Church & Ministry, Motherhood & Family, Taking Heart

A Better Vantage Point

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Jeff and I attended a pastors and spouses retreat this week. All the costs were completely covered– it was a generous gift from God through the retreat center. My parents took care of the kids for a few days, and we had a good time with other couples in ministry. We ate and rested well.

During the retreat, we decided to hike up the mountain on the property. It was the perfect combination of strenuous enough to be interesting and short enough to be survivable (for me). We talked and caught up as we followed the trail one mile up, comparing heart rates on our watches for fun and asking Siri about our elevation every now and again.

At one point, the trail seemed to end abruptly by a small waterfall. The next tree markings were visible only after we climbed up a set of large wet rocks streaming with water from the overflowing fall. Here, it looked as if part of the mountain had been plowed through, and I stopped to wonder aloud at how the massive rocks came to rest the way they did. The Ice Age was Jeff’s guess, and though we weren’t sure about the geology, it wasn’t hard to imagine a glacier moving through the mountain to expose bare rock, leaving huge stones in its wake and paving a miniature gorge for the waterfall and stream.

Soon, we arrived at a small lookout and were taking in the nice, though not exceptional, partial view, when another couple hiking down toward us pointed to a wooden cross 30 yards away marking the actual overlook. We made our way over and as we reached the rock ledge, trees by the trail gave way to a clearing with a stunning, 180 degree panoramic view.

Close to us by our left, about 300 feet below, we saw the retreat center buildings. In the far distance, 20 miles out, mountains filled the horizon. A set of almost indiscernible white lines on the base of one, we identified as a ski resort. A slight break and dip in the ranges toward our 2 o’clock, the Delaware Water Gap. Between us and the mountains, a valley of smaller, rolling hills covered with leafless trees and scattered patches of evergreens. At almost 2000 feet elevation, the view was so far and wide, I was dizzy from disorientation. “We’re not used to seeing this far out,” Jeff said.

The next day, back in our room, we talked and prayed about ministry and heavy things on our hearts. And as we prayed, I thought again of the huge rock formation on our hike and whatever had left it behind. I thought of how there is only One who knows how they came to be not only because he directs all things, but because he was there as witness to its history. And in view of God’s eternity, I was comforted.

I remember being fresh out of college and talking to older people who seemed to throw around years when they spoke. As a student and in your twenties, thinking about next semester is thinking about the future, and waiting one or two years for anything feels unbearable. We wrestled with questions regarding God’s will, which often meant knowing what to do the coming summer or next year, or maybe plans for after graduation. But these elders, who in retrospect were probably not too much older than me now, tossed about decades like semesters. In a few sentences, they’d talk about spending ten years in this country, then seven years in that one, now going on four here. Because of their age, their view of time was different than mine. Their perspective, unsurprisingly, meant when they spoke about the future, they were was less anxious, less urgent, less impatient.

Though I am now old enough to need to recalculate my age every time my daughters ask and I can’t recall off the top of my head how long I’ve been back in Staten Island, I’m still young. Young enough to give into anxiety about the near future, to be utilitarian in my decisions— wanting visible, guaranteed results to think something is worth my time. I get restless in the mundane and give up too easily when prayers are not yet answered. I feel worried when God doesn’t meet me experientially in the few hours I set aside to be in prayer and the Scriptures. I wonder if I’m missing his voice if I don’t hear from him this very instant and I get frazzled over hiccups in plans for family or ministry.

But, God. From the beginning, through the ages, thousands of years from now, he was and is and will be. In my restless, anxious toil, meditating on God’s eternal nature is often the force behind the seismic perspective shift I need.

When longing for swift deliverance, Christians are exhorted to remember that our view of slowness is not his. That though ten years may sound like a hundred to us, to him a thousand are as a day. That his purposes for our suffering go far beyond our years and through unsearchable paths into eternity.

When discouraged about the slowness of his Kingdom’s advancement in ourselves, our families, and our churches, we look to the God of ages past whose view of slowness is not the same as ours.  We remember that, “He has moved like rapids — quickly and vivaciously — and startling to see. But the Spirit also moves like a glacier — subtly and cumulatively — and sometimes so imperceptibly that the believer might be unaware of his work.” It may seem slow from my vantage point, but his movement through history is steady, unimaginably powerful, unstoppable.

God’s eternal view of time directly speaks against my need for fast answers, quick fixes, and instant results. He is not working on my timeline– and his eternity is good news for me. As a parent, my discipline is unkind when I feel the pressure of time and am unsure of the future. I begin to demand immediate perfection from my children, correcting in fear, not faith and love. God though, does not panic at the passing of time, nor does he resort to flustered last ditch efforts in his dealings with me. His eternity means patience with his impatient children.

