For Christmas, my dear friend gifted me with this watch. I love it, first, simply because I love watches, and second, because I am entirely preoccupied with living in the future, and this is a very tangible reminder to take up residence in the present. I was convicted of my future-orientation while reading The Screwtape Letters. In one chapter in particular, C. S. Lewis paints a very vivid picture of why we are called to dwell in the NOW.  Here is an except from a letter of the senior demon in the story, Screwtape, addressed to his apprentice, Wormword, on the topic of tempting humans with the future. It’s long, but so worth the read.

The humans live in time but out Enemy destines them to eternity. He therefore, I believe, wants them to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity. Of the present moment, and of it only, humans have an experience analogous to the experience which our Enemy has of reality as a whole; in it alone freedom and actuality are offered them. He would therefore have them continually concerned either with eternity (which means being concerned with Him) or with the Present–either meditating on their eternal union with, or separation from, Himself, or else obeying the present voice of conscience, bearing the present cross, receiving the present grace, giving thanks for the present pleasure. 

Our business is to get them away from the eternal, and from the Present. With this in view, we sometimes temps a human (say a widow or a scholar) to live in the Past. But this is of limited value, for they have some real knowledge of the past and it has a determinate nature and, to that extent, resembles eternity. It is far better to make them live in the Future. Biological necessity makes all their passions point in that direction already, so that thought about the Future inflames hope and fear. Also, it is unknown to them, so that in making them think about it we make them think of unrealities. In a word, the Future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity. It is the most completely temporal part of time–for the Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays. [...] Hence nearly all vices are rooted in the future. Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present; fear avarice, lust, and ambition look ahead. Do no think lust an exception. When the present pleasure arrives, the sin (which alone interests us) is already over. The pleasure is just the part of the process which we regret and would exclude if we could do so without losing the sin; it is the part contributed by the Enemy, and therefore experienced in a Present. The sin, which is our contribution, looked forward. 

To be sure, the Enemy wants men to think of the Future too–just so much as is necessary for now planning the acts of justice or charity which will probably be their duty tomorrow. The duty of planning the morrow’s work is today’s duty; though its material is borrowed from the future, the duty, like all duties, is in the Present. This is now straw splitting. He does not want ment to give the Future their hearts, to place their treasures in it. We do. His ideal is a man who, having worked all day for the good of posterity (if that is his vocation), washes his mind of the whole subject, commits the issus to Heaven, and returns at once to the patience or gratitude demanded by the moment that is passing over him. But we want a man hag-ridden by the Future–haunted by visions of an imminent heaven or hell upon earth–ready to break the Enemy’s commands in the present if by doing so we make him think he can attain the one or avert the other–dependent for his faith on the success or failure of schemes whose end he will not live to see. We want a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow’s end, never honest, never kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the future every real gift which is offered them in the Present. 

It follows then, in general, and other things being equal, that it is better for your patient to be filled with anxiety or hope (it doesn’t matter which) about this war than for him to be living in the present. But the phrase ‘living in the present’ is ambiguous. It may describe a process which is really just as much concerned with the Future as anxiety itself. You man may be untroubled about the Future, not because he is concerned with the Present, but because he has persuaded himself that the Future is going to be agreeable. As long as that is the real cause of his tranquility, his tranquility will do us good, because it is only piling up more disappointment, and therefore more impatience, for him when his false hopes are dashed. If, on the other hand, he is aware that horrors may be in store for him and is praying for the virtues, wherewith to meet them, and meanwhile concerning himself with the Present because there, and there alone, all duty, all grace, all knowledge, and all pleasure dwell, his state is very undesirable and should be attacked at once. 

What I love here is that Screwtape reveals the absolute insanity of future-orientation–that we have hope and anxiety over the conflicting realities we paint for ourselves and allow to rule us. We are awash with worry and fear, and then alight with joy over the possibility of events or circumstances that are only just that…possibilities. The present is almost seen as a nuisance. I tend to want to sweep it aside, like crumbs in the way of a clean floor. The present feels toilsome, mandane and irritating, while the future is sparkling with promise or looming like a dark cloud, depending on my mood. Do you see how trapped we are by living for the ‘morrow?? I’m only just starting to grasp it.

TODAY is the day that the Lord made. Rejoice and be glad in it. Take in this moment, and rest in his grace, praise him for the blessing, or ask him for patience to endure. Your life is now, so have no worries about tomorrow or what lies ahead. Live in the present.

Hello, January. Hello, new year. You feel like a fresh slate. And yet, you are just another day. Just another moment in the present, arriving at sixty minutes an hour. This newness mixed with this not-at-all-new feels a bit like a dichotomy to me. I’m caught up in the hope that this year will bring change in my circumstances, change in my perspective, change in me. Yet, I’m sober in the reality that the change I’m longing for is mostly selfish, self-empowered, and self-focused.

