Abortion rights activists have begun a new campaign, one that is designed to erase the negative social “stigma” associated with abortion. As part of the push, the Abortion Care Network sponsored a “Stigma Busting Video Competition,” and I’m sure by now you have already seen one result of that competition: Emily Letts’ bizarre video of her abortion procedure. Emily, who says she was inspired to become an “abortion doula,” says that she wanted to do the video to help women get over the guilt that “our society breeds.”
I don’t entirely blame Emily for her distorted view of where abortion guilt is coming from. After all, she is only a pawn, albeit a fully knowledgeable and intelligent pawn, being used by the abortion industry. She is trying to be brave, and she probably believes in some ways that she is helping women. Yet, her speeches on the video aren’t very convincing proofs that abortion is easy or that you aren’t filled with immense regret when it is finished. The activists are weakly trying to use her video to inspire more abortions, but I doubt that it is having the desired effect. Emily seems sad, withdrawn, and sullen, even though she is saying some of the right things.
I’m afraid poor Emily is finding out first hand that the social stigma that her video claims to fight against is the least of her worries. Emily and other deceived women who were told it was no big deal, that they aren’t ready for children, that they can’t handle this baby, are now plagued with a different kind of stigma. You see, stigma has another meaning. It can mean, simply, a mark.
So, these women move on with their lives, and they have no stretch marks to show for their pregnancies. They have no sagging breasts or widened hips. They have no squishy bellies that say that they once carried a living being inside of them. But, they are marked. They live with the knowledge of a baby that should have been. And, they carry the heavy burden of guilt and remorse, even if they do feel relief that they didn’t have the baby. The stigma that marks their spirits–mothers’ spirits–can’t be erased by thoughtful videos or enlightened-sounding conversations about abortion in Cosmo.
In fact, the spiritual stigma that wears on them and wears them out and seems everywhere is much, much harder to live with than the social stigma. Because no voice of reason can truly make it go away. No amount of loud postulating or quiet offerings of this-was-right-for-me can make it disappear. It is real, and heavy, and immovable.
But, there is one who can cover the stigma on broken mama spirits. And, He has a stigma or two of his own. His hands and feet are marked with scars that say that no dark spot on a human soul need remain. His marks whisper love to the Emilys of the world.
Jesus, the stigma bearer, the only hope for any of us.
My mother has an auto-immune disorder. It’s rare and weird, and one of those things that you just wouldn’t wish on anyone. I learned when she got sick that you don’t ever want to be the case that all of the doctors are clamoring to come and check out in the hospital because they’ve never seen your illness before. You don’t want to be the weird case.
Nevertheless, she was the weird case, and in a twist of fate that could only be orchestrated by God, a buddy of Chad’s from high school took her on as a patient and figured out what she had and treated her for it. With God’s help he saved her life, and in a matter of months she will reach five years with no flare ups of the disease, and will be considered in remission.
Mom and Dad with baby Emerald
But, when she was hospitalized the second time, and then when she was put in ICU and was being given over 30 different medicines through an I.V., when she was put on a respirator and was one of the sickest people in the place, we had some moments that felt hopeless. I remember one in particular. A pretty young doctor came in. I think she was the infectious diseases doctor. My dad had gone home for a few hours, and I was half sleeping in a chair when she came in. She told me that it was a “moment by moment situation.” I think it was the first time that I really understood how serious the issues were.
I called my dad and my brother and told them what she had said. Terrified and devastated were probably the two emotions that most ruled that day. We spent the rest of the day praying, crying, watching mom intently from our straight vinyl chairs, wondering how this dying woman could possibly be our mother. I went home that night feeling like the hopes I had for her full recovery were just fantasies. I had gotten a dose of reality, and my hope that she would walk out of that hospital had flown out of that sixth floor window, like a bird whose nest had been knocked to the ground by a fussy housewife with a broomstick.
I was lost.
The next morning, my dad called. Another doctor had come in. He said that things were looking up. He said that her numbers were finally heading in the right direction. He said that there was every reason to hope.
And, just like that, everything changed.
I had gone to bed feeling like my world was crumbling. And, the next morning I was greeted with news that renewed my hope for my mom. I knew the road ahead would be rocky–and it was–but it seemed that she was going to make it.
This weekend I was thinking about that terrible day and night when hope faded. And I was reminded of how Mary and Martha and Jesus’ disciples, his friends, and his family must’ve felt when they were robbed of their hope. They had to wait for a day and two nights after Jesus died. They were terrified and devastated. They felt like their hope was gone, as if they had been knocked down by a heavenly broomstick. Where were they to go, and what were they to believe now? How could this be the ending to the story that they had so hoped would end differently?