Sometimes, in his goodness, God gives us glimpses of his good purposes, lookouts if you will over a few years of our lives. At the retreat, Jeff and I were placed in the same room we had been in two summers ago. We’d gone with our church and I was barely surviving. As I surveyed the room this visit, I could still see the set up we had then– the girls on one bed, the pack-and-plays side-by-side for our foster boys, and just enough floor space to walk from the entrance to the bathroom. I remembered not being able to sleep, being anxious about sick kids, and feeling upset toward God about both.

The days felt so long back then, so it surprised me how two years could fly by and find us at the same location but in such a different place. The boys are with another family and we welcomed our now almost 18 month old since then. There have been new beginnings in writing, headway made in homeschooling, lessons learned in life and ministry.

But there is still all I have been slow to learn, prayers God has yet to answer. I see recurring requests and repeated struggles thematically spanning years through the pages of my journals. There are new unknowns my mind fills with threatening futures. We all carry sadnesses yet to be healed, questions yet to be answered. There are long walks through the valleys of the shadow of death still to come.

So we look at our everlasting Rock (Is. 26:4).  One day, we will ascend the heights, having received the eternal weight of glory, to where our deepest sorrows will seem “light and momentary” and the longest seasons of darkness, “a little while” (2 Cor. 4:17, 1 Pet. 1:6).  Until then, we trust our eternal God has a view of our lives so complete, and from there his purposes so spectacular, we would be dizzied by its vastness and beauty if given a peek.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
You return man to dust and say, “Return, O children of man!”
For a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night.
Psalm 90:1-4 (ESV)

Church & Ministry, Motherhood & Family, Taking Heart

The Invisible God Who Sees Me

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God is the remembered one. But this does not mean we are forgotten—not by him. Not by a long shot. In fact, being remembered by him means we no longer fear being forgotten by the world.
– Zack Eswine, Sensing Jesus

I always plan on– or at least think about– writing more, but then, you know, life. Not the fighting bad guys, moving mountains, here’s my trophy kind of life. More like, life that fills my days but often finds me wondering as I’m brushing my teeth at night why my body is giving out when I haven’t even left the house in two days.

As a new mom coming out of ministry, I struggled with days and weeks like these. But over the years, I have been learning to be grateful for them. And part of my discipleship from restlessness to grateful contentment has been through an example found in an unexpected place.

In a world where we’re constantly publishing where we’ve been and what we’re accomplishing, living life behind the scenes is getting increasingly difficult. If the older generations drove around Benzes as a sign of getting along well in life, millennials showcase experiences. And whether of food, vacations, family life, or social causes, the everyday feel of social media sharing makes it feel like everything– even the ordinary– ought to feel meaningful and immediately fulfilling.

We live Coram Deo, and so every part of our lives is significant. But as a generation, our definition of significance has been shaped in large part by our culture such that we have trained ourselves to be unprepared for when the mundane feels ordinary. Couple this with our need to see immediate results, and we grow restless when ordinary work requires waiting and faith. We are like children who plant a seed and rush to the garden the next day expecting to pick blue-ribbon pumpkins. Or, like my daughter, who the morning after finding out I was a few weeks pregnant with our son, wondered aloud why my tummy wasn’t big yet.

As Christians in life and ministry, we often mix the longing for public, quick, measured results with our understanding of the work of God. Whether at home as we raise our children, at church helping other Christians grow, or in the work of evangelism, we conflate our understanding of success with God’s purposes and plan. Surely if God was in my parenting, it wouldn’t feel so hard and I would feel more fulfilled. Surely if I were following God’s will, ministry would look more glorious, people would grow more quickly, and we’d have more good news to report to our supporters.

So we grow weary and we lose heart. We mistake our periods of waiting in ministry with our not being in God’s will. We continue to care for our families but without a sense of God’s commission behind our daily service of love, longing to move onto accomplishing greater things on a stage that isn’t set up to a domestic scene.

Cue the book of Ruth.

In our Bibles, this four-chaptered gem follows the book of Judges. Judges contains some of the most disturbing accounts in Scripture as the author details Israel’s moral decline through the years following their exodus and settlement in the Promised Land. Repeatedly in Judges, the people are described as doing what was “right in their own eyes” as the writer immerses us in a full-sensory experience of what it looks like when the people of God cease to live as though that’s what they are. Reading the book of Judges is like walking through a national crime scene.

One commentary describes Judges this way:

Readers encounter shocking accounts of violence, sexual abuse, idolatry, and misuse of power. Before the book is over, gruesome scenes of bodily mutilation and dismemberment are disclosed. While Judges portrays the worst with regard to bad behavior, such realism was included to reveal something important about life and human nature apart from God.

But then comes Ruth. Another writer describes the transition from Judges to Ruth like “turning from the field of a bloody battle to gaze at a quiet pastoral scene.” If you didn’t grow up on these stories, the change of scene is actually quite jarring.

