It’s fine!

“It’s fine.”

That phrase was added to our family lexicon this past year. It’s been used in various ways, from the casual, “How’s the soup?” (It’s fine) to “How’s the paper on Ancient Rome coming along? (It’s fine) to ending sibling squabbles with an emphatic, “It’s fine!”

Lately I’ve thought more about how often and easily I respond with, “It’s fine.” What do I mean when I say it and is it an accurate response? What I’ve discovered is my instinctual blurts of “It’s fine” are a subtle way to silence reality.

How?

Well, we all experience disappointment and frustration. Like when your cell phone slips into the crack between the car seat and center console. Or when faced with a more life-altering concern like a chronic health issue. At both extremes (and in between) I’m prone toward tamping-down my emotion and limiting conversation with a falsified, “It’s fine.”

But sometimes life is just plain awful, right? So an “it’s fine” dismissal is really a symptom of disconnection. A prideful distancing from my struggles. A clever avoidance while wanting control. To phrase it like my pastor, Mika Edmondson, I’m trapped in “the sin of stubborn self-reliance.”

Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this. It’s fine.

But it’s not.

When I trust only myself, I neither avoid struggle nor find happiness. Rather, my failed efforts to ignore or control breed cynicism, bitterness, and ingratitude. And that’s definitely not fine.

So what’s the medicine for stubborn self-reliance? Yes, trusting God. But more specifically, fully embracing God’s character. Again, from my pastor: “Some believe God is merciful, but not rich in mercy.” (Eph 2:4-5) Oh, that’s me! I know a lot about God, but do I live like I really believe it? Do I completely accept and embody the fullness of who He is? Not when my obstinate heart wrestles for independence. Or when I worry and fret and over-plan my life. Not when my happiness is contingent on circumstance. I can be a headstrong, self-reliant person. How about you?

Fortunately, we are not alone. We don’t need to manipulate, speculate, or fake our way through life. God is here. He sees and knows and cares. He faithfully brings situations that expose our helplessness and need for His rescue. God reigns over our joy and sorrow. He is trustworthy and wants to be trusted.

Together, let’s strive this day to submit to God’s good authority over us. When we do, we can respond with an honest, God-reliant declaration of, “It’s fine!”

What’s the Point?

The molecular composition of sodium bicarbonate. How to factor a quadratic equation. What the acronym TVA represents.

Random bits of high school learning still seared into memory, seemingly useless other than for an occasional Jeopardy question. With all the work that went into learning and memorizing, I wonder: What was it for? Having five children, many times have I answered the question: “Why do I need to learn this?”

Insert your favorite parental response here. I’ve delivered my philosophy of learning many times. Even so, I understand and empathize with their questioning as I, too, am a frequent asker of “why?”

Why?

Because I tend to be pragmatic. An advocate for efficiency and utility. I like my present activities to yield long-term dividends. To have purpose. And while those desires may be a helpful at times, left unchecked my pragmatism can morph into skepticism. My “why” questions no longer sourced from curiosity, but cynicism. In pride, I doubt the value of my circumstance and stand-up to God with a litany of “why’s”: Why did that happen? Why won’t this end? Why now? Why not? Why me?

Does God invite my questions? Sure. But my disposition in bringing them defines, in part, the quality of our relationship. Am I looking to dialogue or deliver a diatribe? Do I really want answers or for God to feel my angst?

In her book, Humble Roots, Hannah Anderson suggests: “When we believe that we are responsible for our own existence, when we trust our ability to care for ourselves, we will have nothing but stress because we are not equal to the task.” (p.28)

Yep. Many of our “why’s” are a prideful pull for control. A foolish belief that we can chart our course, avoiding impractical, painful, or otherwise undesirable circumstances. But who can sift the experiences of life, ranking and evaluating their character-building value?

Every conversation, emotion, observation, interaction, thought, and activity shapes our story. What may seem impractical in the moment (like learning to factor a quadratic equation) may instead be a touch-point of grace. Unexpected loss a gateway to joy. Disappointment a detour into opportunity.

We are works in progress — good works! (Philippians 1:6) And while today may bring confusion, uncertainty, and a handful of “why’s” we can step forward knowing that God has a purpose in everything. With confident humility we should remember the past, engage in the present, and hope for what’s next!