But, finally, Sunday morning arrived. And hope.
Hope personified, in the person of Jesus.
Alive.
They had gone to bed filled with dread about the future, and they woke up to a whole new world. A world where Hope is as alive as you and me.
A world where even death has no power. A world where, even if my mom had died in that bed, I could have mourned her passing with hope for her eternity. When we know Christ, even while hope for continued life on earth fades, hope of a future in Heaven grows with each piece of bad news.
When we know Jesus, we know Hope.
So, this Easter I found myself just thanking God for the hope that was renewed on the day that Jesus rose from the dead. His death brought us life, and His resurrection gave us the gift of hope.
I believe it. He is alive. And, He carries hope in two beautiful nail-scarred hands. When you have hope, you can endure more than you ever thought possible.
And, when you have Christ, you have real love, real peace, and real hope. I pray you felt it on Resurrection Day.
Oh, come on. Admit it. If you have children (and maybe if you don’t), you have seen Frozen. More than once. Ok, be honest. You know all of the songs by heart, and you probably belt them out in your car. Or maybe you’re more of a lip-syncer, like this couple:
I love how the video is titled “Good Looking Parents Sing Disney’s Frozen.” Yes, they’re adorable. Thanks for rubbing it in, YouTube.
So, even if you’re not the good looking Frozen lip-syncing type, you CAN use your kids’ obsession with the movie to their spiritual advantage. As Christian parents, we don’t have to be limited to exclusively Christian content when we look for ways to teach our children about God’s love. And, Frozen offers all kinds of options for us when we want to open up spiritual conversations with our children.
Option One: Dead Parents…Again!
Why is it that the most dangerous job in any animated movie is being someone’s mother? In true kid movie fashion, Anna and Elsa’s parents spend about five minutes showing us how awesome they are, and then they die in a terrible disaster at sea, never to be seen or heard from again. Their demise gives us opportunity to talk to our kids about death. Here are the types of questions we could ask:
What do you think happens when people die?
What do you think Heaven is like?
How do we get to Heaven?
We can listen to their answers thoughtfully, and show them what the Bible says about Heaven and believing in Jesus. Even if we do more listening than talking (depending on the ages of our children), this offers a great chance to see how much our little ones know and understand about salvation.
Option Two: Real Love (the Fixer-Upper Version)
Throughout the movie we see Anna begin to depend more and more on good ole Kristoph, and he endears himself to us and to her, despite his apparent hygiene issues. Olaf even describes what real love is when he talks about Kristoph late in the movie, saying that love is “putting someone else before yourself.” This is a great opportunity to talk to our kids about what it looks like to show love to others.
Here are some good questions to ask:
Why do you think Kristoff left Anna at the castle with Hans when he didn’t want to?
Why do you think he told Anna not to worry about his ice business, even though it was a real problem for him?
What are some ways that we can put someone else before ourselves?
What are some ways we can show real love to each other?
This conversation can easily be tailored to all kinds of situations that your family may be dealing with, from girl drama at school, to marriage issues, to taking care not to exclude kids who don’t have many friends. We can look at the love chapter and talk about how we can do a better job in our family of loving each other with the kind of love God calls us to. And, we can tackle the ever-difficult topic of loving our enemies.
Option Three: Real Love (the Sisters Before Misters Version)
One of my favorite things about the movie is the fact that it isn’t romantic love that saves the day, but love between two sisters. Through the entire movie we see Elsa and Anna making sacrifices for each other, putting each others’ needs ahead of their own. Elsa stays locked away and lonely for her entire life for fear of hurting Anna again. Anna refuses to give up on her sister, despite the fact that she has no idea for all those years why Elsa will have nothing to do with her. And, of course, in the ultimate act of true love, we see Anna sacrifice her own life to save her sister.
These plot elements are perfect for talking about two types of sacrificial love. One is the love that we should have for one another. We can piggy-back this conversation with the talk about Kristoff and Anna. Of course, this would be a good moment to teach our kids John 15:13: Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. We can talk to our children about the importance of loyalty in friendship, and loving others, even annoying siblings, with a love that is deep and real. We can discuss how real love sometimes requires real action, like standing up for someone.
Here are some good questions to ask:
Why do you think Anna stood between Else and Hans?
Why do you think the Bible says we should love our friends with that kind of love?
What are some specific actions we can take to show love to our friends at school?
What can we do when it is difficult to love someone?