Every year, for just about as long as I can remember, I’ve made New Year’s resolutions. I’ve even blogged about them here from time to time. These high and lofty goals have been the driving force behind many an accomplishment–from running a marathon, to “making it” as a business owner, and from taking a month off each summer, to being more intentional in my daily devotional time. Nothing wrong with goals, and meeting them certainly brings some fulfillment and pleasure. Yet, if your motivation is not in the right place, there is something sinister in being a goal-oriented and goal-driven person.

This realization became crystal clear to me earlier this year. I was pursuing graduate classes at the University of Minnesota, and had gone so far as to register for a course in typography. In August, a dear friend died, my project calendar for the fall exploded, and I came to my senses. The class would have been too much. So I dropped it. A month or so later, I was talking with a friend, and I mentioned how much I wanted to go to grad school. She asked me why. I told her all the right answers… I love school. I love learning. I love academia. I want to challenge myself as a designer. I want to keep pushing myself to become better. She wasn’t satisfied. She dug deeper, trying to get at the root of WHY I wanted these things. To make a long conversation short, let’s just say that her probing made realize a few very deadly motivations behind my goal-orientedness.

Here it is in a nutshell. I like to set goals because when I reach them by sheer force of will, wit, determination, and discipline, I can sit on the top of my little mountain, knowing that I got there ON MY OWN. I did it! I accomplished it! And the pleasure I take in that victory fuels my desire to be independent. It makes me think, “See, I don’t need anyone else. I can do whatever I set my mind to.” Pushing a little further, and I quickly came to see that what I really am saying in my heart is, “See, I don’t need to be dependent on you, God. I can make it in this life. I don’t need you to rescue me. I’m strong and fit and capable. I accomplished this goal. And I can do anything.” And that, my friends, is the very, very dark and sinful root of my particular brand of goal-chasing.

See, we are all running from God in some way. Some are doing it in outright rebellious ways. Others are doing it by following all the rules, letting their pride and self-righteousness fester. I do it when I refuse to recognize my desperate need for a savior. I think, “I know I’m a sinner. I know I need rescuing. But I also know I can clean up my life pretty good on my own. Let me just set a few goals here, and I’ll be all set…” If all that God wanted was us to clean up our lives, then why did he bother sending his son to die a horrible death in our place?

Okay. So all of this to say… this year, for the first time in a really long time, I didn’t make any resolutions or set any goals. I decided I wouldn’t a couple months ago. I thought only that I want to be smaller. Because, after all, to become great, we must become small. To be first, we must be last. The way up is down. He must increase, I must decrease. That is my prayer. Let it be yours, too.

Here is a blog post my pastor wrote yesterday. It carries a similar theme. Well worth the read. I hope to write more here soon. But somehow, lately, when I sit to write, I wonder if there is a point. So much of what I say and think is vain and empty. So much of what I’ve written here over the years is fluff. I want to go deeper, beyond the frivolous pursuits of this earth, to what really matters for eternity. More on this soon, I think.

Sitting down to write today, my gut instinct was to begin with an apology. Something along the lines of, “I’m sorry for my lack of writing, sorry for the radio silence, sorry for the non-substantial posts.” Then I stopped myself. I don’t need to apologize to an audience I don’t know for something I don’t owe. I feel guilty that I haven’t been writing much lately, but when I look at the reasons for my guilt, I uncover the reality that this guilt is a symptom of something sinister in my soul.

You see, I always feel guilty. For everything. I feel guilty for not spending time with people I care about. Guilty for not picking up the phone more often. Guilty for relaxing if my house isn’t cleaned up. Guilty for saying no to time with a friend, in favor of time with my husband. Guilty for working too much. Guilty for not working enough. Guilty for obsessing with fitness and food. Guilty for not working out and eating too much. Guilty for saying too much. Guilty for not saying enough.

My life is a constant see-saw of guilt, and the reason is that I am failing to believe this one simple truth: I am not a servant of man, but of Christ. (Galatians 1:10)

Caught up in a whirlwind of responsibilities and tasks and to-dos and social engagements, I have been serving the gods of perfection and performance and acceptance with people, neglecting to remember that I am as loved as I could ever be by my Heavenly Father. Jesus paid the price and did the work on the cross, so that no matter if my to-do list is totally checked off or sitting forgotten under a stack of bills, no matter if my house is clean or dirty, no matter if people love me or reject me, and no matter if my performance is perfect or lousy, I am an accepted and loved and cherished child of God.

When I take my eyes off the gospel, I am immediately putting them on myself. I am striving after vain pursuits, serving man, and resting in my own work. Only thing is, there can be no rest when I’m looking to myself for a sense of security. I could never do enough or work enough or be liked enough to earn my position as Christ’s servant. I didn’t join his army. He found me, working myself to death, and brought me into his Father’s home. Yet, not as a slave, but as a fellow heir!

