A Wretch Like Me

Proud as a Peacock

Most people pride themselves on their strengths whether they be physical, mental or intellectual. We find things we excel at and we hone them: if we want to improve our physical strength, we go to the gym; if we went to improve our intellectual or mental strength, we might take a class or read a book.

Our culture seldom, if ever, takes pride in our weaknesses, in our shortcomings. We often spend just as much time and effort covering up our flaws as we do" peacocking" our prides. I am certainly guilty of this.

Repeat After Me: "I am weak."

He said to me,“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. ¹⁰ That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

This is one of my favorite verses for several reasons.

• First of all, this verse tells us implicitly to not only admit our weakness but to delight in them.  In The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning argues that it is not until we admit and accept our weaknesses that we can fully love Christ.  Think about it, if you were in a relationship with someone and were hiding some deep dark secret from them, you would always feel as if your partner did not love you fully because they did not know everything about you. With Christ, we don't have to worry about that because He knows everything about us and loves us anyways.

• Secondly, this verse tells us not only that we should be proud of our weaknesses, but that we can find strength in them when we give them to Christ. God takes our downfalls and uses them to bring glory to His name.  If we try to hide these weaknesses, we only hurt ourselves and prevent God from using them for His greater purposes.

I Delight in my Weaknesses

Throughout most of college, I did not attend church at all, except on holidays.  I didn't do this because I did not want to know Christ; I did this because I thought Christ did not want to get to know me.  In high school, I began and in college I continued to live a life that was nothing to be proud of, committing the same sins over and over again and feeling a certain amount of pleasure in them.  I missed classes, made excuses, showed up to work late, lost friends and made my parents cry and beg me to change many times. 

Once I came to Christ, I wanted to hide my less than perfect past and conceal the burdens and imperfections I still continue to harbor. However, the closer I become to Christ, the more I seem to want to boast my weaknesses and share them with others; the closer I become to Christ, the less ashamed I am of who I was or who I am. 

You see, God doesn't just use picture-perfect saints to carry out His mission, he can use a sinful wretch like me too.

Lookin' for Love in All the Wrong Places

My First Love

Do you remember your first love? Of course you do. I'm sure as soon as you read that question, an image or memory formed in your mind. First loves become this sort of idolized persona in our heads to whom all following relationships will inevitably be compared and measured in some sort of way.

My first love had dirty blonde hair and hazel-green eyes that changed colors depending on what color shirt he was wearing. He was tall and lanky and sometimes a little shy and awkward. He was intimidatingly smart and knew something about everything or pretended to at least. He was sarcastic and bold and never afraid to put me in my place. We met when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. We didn't know anything about what love really meant, but we also knew nothing about what heartache truly meant either. So with a certain amount of naivety and a large amount of teenage hormones, we became one another's first loves.

As teenagers do, he decided to go away to college...several states away. When he left, I was devastated. My parents and friends tried everything they could to cheer me up, but I spent months moping around with swollen eyes and my first broken heart.  Eventually, as time went on, the pain lessened and my heart began to heal.

Although, we always seem to move on with our lives after our first loves, there seems to be a little part of us that still clings to that naive, intense, pure love that can only be experienced once and at a young age. 

I'm in Love with Love!

We often scoff at the hopeless romantics who wave their "Love Conquers All" flag as they march around looking for Prince Charming.  When we see teenage couples or hear them talk about love, we laugh to ourselves and think "oh... if they only knew." However, I am here to argue the case that these people who think love is all we need, are far more wise than us jaded cynics who know that with love comes heartache.

A Love that Lasts

 As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. - Psalm 42:1

I think the first time I ever read this scripture I thought to myself  "whoa that is a pretty intense love this person's got going on for Christ."  I found it kind of strange actually and maybe a little creepy. However, years later, reading this scripture shows me a glimpse of something I want very badly: an intimate and deep love for Christ and an unquenchable desire to be close to Him.  I had those feelings for my first love,  why can't I feel the same way about Christ? That's exactly how Christ wants us to feel.  Our relationship with Christ should not be some lackluster, lukewarm platonic friendship; it should be as passionate and intense as a first love.

I have spent years seeking fulfillment and self-worth in earthly relationships when all along, someone has never stopped loving me.  I have never felt completely satisfied with my relationships, and when things ended I blamed it on numerous things: bad timing, the wrong person, etc., etc. However, it took me until recently to realize that I will never be fulfilled by one person; I will never be happy with the love I find on earth until I become satisfied with the love I find in Christ.

Christ knows all that we are, all what we've been and all that we will become and He loves us anyways.  He loves us when we hurt Him, when we abandon Him, when we deny Him, when we curse Him and when we disappoint Him.  While a first love may linger with us long after it has ended, Christ's love is the only love that lasts forever.

Call me crazy but I'd like to love Christ like He's my first love. I'd like to love him with that same reckless abandon I had at sixteen.

It's Just a Little Paint

Me at 4- breaking hearts and crayons like nobody's business!

When I was four, my dad became an associate pastor at a large church in Rocky Mount, NC. Being too young for school, I began to attend the church's daycare program.  This meant that I got to ride with Daddy every day to work, and when he was finished with work for the day, he would leave his office, walk down the hallway and take me home.