The other type of sacrificial love that we can talk about is the love of Jesus Christ. We can point out to the children that, like Anna put herself between Elsa and Hans, Jesus put himself between us and God. We can teach them why we need a Savior and explain how much more Jesus endured than just death on a cross. Of course, the analogy is not perfect, but we can use it as a great jumping off place to talk to our kids about Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.
Here are some questions we could ask:
We need Jesus to rescue us. Do you know why?
Why do you think Jesus would die for us?
Our hearts aren’t frozen, but what in our hearts can be changed by Jesus’ love?
And, once we have talked about these things and the kids run off to play while we go about our day (while singing the songs, of course), we can pray that something in our conversation brought about a bit of tenderness in their hearts toward the incredible news of the gospel. And, once we have opened up the topic, we may be surprised how the kids will begin to be reminded of the gospel in other unlikely places.
Then, my friends, we are beginning to instill a Christian worldview in our kids. Before long, they will be seeing lots of things through the lens of the great love story of Jesus Christ.
I call that a successful day of parenting. And, if you happen to end up becoming a good looking couple lip-syncing Frozen songs on YouTube in the process, good for you. If not, well, there’s always the shower. Don’t be bitter about those good looking parents, though. Just let it go.
What would Jesus do? Believe it or not, this question, which basically became a joke to most Christians after it graced every t-shirt, bracelet, and bumper sticker for awhile, has now become a serious and essential question of the Christian faith. I’ve seen it asked in all kinds of contexts, and usually those of us who are quick to answer it seem to feel as if we have a direct line to Jesus’ brain that tells us in any and every situation how Jesus would handle things.
The fact is that we can never know with all certainty how Jesus would handle anything because He is God, and the Bible clearly tells us that His thoughts are higher than our thoughts and His ways are higher than our ways.
Yes, we can see His character played out in Scripture. But, we see Him both rebuke and forgive. We see Him love and we see Him feel righteous anger. We see him humble himself as a servant, and we see Him exalted at the right hand of the Father. We see Jesus eat with sinners, and we see Him meet with religious leaders. We see Him combat Satan in the desert and we see Him stand silent before His accusers in the courts. We see Him healing the masses and we see Him allowing His friend to die. Jesus is a highly complex, completely perfect, holy in every way God and man. He is beyond our comprehension and yet is completely accessible.
But, what Jesus would do cannot be reduced to one simple always-the-right-answer idea. The truth is that Jesus, complex as He is, complicated as His calling is, could and would do any number of things in any given situation. Yet, we talk about Him as if we have a window to His own thoughts.
We would do better to humble ourselves and admit that we might not be exactly sure what Jesus would do in every situation, but we know that whatever He does is good, is holy, and is perfect in every way. Maybe instead of asking what Jesus would do, we should stop dealing in the world of hypotheticals and instead ask the tougher question: What would Jesus have me do?
And, then we start getting someplace in the run toward holiness.
We walked slowly up and down the empty hallways which were painted off-white, of course. Some of the doorways were decorated with wrapping paper and tinsel or wreaths. One man’s door held a large picture of him in younger years. We sang carols, the old songs that would be familiar. The tunes that would bring back memories of another time, another life. Days of trimming trees with little children gathered round, “helping.” Years of baking cookies and school Christmas programs and the magic of Santa. Moments spent watching sweet childish faces beam with excitement on Christmas morning.
Tonight, in the nursing home, maybe a few precious memories were sparked in tired minds. Maybe the sound of those old familiar songs brought tears. Maybe they reminded someone of a joy that is no longer felt.
One woman, sitting on a seat on her walker, came to the hall, rolling herself along with little shuffling footsteps. She wanted to hear the music. She wanted to see our faces. She wanted to tell us how old she is–ninety-nine. She wanted to tell us that she used to do this, caroling with the children, coming to nursing homes to try and bring some Christmas cheer to less fortunate people, people who were near the end of life, who were physically weak, who were mentally tired, who were emotionally discouraged. She used to be one of the carolers. Now she is a resident, beaming at the sounds of the singing. Trying her best to stand up as a showing of her appreciation for this act.
Such a small thing, singing in a hallway.
And when I go to the nursing home, I leave, always, with overwhelming thankfulness that I can leave. I am grateful that I’m young, that I’m strong and I’m living some of the greatest years of my life. I think it’s okay to feel that way. To have a true appreciation of things that I might otherwise take for granted, like the ability to walk. Or a clear mind. Or children underfoot.