Be

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Just ‘be.’

I’ve heard that suggestion many times, particularly when I’m tangled in too much ‘doing.’ Yet beyond knowing that I’m a human ‘being’ and can ‘be’ in a place, what does it mean to ‘be’ (or not)?

I doubt that ‘being’ is dispassionate bobbing on the swells of circumstance. In a word, chillin’. Neither is it a numbed state of empty contemplation. Grammatically, the state of being is active. Participatory. Alive!

So as I ponder a ‘being’ state, I envision an intra-personal dialogue. A thoughtful exchange in the space of my soul. No, this is not me hearing voices, but carefully talking myself through the whole of who I am. A courageous exploration of my place — past, present, and future.

To sit with oneself — to be — is to acknowledge and feel. To laugh and grieve and hope. To face and embrace what’s true while rejecting what’s not. In our ‘being’ we release our pain and reject its grip. We sift our failures for seeds of wisdom to plant in our garden of grace.

When we take time from our knowing and doing to ‘be’ we submit our spirit to the Spirit of God. We make room to experience the Holy as we listen for the still, small voice.

The voice of being.

This Season

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Spring is here officially, if not experientially. With our clocks moved forward, daylight is lengthening as our gaze turns toward budding trees and sprouting bulbs. The seasons cycle through the gathering of autumn, quiet of winter, renewal of spring, and the growth of summer. Leaves from buds, fruit from seeds, life from death.

Similarly, our lives are roundabout journeys through the spectrum of human experience. There are seasons to our circumstance. And in each moment, there’s a God who is there. Someone who sees and enters into our tragedy, triumph, panic, and joy. A Savior who offers His kindness — who knows who we really are, yet is glad to be with us. (Zeph. 3:17)

This day we can settle into our season, trusting God in our circumstance. We can safely dwell in the present, for we are not alone. (Deut. 31:8)

Interlude

Stretched and weathered,
this soul-spire’s shoots
have budded and grown into
bark-armored pathways;
resilient, persistent, obedient
in their nourishing, seasonal fruit.

Come and eat —
celebrate this feast of providence!
Let juice drip from nose and chin,
our consumption heralding
a joyful conclusion.

For this end is a beginning;
a requisite closing that yields to
fresh expressions of wonder
as wild circumstance carries
hope’s seed into
the void of longing.

This is a sacred, fertile interlude —
a season to dwell.

“For everything there is a season… a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;” (Ecclesiastes 3:1–2, ESV)

What an Entry!

large_the-problem-of-palm-sundayWhen it comes to early April in Michigan, today is a perfect springtime Saturday. Sixty degrees with clear skies is a gift to be relished. Such days beckon many to scour garages and sheds seeking gloves, rakes, yard bags, and pruning shears.

As buds and bulbs re-activate, tomorrow begins a week of death. A time of remembering when Hope was pierced by thorns, hung with iron, and sealed with stone. But before we thumb to week’s end, let’s dwell in chapter one. Let’s celebrate a King in royal procession on branches of palm.

In preparation for Palm Sunday, I return to an excerpt from my March 26, 2015 post titled “Colt Rider.”

—————

[It was] the arrival of a King, marked indelibly on history’s pages with hoof-crushed palm fronds. Wobbling with the jagged tempo of his bare-backed donkey, fanatic accolades bombarded Him: “Hosanna! Messiah! Deliver us! Lead us into freedom’s peace! Usher in your prosperous reign!”

Immersed in His passion, the Rider acknowledged their good and right desire, well aware that days later these same mouths would erupt with rage-filled screams of “Crucify!”

Like them, we can be fickle rebels. Hapless self-seekers, unsatisfied in our quest to satiate our longings. Toiling in a barren sin-winter we are worn, feeble, sick, and lame. We long for the rejuvenation of springtime. A fresh breath for our soul.

Mark Buchanan writes, “Springtime brings the consolation of hope.” (Spiritual Rhythm, p.84) A hope not for new blooms and warm breezes, but the surety of an ever-fresh springtime of heart. A glorious hope embodied by the colt-riding man from Nazareth. The Lord of spring, King Jesus.

And they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it, and he sat on it. And many spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut from the fields. And those who went before and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!”
Mark 11:7–10, ESV