My sister, being a year older than me, began kindergarten, and so I was left in daycare alone.  Daddy and I began a routine of sorts: every day, he would take me home from daycare, fix me lunch and then set me in front of the television to watch Muppet Babies while he took a nap.  Every day I would sit Indian style on the carpet, my little neck craning up at the mammoth screen as I sang along to the cartoon's theme song. I could probably sing the song word for word to this day.

Daddy took naps because, well, he loves to take naps. I watched television because, as a child, I always refused to take them.  I remember that before my mother went back to work (she quit her job when she had my sister and didn't go back until we moved to NC when I was four), she would put my sister and me down for naps. My sister, always the obedient, sweet child, would take a nap. Myself, being the "mess" of the family, would pretend to sleep until my mother left the room. Then I would tip-toe around the house until she eventually discovered me, which she usually did. After a few years, she gave up the hope of naps for me.

Sometimes, when Daddy had business to finish in his office, he would pick me up from daycare and I would sit down in a leather chair, with big brass buttons,that swallowed me whole.  Sometimes, he would let me play on a typewriter he had.  Oh yes, he had a typewriter- I just made myself look ancient.  I would type away, having no idea what the letters on the paper meant but inventing stories in my head of what they said.


The story I am about to tell you, I'm not really sure how or why I even remember, but it's somehow been carved into my memory all these years, and I have affectionately stowed it away on the bookshelves of my mind to be pulled down on a bad day like an old and familiar story.

One day, something terribly tragic happened that broke my four-year-old heart. What it was, I have no clue. Probably a scraped knee or some teasing from a playmate. Anyways, to a toddler, whatever it was, it was devastating. I ran to my dad's office, sobbing over the travesty that had happened.  On this day, I was sporting a fresh mask of face paint- maybe I was crying because I was submitted to such cruel and unusual punishment as face paint which makes your face endlessly itch from the mere knowledge that you are no longer allowed to scratch it. Anyways, I ran into his arms and he scooped me up, put me into his lap, and sat me down in his leather chair behind his desk.  He held me, rocked me, shushed me and listened to me hiccup between tears what had upset me. To a grown man, my childish heartache probably sounded silly and trivial but if he had thought that, he never showed it. I remember clearly, the frown lines etched into his forehead as he listened with concern as if I was telling him that the world was coming to an end.  Once I was calmed, he picked me up, put me on the floor and helped me clean my tear-streaked face.  As he was wiping my tears, I saw with horror that his clean, crisp collared shirt was covered in my face paint. To be precise, there was an exact imprint of a miniature face pressed against the chest of his shirt.  I apologized, terrified at the mess I had made.  He looked down at his shirt and began to laugh.  "It's just a little paint, boo," he said.

Now, what was the point of my rambling of childhood memories? Well, for one, I had the best childhood, and I love to remember it. Secondly, I had and still have the best father ever and everyone should know it. Lastly, this memory has matured into my personal analogy for Christ over the years.

You see, when hardship falls on us, we only have to run to Christ, our father, and He will sit us in His lap.  He will wipe away our tears and listen to our troubles, no matter how big or small, as if they were the most important thing in the world. When we have been comforted, He will look down at His white robe and see the stains of the sins that we have left in His lap.  Then, He will look up at us and laugh and say "It's just a little paint."

Ask and You Shall Receive

Today, I finished the book, The Prayer of Jabez. This book is all about the prayer of Jabez who wholeheartedly sought God's blessings, even begged Him to be blessed. However, it is also about asking to be blessed so that you can bless others.

Once I finished the book, I decided to go to Barnes and Noble to feed this insatiable hunger- I had to read more about Christ.  As an English teacher, Barnes and Noble is my safe haven. If you're ever in a hurry to get somewhere, don't bring me within a five mile radius of one.

As I strolled the Christian inspiration section of the bookstore, I overheard an elderly woman asking one of the bookstore employees where she could find a certain book. They looked everywhere and couldn't find it. The woman was dismayed that she would have to order the book and wait for it to come in. As I overheard (my euphemism for 'eavesdropped'), it dawned on me that I knew exactly where that book was because I had held it in my hand just a few minutes before. Disappointed, the woman began to walk to the customer service counter with the sales associate.  I walked over the bookshelf where I had just seen the book and grabbed it. I chased after the woman and handed her the book.  A look of surprise and confusion crossed her face.  She thanked me and I walked back to the bookshelf I had been browsing.  As she was walking away, she looked at the sales associate and said "Who was that young lady and how did she know where this book was? Did I even thank her? She was such a great help to me." I smiled to myself and hid behind the bookshelf as she walked away.