It helps me remember that even though this Christmas has been busier than I wanted and I have been way too focused on silly things, like trying to get Adelade to wear ruffled pants, the beauty of the Christmas story is that it reaches all of us. It reaches the toddler who won’t stay out of the Christmas tree. It reaches the frazzled mother and the stressed out dad who has one eye on his wallet all season. It reaches the empty nester who is learning to rethink her Christmas traditions and it reaches the tired old man who sits in a bed all day, looking out the same window. It reaches the ninety-nine year old woman who comes shuffling when she hears the carols being sung. It even reaches to the darkest corners in the darkest moments in the deepest sorrows. It reaches the nursing home at Christmas.
The Christmas story fits well with joy and sorrow. With elation and devastation. Because the story, the true story, is Hope personified. It is the reason we sing, even when we are old and memory fades and bodies quit. The angels sang a song on a quiet night in Bethlehem that rings true in our hearts on a quiet night in the nursing home. Christ is near. God is with us.
So, we can have peace, no matter what stage of life we’re in.
I pray those old carols brought some sweet memories to minds and a sweet peace to hearts tonight. While I walked those halls, I could almost hear the angels through the clear voices of the children. Glory to God in the Highest. Here, even here. He is near.
My mother-in-law sent me this article in which the former Archbishop of Canterbury warns that Christianity could be only a generation away from extinction. He says that British churches must have a breakthrough in reaching young people, most of whom greet the church with “rolled eyes and a yawn of boredom.”
Truthfully, in the U.S. we started long ago trying to reach young people, to become “relevant” to their lives, only to end up seeming more and more irrelevant the harder we tried. The yawns of boredom continued. I can’t speak for the U.K., but over here in the good ole U.S. of A we started watering down our teaching. We started trying to eliminate certain “offensive” words from our churches’ vocabularies. We thought if we stopped talking about sin and hell and the cross and the blood and all that unpleasantness that young people would find church more appealing.
So, we turned church into a feel-good place. We wanted people to be on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next family movie night or the next addition to the nursery wing. We turned Christianity into a boring religion. We made the Gospel look all sweet and pretty and pulled all of the ferocious teeth out of it. And we were left with a faith with no grit, no power, and very little truth.
We wanted the church to be comfortable. We didn’t want this faith to ask anything of people. We wanted to present the Gospel as if it will solve your problems. We didn’t want to talk about the sacrifices involved or about dying to self or about giving up everything you are.
The Gospel of Jesus Christ isn’t a self-help guide. It’s an daring challenge. Deciding to follow Christ is the bravest decision you will ever make. It’s not a call to becoming a better citizen (although it will make you one). Jesus said that following Him is carrying a cross of crucifixion on your back. It is agreeing that the world will hate you. It is deciding that you are willing to lay your life down for your friends. It is signing up to be different, to oppose what the world thinks is right but the Bible says is wrong. Choosing to believe Jesus is choosing a steep, uphill, rocky climb with a cross on your shoulders, giving up a life of comfort and ease and emptiness for an abundant life filled with joy, and, yes, lots of sacrifice.
If young people think the Gospel is boring, then we are doing a poor job of presenting the Gospel. Because the true Gospel of this man, this God Jesus is the most exciting thing that ever happened to this planet. Living for the glory of the God of the Universe is never dull. Being personally acquainted with God isn’t yawn-inducing. On the contrary! It is life-giving. It keeps you alert and excited by the thrilling wait to see what He will do next in your life and in this world.
I’m not saying that there are never times in the Christian life that feel like drudgery. The steep uphill climbs can seem to last awhile. But, we have a traveling companion like no other. And He helps to smooth the rough places. He calls us to a life of adventure. We can take risks for His sake because He promised He would never leave or forsake us.
So, when you’re a Christian, even if you never leave the same small town, you have chosen a courageous and valiant and true way to live. Personally, I see our churches in America getting back to that type of teaching. We are finally realizing that young people aren’t looking for an easy religion. They are looking for Truth that requires sacrifice. They’re looking for a faith that calls them to be more, to do more, to give up everything. They’re looking for the chance to say yes to a life not of ease and comfort, but of deep meaning and purpose.
Life: personally acquainted with the God of Heaven, letting go of an inferior version of yourself, choosing to live for a bigger purpose no matter the cost, going wherever He leads even when it’s terrifying. This sure doesn’t sound like a boring Gospel to me.
Yesterday, at the first home football game of the season, and before he fell asleep on my lap, Sawyer declared that it had been the best day of his “new life.” He’s been talking a lot about his “new life” versus his “old life,” which I find quite interesting and deep for a five year old person. The fact is that this change, this move, this new school experience and this separation-from-Mama world has been so dramatic and so different that he can’t think of any other way to describe it except that was then (two weeks ago) and this is now. A whole new thing.