All of this is to say… If you are weary and heavy laden, come to him. He can give you rest. Take HIS yoke upon you. For it is light and easy. (Matt 11:28-30)

The Father loves you. He accepts you because the Son did all the work that you could never do to earn the Father’s favor. REST in that. Rest in THAT.

And watch this, because it really sums all this up quite well:

I have one more short tale to tell from the month of July. I finally got inked. (If you can call three tiny dots on your wrist “ink”.) I didn’t plan on posting about my tattoo, because I got it for me. It’s a reminder for me alone, and I don’t much care if other people see it or know it exists. When asked what it means, I’ve struggled to put into words a coherent explanation. Then, last week, my pastor preached a sermon that sums it up perfectly. Here a bit from the intro:

If you’re a Christian this morning, your life’s story is being written by an author who is totally committed to your good. [...] That can be hard to believe. It’s difficult for anyone to believe, but it’s especially difficult for Americans to believe. We have a functional operating belief that our destinies are in our own hands, that we are sovereign individuals, choosing our life path, making a way for ourselves, making a destiny for ourselves. So that makes the whole idea that you are not the author, but simply the character in a story that is being told by someone else, nearly impossible to comprehend. And yet, the Bible is very clear that your Heavenly Father is the author of your story. The Psalmist puts it this way, “Lord, in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them” (Psalm 139:16). All my days are already down in the book when as yet there wasn’t one of them. So your life has limits. Limits set by your Heavenly Father. Your story has a beginning and it has an end that the author of life has set out for you.

From “Psalm 23: The Storyline of Your Life” by R W Glenn – LISTEN HERE!

The three dots are an ellipsis. The ellipsis is a reminder that my story is already written by my Heavenly Father, and right now, I live in the “dot dot dot”. I can’t see beyond this moment in the story, but I know that my days have been planned and penned into his book. Indeed, they were authored by him before I was born. When I am truly living and believing this, there is such a total peace that pervades my life. It means that nothing happens by accident, nothing slips through the fingers of my Heavenly Author. Furthermore, the trials that I face are a part of his story for my life. They are meant to bring me nearer to him, and nearer to the destination that he has in mind for me. Knowing that there is a course set for my feet to trod means that I don’t have to be anxious about where my life is going. I need merely to trust and know that all the confusing twists and turns are going somewhere GOOD. I think John Piper says it perfectly in this narrative:

I love that! I love it. I struggle to believe it. But when I live trusting that my Heavenly Father knows and has planned the course of my life, and has my good in mind, I am filled with hope beyond belief.

So, I got a tattoo, and this is just a little snippet of what it means to me.

August is…almost half over. And here I finally am. Not sure where to begin. Two weeks ago, I was getting into a new routine, mentally prepping for school this fall, and foolishly thinking the rest of the summer would breeze by in an easy, uncomplicated manner.

The first thing to upset my routine was a last-minute invitation to attend youth camp with our church. Cut to what became a highlight of my summer. Five days with some of my favorite kids and people on the planet. Late nights by the fire, under the stars. Early mornings by the lake with a bible, a pen and time to pray. Bare feet, girl talk, capture the flag, summer camp high. I returned home one week ago, deposited myself on the couch for a two hour nap, followed by a movie and a slow trudge to my bed. At 4 AM, my husband’s phone rang. I could hear my dad on the line, saying that a very dear friend of ours had just died.

This is the part of the story I don’t know how to tell. The hours and days that followed were filled with waves of shock and grief. Yet, there was hope, too. This friend knew the Lord, walked with the Lord, loved the gospel, preached the gospel, lived the gospel. He left a legacy for his children, pointing them to the cross every step of the way. His daughter is one of my best friends. Grieving the death of her father with her, and the rest of her family, was a experience I won’t soon forget. Seeing their peace and calm in the face of sorrow gave me such hope, knowing that whatever trials lay ahead, the Lord has and will prepare his children for them. His sovereignty in the details and timing of our lives, and deaths, is perfect. He is the author of a far greater and bigger story than we could ever imagine. So much more I could say, and perhaps will, in the weeks to come.

Today I’m finally home again, after what has been a very whirlwind summer. I’ve packed, drove, unpacked, and done laundry over and over and over and over again in the past month and a half. Six trips in about six weeks will wear a person out! I woke up in my bed this morning, unsure where I was. All I know is, I’m glad to be home. And I’m ready for a bit of quiet and a routine. I decided last week that I will not be taking the class at the U this fall. I felt stressed about it, mentally unprepared and like I wanted the extra time in my schedule to be present with my friend who just lost her dad. So, things will not go as planned. But do they ever, really? All I know is this… I never would have written the story of my life in the way that the Lord has, but I wouldn’t, for a second, want to change it. He is a far better author than I.

More to come, soon. Lord willing!