In His Chrysalis

                Spring – a time of new beginnings.  New flowers.  New leaves.  A fresh burst of energy to get outside and explore after having been pent-up indoors for months on end.  A discovery of extra  grace and forgiveness for those whose paths cross ours. Baby everything. Fresh air. 

                So it’s a bit odd that what I find on my heart this afternoon is the urge to encourage you to finish strong.   Maybe it’s because my students have said to me one too many times, “But Miss Amy, it’s the end of the year” as an excuse for not doing a lesson, for talking, for being late, for being crazy, for whatever their little heart thinks it can use “almost summer” as an excuse for.

                But that’s not what we’re called to do.  Sorry.  In fact, if anything, it’s now when we are supposed to push harder, faster, better.  At least, that’s what I get from Hebrews 12: 1

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and ^(A)sin which clings so closely, and ^(B)let us run ^(C)with endurance the race that is ^(D)set before us,”

                And really, that’s what most Christian adults would tell you to do.  Which, to be honest, feels overwhelming and unfair.  Don’t they just realize how tired I am?  I’ve run the race; I’m almost at the end, I don’t have any more energy.  Can’t I just be done?  My so-called second wind has come and already gone.  And I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a third wind.  There is literally no more strength in me.

                But, to use the over-used and so cliché example – that’s not what you do in a race.  If you were to stop running right before the end, everyone would think that you’re stupid, or at the very least, have ADHD and saw a squirrel or something. Not good. 

                In fact, that’s true in school too.  When are the hardest, longest tests of the year?  That’s right – at the very end of the semester.  They’re called finals, and they can affect everything.

                So, what do you do when you’re exhausted, and you still have four weeks of school left?  Or 100 more meters? Or one more test?  Do you take it easy?  Do you focus on your exhaustion? 

                If you do, you’re setting up some sad patterns for life – specifically patterns of not finishing stuff. From what I’ve noticed, those who take it easy at the end of things, have alarming tendencies to not even make it to the end.

                My suggestion is to look at the next verse in Hebrews.  Look at Hebrews 12:2 

“…looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

                Okay, this is NOT a guilt trip saying, “well, Jesus endured the cross at the end, and I bet whatever you have to endure is not nearly as bad, so deal with it.”  It’s more of a reminder that you’re right.  You ARE exhausted.  You CAN’T do anything more.  God wanted it that way.  You need to look to Him for the strength and focus to finish whatever it is you need to finish.  And I am NOT saying that He’s going to wave His magic wand and make it easy – because He doesn’t do that.  He loves you too much to do that. But, if you ask Him to finish this with you, to work with you through this – He will.  He loves coming in and playing the rescuing hero.  Just make sure to give Him the glory.  No delusions that you did it on your own, okay?

                So, push on.  Finish that race.  Don’t give up on school just yet.  Do those last couple classes well.  Write that paper to the best of your ability.  Enjoy the crazy static energy that is bouncing around inside you, practically making you burst open at the seams.  And pray.  Pray hard. 

I drive the interstate a lot.  It drives right through Denver, and so when I want to get somewhere across town, or in the mountains, it’s usually the fastest route to take.  Sometime this winter I noticed a couple burnt patches by the road.  My guess is there was a small fire of some sort, probably from a wreck.  Those patches stand out against the rest of the brown, dead weed covered side of the road.  Black, barren, a blank slate, nothing there.

It snowed this last weekend.  It was a pretty big storm – the type that if you just moved here from California you might call a blizzard.  If you’ve lived here for a couple years, it was simply one of the biggest storms of the year, not a blizzard.  The snow was wonderful – big, feathery, wet flakes that gave relief to our very dry, cracked ground.  We needed the moisture desperately.

And, in true Colorado fashion, the only thing that remained three days later was a dirty clump of snow here and a forgotten pile there.  It’s pretty much all gone, melted away, soaked into our ground or re-evaporated back into the atmosphere and now floating over Nebraska or Kansas.

So our roads are clear of slush and easy to drive again, which was nice for my drive last night.  I was headed west, up the interstate and into our mountains.  Since it’s Lent, and I’m not listening to music in my car, I was doing what I should do more often – praying.

And I noticed the bare patches were no longer bare.  There was a very light covering of green over them.  I realized that Spring was coming (YAY), but more importantly I realized that the green was probably under the still brown, brittle, dead weeds too.  But I couldn’t see it because of the weeds.

Which, of course, got me thinking.  I think sometimes God allows us to go through the fires so that we can see the growth He’s been nourishing in us.  I think sometimes He allows the old stuff to stick around and cover up what He’s doing so we don’t get in the way.

Either way, He’s God, and growth is occurring.  Growth (like spring) is a wonderful, dance-inciting thing.    So if you feel like you’re going through a fire, rejoice.  You’ll soon see growth.  If you feel like nothing’s going on in your life and you have a lot of extra stuff hanging about – dig a bit.  I bet down, buried under all the leftover junk, are little tips of green, growing up ever so steadily.

Growing up, I wasn’t the most athletic of children.  I played a little intramural volleyball and basketball in elementary, but that was mainly for something to do.  I took ballet class for six years and always was in the back line during performances.  I took swim lessons for two years.  But my lack of athleticism was NOT due to any physical ailment (other than being extra chunky, which DOES make moving quickly hard).

So when I started walking with a limp in fifth grade, it was a bit surprising. Truth is there was a lump on the bottom of my foot.  And every step I took hurt – hurt like little ember of fire had embedded itself in the ball of my foot.  So I picked at the lump, trying to get it out.  But it only got larger, and hurt more.