Thankfully, he loves his new life. If he were miserable in this different existence, I would be ten times more miserable than him. I once heard Beth Moore say that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child. I think that is 100% true. But, praise God, he is happy, Adelade is happy, and Emerald is happy here so their mama is happy, too.
The more Sawyer talks about this new life, the more I stop to consider how much has really changed. The truth is that Sawyer has experienced more change than anyone else in the family. His life is truly radically different. He doesn’t see the same people, go the same places, he doesn’t stay home with Emerald and me, he doesn’t play alone, he doesn’t sleep as much, he doesn’t eat the same food, he doesn’t think the same way. He is a new man, so to speak. I’ve seen him confidently stride into the cafeteria at school, coolly walk up to new friends and strike up conversations, and enthusiastically sing songs he learned from “the great singer,” his kindergarten teacher. I’ve watched him drag himself out of bed in the mornings as he is still adjusting to the new schedule. I’ve listened to his stories about kids at school, and I can’t tell if they’re true or imagined. I’ve heard him remind Adelade of the library rules, much to her annoyance. He is changed. He is flourishing. He is getting big. And, before all of these changes took place, he had no idea that all this world was out there. He was happily playing at home while all this fun and greatness was going on. He didn’t even know what he was missing.
Every time Sawyer’s new life comes up, my brain immediately goes to a verse that I learned as a child. 2 Corinthians 5:17:
Now we look inside, and what we see is that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new.
The old life is gone; a new life begins! Look at it!
Yes, look at it. Because everyone is looking. At our new lives. At our commitment to the One who saved us. At the ways that we have changed, the new approach we take to everything. If we imagine that they aren’t we’re fooling ourselves. What we do and say and our attitudes and even our thoughts really do matter. We should have a new life, as new and as radically different as Sawyer’s. Not because we have moved to a new town or started school or got new friends, but because Christ is real and alive and is working in our lives.
People should be able to look at us and say, Yes, I see it. I see the difference. I see Christ.
This is just another way that living with the children God gave me has convicted my spirit, spoken to my soul, and burned truth into my heart. Sawyer’s new life isn’t about His Savior yet. But, it’s a reminder that my new life should be just as dramatically different. Blessing just doesn’t seem like a sufficient description of these babes who teach me so much.
I am new. New life. Let the singing and the story-telling and the sleepy-eyed mornings remind me of it. And may Sawyer’s new life continue to make him smile.
I spent a significant part of my day typing out the lyrics to Christmas music. Our church’s Christmas musical is coming up, and as I am married to the Worship Leader and I also happen to have remarkable typing skills (eat your heart out, people), I was gifted the job of entering all of the lyrics into the computer. Many of the songs we’ll be singing are favorite old Christmas hymns, and as I went through them all, I noticed something.
I have been singing these songs for years without really listening to the words.
I have the lyrics memorized, yet I have never stopped to consider what the songs are actually saying. Of course, the songs are about Jesus. They’re about the baby in the manger. They’re about Mary and Joseph, the star, the shepherds, the wise men, the angels! Any child can tell you as much. But, what I saw today was something a little different.
As I typed and typed and half listened to Sawyer and paused to get Emerald out of crazy predicaments and talked on the phone and cleaned up the kitchen and ate lunch and typed some more, the Holy Spirit began to show me how I should fit into that special night, the one we sing about. The night of Jesus’ birth.
Consider these words:
“O, come all ye faithful, joyful, and triumphant. Come ye, O come ye, to Bethlehem. Come and behold Him, born the King of angels!”
I read those words and it was as if I saw them for the first time. Come, all you who are faithful, joyful, and triumphant? Is that me? Do I approach the manger with faith, with real, true joy and a sense of triumph? I have to admit that I have never looked at Jesus’ birth as a moment of triumph.
But, in that moment, death was already conquered. We were saved. He was here. Finally.
Emmanuel, God With Us.
I want to live my life like this: faithful, joyful, and triumphant.
He did everything. The hard stuff. The impossible. Surely I can manage to live a life of joy and triumph. Because His triumph is mine. His victory belongs to me. His shining moment under the light of the star on that night was also my shining moment. And His resurrection from a dark and terrible grave years later was also my resurrection.
Something tells me as you’re reading this you’re thinking, “Well, DUH!” I know. I can be a little slow.
But, I’m really glad that in the midst of the somewhat chaotic experience of this day, the Holy Spirit still graced me with a “God is so amazing” moment. Join me in entering into this Christmas season triumphantly! He came! He saved! Let’s keep the faith, live with joy, and relish the triumph!
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