouldering that heaviness and looking upward when I don’t think I can. Faith means I stop my running and turn to look at what is haunting me and seek God’s truth in it. Works mean I grab on to that truth, breathe it in, breathe it out, and let it propel me onward.

Faith and works.

So many times I strip it down to exclusively random acts of kindness and channeling Mother Theresa’s philanthropy. But sometimes, like Abraham, faith and works translate into walking up a mountain to sacrifice the one thing I hold dearest, because Christ has sacrificed everything on my behalf. Sometimes, like Rahab, they manifest as giving the sworn enemy shelter and help, because I was once an enemy of the cross and Christ saved me from the destruction I deserved anyway.

And sometimes, they reveal themselves purely, yet painfully, as forgiving the one person who has hurt me most.


Because I have been forgiven of everything.

So, I say words with my mouth. But can that faith save me? Can that kind of forgiveness heal and free? I flippantly profess many things. I align myself superficially to many worthy causes. Ah, but even the least committed can do that. I say I believe. Even the demons believe that there is one God!

So, I say them again and this time I close my eyes and hands and heart around His truth as I say them. I think on his grace and blessings and count them.

And I keep counting.

His love does not end. His mercies are new every morning. Again. Each breath – a gift. Each interaction – a divine opportunity to see another facet of my Creator. Each failure – another evidence of the beauty of grace.

And still I count on. And I love.

True faith is based on Christ. True faith transforms. True faith spills out into perpetual action.

True faith blossoms into fruit that the world can eat and know the goodness and mercy and glory of God. Because we have been loved first.

A gift, so that I cannot boast. But neither can I hold it in.

“For it is by grace you have been saved through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Eph. 2:8-10 NIV)


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at

Playing Favorites

Judging and categorizing people instantly? Guilty.

I like to blame it, at least partially, on my personality. I feel compelled to analyze absolutely everything and if I can put someone in a category then I feel like I know how to act around and towards them. If you put me in a group of people that I don’t know, I will stay almost completely silent until it becomes necessary for me to speak or until I have everyone else figured out. Now, whether my assumptions are actually correct or not, is irrelevant. I simply require some frame of reference before I will allow myself to engage someone else.

Call it introverted. Call it analytical. Call it judgmental. Call it whatever you want. But as I listened to the message this week I began to re-evaluate my intentions in doing this. Time after time, I react to someone based on my first impression of them and their external appearance. I receive them based on their face, their manner, their demeanor, their mood – whatever they project towards me.

And my intention behind this mental assessment isn’t to understand them so I can show the love of Christ to them right where they stand. I do it to make sure that I don’t reveal too much of my true self, to protect myself from vulnerability, from rejection.

I go through life seeking me. Me, me, me! What can I get out of this experience? What will I learn? How will this benefit me? What can this person offer me? How will this relationship enrich me and my life? And in doing so, I not only miss the point, but I also distort the Gospel.

Genuine faith in Christ does not show favoritism because that is not the heart of God.

God created us to worship him and enjoy him forever. He is. He was. He will always be. He embodies and defines every attribute to the fullest extent. One does not overshadow another. Perfect unity. God is unity. Impartiality.

As soon as I say that I feel like I’m falling into some New Age, hippy dippy, self-actualization, uber-tolerant heresy. But God IS unity. In him, in the trinity, exists perfect community – authority, submission, action, humility. And without my understanding of that how can I hope to not show partiality? To not judge someone based on what they can do for me? To not receive them based on their face?

Genuine faith in Christ does not show favoritism because that is not the heart of God.

And God created us in his image, wonderfully.

So, I will continue to praise God. I will praise him not for what he can do for me, but because he IS. And he is worthy of praise. And in that I rest. Out of that I shape my intentions towards others. “…don’t show favoritism,” (James 2:1 NIV) It’s more than an imperative command. It is who God is. It is the basis for his equal compassion for all of us.

“So speak and act as those who are to be judged under the law of liberty…” (James 2:12 ESV) This law does not condemn me to leave me with no hope in my certain and continued failures on this count. This law points me to the Gospel. It points me to grace. Christ is impartial when I am not. It drives me to community. It humbles me in my need for connection.

It reminds me of Christ’s perfection and mercy and impartiality. It frees me to love without condition or expectation, in spite of, in light of the faces before me.


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at

Because Jesus

This post is one of those I Believe manifestos. Why am I a believer? Why Christianity? Why the Bible? Why a black and white, heaven and hell stance in a grey and wishy washy world?

Because, Jesus.

I’ll be the first to admit – I’m not a good person. You’d agree if you were inside my head for even five minutes. But I’d wager to say that we’d all have to admit that about ourselves sooner or later – if we were honest. Morality isn’t enough. I grew up in a strong Christian household. But it didn’t keep from running and it didn’t transform my heart. Did the prayer I said at age six cover over the belligerence and bitterness that drove me from church attendance at age twenty-four? I can’t entirely say. And what’s different now?

But, God.

I keep getting stuck on the first verses of this week’s passage. “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires. Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.” (James 1:19-21)

Pretty sure I’m the exact opposite – quick to judge without listening, quick to speak my mind, quick to become angry at everything. How much of my day I do spend in in a state of mild fury at the perceived impetuousness and insolence of others, or in response to the story I tell myself about someone’s reaction, or their refusal to concede in all ways to my plans and expectations?

And then I get angry at myself for not being better, doing better, listening more, speaking less, being less of a jerk, less selfish, and more considerate and gentle. Yet, that self-anger and flagellation does nothing to glorify Christ either.

Because, Jesus.

Faith: a mystery. Genuine faith. Emotion, action, purpose, intent, trust, inaction, fact, intuition, all rolled into one. It’s doing everything and nothing at the same time. It’s resolutely hanging on and unequivocally letting go, all at once. It’s giving up and gaining victory in the same moment. It convicts us and saves us, simultaneously.

Faith alone in Christ alone. He saves. I cling to that. And unspeakable gratitude for that simple act of the deity’s self-denial to death and beyond wells up within me and overflows my heart, my mouth. I know the depths from which he rescued me. I know what I don’t deserve.

We’re all the same, you and me. Your sin does not outweigh my own. Those things you hate in you match those I hate in me, ounce for ounce.

And they matter naught before the cross. That’s the Word planted deep within, the word that saves.     

Faith and works. Separate, yet indistinct.

And this candid faith in what Christ has done for me and in me and continues to do is what transforms me, pours me out from the inside, exposes my flaws, shouting; Look what he has done! It’s the reason that week after week I hold out my hands, putting my innermost thoughts on the world-wide web, in hopes that both my failings and my gifts point to Christ.

Because, Jesus.

This honest faith in God’s just wrath towards sin does not let me rest in my feeble attempts at righteousness. It spurs me on. It tips me out. It cries, Do away with those things you will regret in light of Christ’s goodness! It compels me to act, to study, to learn, to grasp, to make my own, to strain, to labor, to reach. It frees me to show generosity and compassion and mercy where I simply cannot in my own strength.

Faith, shown by works. Because, Jesus.


Check out The End of Hypocrisy message series at

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Hello fellow dreamers!

Welcome to She Wonders – a place of musings and metaphors and hopefully, not too much alliteration! I’m a farm girl turned city dweller and I’d like to share with you my views on the human experience, faith, and travel. And bear with as I try my hand at navigating the blogosphere!