Eventually I convinced my mother to take me to the doctor.  The doctor took one look at my foot and said Plantar Something-or-the-other.  Basically it meant warts.  And they were the kind that if you pick at them, they get deeper, bigger, spread …well, they get worse.   A lot worse.  So the doctor put a bunch of painful chemicals on my foot, mummy-wrapped it in tape, and told me not to get it wet for a while.  And then to come back in a few weeks to do it all again.

I really kinda hoped after the first time that I wouldn’t have to go back. The chemicals hanging out on the bottom of my foot turned the burning ember of fire that had permanently embedded itself into the ball of my foot into a raging inferno.   Walking became hard work.

The second time around didn’t hurt any less, but it also didn’t hurt anymore either.   This time, however, the chemicals worked.  After a couple weeks, the wart that was the size of a nickel by that point, literally popped out of my foot.  It was so gross and cool all at the same time.

But I’ve been thinking recently…my wart experience was a lot like sin.  It starts small – so small you might not even notice it. And then it grows.  And then you notice it, because it’s become painful (thank God).  And then you try to get rid of it on your own, and then it continues to grow.  So, then you go to the doctor (aka God) and He puts chemicals on it, and it hurts SO MUCH WORSE…or you notice how much it has permeated your life…or it feels like all of a sudden it’s such a bigger deal in your life than it was before, and you wonder why.  But eventually, when you allow God to do what He needs to do, it “pops out”.

Now, really, sin rarely just “pops out” of your life, but it DOES become manageable, and eventually, with God as your focus (NOT the sin), it will be conquered.

I’ve had this thought before, so maybe I’ve mentioned it before.  But it’s been on my mind again, so I’m mentioning it again.  And, actually, it’s not even an original thought I had – totally read it in one of C.S.Lewis’ books.  Not sure which one.

But it’s the idea that we’re immortal.  All of us.  Each and every one.  Which, okay, if you’ve been around the Christian world at all, this doesn’t surprise you.  You might not have thought about it that way – parents are all the time telling us we’re mortal, not to do something stupid and kill ourselves.

But, the fact is, the important part of you – the spiritual part – is immortal.  That part of you WILL go on forever.   And that part of everyone else will do so as well. Of EVERYONE else.  Sure, your Mom.  Sure, your best friend.  Sure that cute boy.  But also that girl who glares at you in math class.  The annoying little brother who got peanut butter on your favorite shirt.  The girl who just rubs you the wrong way.  The girl you think is as fake as they get.  The girl who wants your boyfriend.  The girl who hurt you so bad you make sure that every day she knows the pain of what she did.  The ex-boyfriend that you broke up with over text.

They’re immortal too.

Which means that sure, at the end of the school year, when they leave the office, when you move away, you might never see them again, and then you don’t have to deal with them…IN THIS LIFETIME.

But guess what?

Guess who else ALSO has the option of going to heaven?  Yep.  Your mom, your best friend, that cute boy, the girl who glares at you in math class, the annoying little brother who got peanut butter on your favorite shirt, the girl who hurt you so bad you make sure that every day she knows the pain of what she did.  All of them.

So you get to ‘deal’ with them in heaven, in ‘paradise’…FOREVER!!!  No escaping.  No avoiding personality quirks.  You get to deal, head-on, face-to-face.  You’ll have time to tell them every little thing they did that hurt you.  And they’ll get to do the same back.

Kinda scary, if you ask me.

Now I realize the easy thing is to think that they’ll end up in hell while everyone whom you enjoyed will end up in your corner of heaven…but that’s not necessarily the case.  The Bible says we’ll be surprised who’s in heaven and who’s not.  So never assume you won’t have to deal with someone for eternity.

Think back over your last encounter with the little brother, with the girl who is fake, the girl who is so full of herself.  How did you treat them last?  (Notice I didn’t ask how they treated you?  That’s not up to you; you’re not responsible for that.)  Did you show them the love of God as we’ve been commanded?  God sees their value along with yours.  You don’t get to treat them any less loving than God does.   What happens if the next time you see them IS in heaven…when you have all the time of eternity just to sit and chat about life, about how you treated each other, about all the stuff you’re avoiding right now.

So treat each other with the dignity, respect, and love God calls us to.  Talk about the things that are coming between the two of you NOW.  Ask God to give you HIS eyes for the person you can hardly stand to be in the same room with.  Who knows, but they might be the first one you see in heaven.

Ah, the weekend after Valentine’s Day.  You’ve survived!  Whether it’s because of a sweet, wonderful boyfriend, or it’s because of a chocolate IV drip injected directly to your vein, or lots of tears, or friends, or because you just ignored it – YOU SURVIVED!!

Actually, I know I’m weird, and I’ve probably said this before, but Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday.  And not because I love the attention from the boyfriend (only happened once), and not because of the chocolate, and not because of the roses or parties, or chick flicks, or whatever else is going on.

But because it’s a day to remember.  It’s a day to remember just how much I’m loved – by friends and family, but mostly by God.  It’s a day to remember by noticing.  By noticing the love-letters He places throughout your day – like the sunset and sunrise, like the way your favorite flavor of fro-yo tastes, like the way you feel in your favorite top, like the unexpected hug, or that moment when the exact perfect song comes on Pandora.   All of these are little love letters from God.

So it’s also a day to tell God how much I love Him, whether by spending some extra time with Him, or by giving something special anonymously to someone He’s placed on my heart, or simply (and this one is big for me) by accepting the love He extends to me.   Often this means it’s a day of service, of serving the people He has put in my life in order for me to love them.

So, to me, Valentine’s is a day of love – but not the red roses, chocolate hearts, stuffed teddy bear kinda love.  It’s the real-life, almost-tangible, sacrificial, every-day love.  The kind that’s harder to notice.

Take some time and look around.  As a wise woman once told me, “look for the love” around you, reminding you just who (and whose) exactly you are.