Fifteen minutes later, I was feeling pretty good about my trip to Barnes and Noble and grateful for having prayed the prayer of Jabez that morning. However, God wasn't done with me.  I was looking through the journals section of the store when I heard someone to my right say something.  I looked up from my book-euphoria coma to see a man standing beside me, intently staring at me. "Excuse me, did you say something?" I asked. He repeated his question, "What book are you getting?" I picked up my book to show him the cover, The Ragamuffin Gospel. At this point, a young man approached us and asked the man, I learned his name was Tommy, to leave "the young lady alone." I realized that Tommy was mentally handicapped.  I quickly assured his guardian that it was fine and Tommy and I carried on our conversation for some time. I learned that he was from Pittsburgh and loved UNC Chapel Hill (I decided to forgive him for that).  He was in town for the long weekend and wanted to come to Barnes and Noble because he liked to read "books about places." When his guardian told him they had to go, I extended my hand to shake his, but he pulled me in for a big bear hug and then walked away. I looked back to see that he was looking at me, smiling.

Maybe it was just coincidence that I met these two strangers today. Maybe I remembered where the book was because it was written by a famous theologian. Maybe Tommy wanted to talk to me because he likes talking to stranger. I'll never know. However, I'd like to think that it was the prayer of Jabez at work.

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

I have been selfish for a very long time. For years, I sought happiness and fulfillment in the absolute wrong things. My selfishness caused pain for my family, friends and mainly for myself. There are still things I think I will always be ashamed of. Because of this shame and guilt, I hid from God because I felt that I did not deserve His love. Then I realized that God was the only one who could take away my perpetual emptiness. I had tried so many other things, and they would work for a little while. But, before long, I would feel even emptier than when I first began.

For Christmas, my mother gave me a book called The Prayer of Jabez. This book encourages selfishness, but not the worldly selfishness that I spent years seeking. This book encourages that we be selfish in seeking the favor and grace of God. There are so many times when we could be blessed, but we are not- simply because we didn't ask. I spent too long assuming that once I gave my life to Christ, the blessings would just start pouring in. However, that is not completely true.

 Let me use an analogy to illustrate my point. Let's say that you're a student and you assume that because you go to school every day, that you will become full of knowledge; as a teacher, I know this not to be true first hand. Sure, if you simply show up every day, you will learn some things by mere proximity. However, those who learn the most are the students who actively seek knowledge. The students who ask questions and ask the teacher to give them more knowledge, are the ones who reap the most from their education. In the same way, just because I am a Christian and I go to church every Sunday, does not mean that I will be showered with God's favor; it is not until I ask for it, beg for it even, that the blessings really start to flow.

So, I don't know about you, but it's time for me to start being selfish...in the right way. If God's love and mercy are limitless then I want all of it that He can give me.

'Tis the Season

Tonight I went to a community Christmas event. My church set up a table where we gave away free coffee and hot chocolate.  We did this to spread the word and show Christ's love. Our table was swamped- not because  people were eager to hear the word, but because we had free stuff.

I grew aggravated as I tried to tell people about our church and all they wanted to know was where the creamer was. People complained that the cocoa tasted like water. Then when the cocoa ran out, they complained that we only had coffee.  When I invited them to come worship with us, many gave me this strange, pondering look or avoided eye contact altogether like I was making them uncomfortable.

When I got home tonight, I was discouraged to say the least. Then it hit me, if I'm discouraged when I give away free coffee, how heartbroken must Christ be? He gave his life to save us from our sins. I gave away coffee. If people can ignore His selfless, powerful and infinite gift, why shouldn't they ignore my small and temporary one?

My coffee was free, but so is Christ's love. If we had to earn it, no one would be able to pay the price. That is why God sent his son: to pay it for us.

So, despite my discouragement at the lack of "thanks" I received, I find peace. This peace comes from the knowledge that Christ will continue to give whether or not we show our gratitude. I know I don't say it enough, but thanks God for the gift that keeps giving: forgiveness.

And they lived happily ever after...

Yeah, life doesn't always end that way: Prince Charmings are few and far between; the damsel in distress packed her bags and moved to a condo to save on rent; if you kiss a frog, you just get slimy lips; but don't worry, there are plenty of villains out there!

As an English teacher, I obviously have a fondness for reading.  When I was about seven or eight, my father bought me a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.  We were in an airport, seeing my sister off and I insisted that he got me the overpriced airport memorabilia. He didn't mind. What parent doesn't want to indulge a child who loves to read?

As a child, my dad read to me regularly at night.  He would tuck me in. I would scoot over in the bed and make room for the giant of a man.  He'd turn on my carousel horse lamp and open the crisp pages of the newest adventure. I would sit in rapture as he read stories aloud to me. Then he'd kiss me good night, turn off the lamp, linger in the doorway and wait until I would doze off to dream of dragons and princesses. Those childhood bedtime stories are one of the main reasons I decided to become an English teacher.

Now, the pattern in all of these fairy tales was that they almost always ended happily ever after. As a child, you believe everything you hear. So, I enthusiastically embraced the idea of happy endings. As an adult, I have lost that blind and unbending childhood faith. Many times, I wish I still had it. Perhaps, that is what God meant when he said "unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

As adults, we face hardships and heartbreaks and we stop believing in happy endings. But why should we? There is a happy ending for all of us, and it is an eternity in Heaven with the Lord our Father.

So, tonight as you go to sleep, imagine that your Father is tucking you into bed and telling you that life always ends happily ever after. Because for those who believe, there is always a happy ending.