From sky-high scenes of a national cycle of sin-judgement-repentance-deliverance-repeat, the writing pans out then zooms hard into the lives of two struggling women living in the time of the judges. In the grief of bereavement and widowhood we meet Ruth and Naomi. We find that even amid Israel’s rebellion, God is working to bring his own to himself. Ruth, a foreigner, has readied herself to leave her family and the gods of her land in courageous commitment to Yahweh– the God of her mother-in-law, her God now.  Demonstrating self-sacrificial love for Naomi and courageous allegiance to God, she leaves with her mother-in-law to live with the people of God. There she finds work in the field of a godly man, who in contrast to many described in Judges, has not chosen to do “what was right in his own eyes.” Boaz would welcome Ruth and Naomi with hospitality, leverage his resources for their good and safety (as called for by God’s law), and finally, act as Ruth’s kinsman-redeemer.

The whole story sounds radical and dramatic, and in many ways it is. But recently I have been struck lately by the hiddenness of it all. Turn back the reel and let’s consider: What did Ruth’s life look like to her as she lived it?

Ruth’s life looked like choosing to follow the God of Israel and a resolute decision to love a bitter mother-in-law. (Call me “Mara,” which means bitter, Naomi had said.) It looked like weathering through the difficulties of immigrating to a new land, looking for work to support herself and her mother-in-law. The story’s action rises at the kindness of a God-fearing stranger acting with integrity and kindness, but not with swooping heroic deeds which would be seen worthy of internet fame. Even the happy ending of a new marriage and a baby boy’s birth are still relatively hidden, ordinary scenes. It’s just the story of one family, it would seem, experiencing the faithfulness of God in their grief and his providence in difficult circumstances. The story of faithful, godly people choosing generosity and obedience to Yahweh.

The book of Ruth is in many ways a story of hiddenness, but it isn’t an ordinary story. “Boaz fathered Obed, Obed fathered Jesse, and Jesse fathered David,” and we feel the ellipsis at the end of Ruth . Through Ruth would come David– the king after God’s own heart that the nation of Israel needed desperately — and later, through David, the Great King and Redeemer, Jesus.

My attitudes about the hiddenness of much of the life I’m called to live in as a wife, mom, church member, Christian, person, etc. pivoted around the following commentary:

The secret providences of God guided the personal tragedy of the loss of Ruth’s husband and father-in-law, personal choices to leave her country and commit to the God of Israel, and seemingly random events in the harvest fields of Boaz. These led directly to King David and the King of Kings. God works in mysterious ways. Ruth “is the only instance in which a book is devoted to the domestic history of a woman, and that woman a stranger in Israel. But that woman was the Mary of the Old Testament.”

The fulcrum that my heart turned on was this: that God would care about and use all the bitter and sweet providences in the domestic lives of two ordinary women. And that he would use their hidden obedience to accomplish eternal purposes way beyond their scope.

Ruth is the only instance in which a book is devoted to the domestic history of a woman.” The impact of these words on me has rested on the idea of domestic life as a sort of antithesis to public, glorious work that produces immediate results. It is hidden, it seems small and insignificant to those who are looking to be world shakers and history makers. But that God sees the parts of our labor hidden to others, that he is working with a view of time and place beyond us, that his loving providence is behind every grief and joy in these hidden places. This knowledge brings consolation and courage to me and to all who would seek to obey him in ways hidden to the rest of the world.

In our day-to-day living, God speaks truth to our restless hearts yearning to be acknowledged for what we do: What we need most is not for other people to see us, but the knowledge that he sees. What we need most is not to see immediate fruit, but trust in the purposes and timing of the One who makes things grow. The tearful intercessions offered in the closet, the service in his church, the burden borne for one another in love, the work in our homes, the hospitality extended to strangers. He sees. He is working. Our lives, offered to him, are never overlooked, never forgotten, never wasted.

At the end of the book of Ruth, we are left marveling. Against the backdrop of national tragedy and amidst personal sorrows, God has worked in the domestic lives of two ordinary women to redeem them, their people, and ultimately, the world. We are led to wonder at the wisdom of his hidden purposes, the kindness of his redemption, and the graciousness of his sovereignty.  Through Ruth, we have been given a glimpse of the workings of an invisible God who is fulfilling his unseen purposes through hidden people and places.

This is our King and Redeemer. He is invisible, yet sovereign. His ways are mysterious, yet always wise and always good. And though the lives we live unto him may be hidden from others, they are always significant because he has us in his sight.

Church & Ministry

I Just Didn’t Know His Name

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We sat in the campus cafeteria and talked about Jesus. I told Cathy about how our sins keep us away from God and why we can’t make our own way back to him. I shared about how Jesus came to save us through his death and resurrection. And when I asked her if she wanted to confess Christ as her Lord and Savior, she said yes.

“Are you sure?”

I was surprised at her eagerness (it was the first time we’d ever met) and I wanted to let her know there would be a cost. It wouldn’t be easy. God said there would be hardships. It would mean obedience to his will. Some say you’d have to be crazy to follow Jesus. She should think more about it.

Yes, she was sure. And, 11 years later, I remember her next words verbatim:

“Because I always knew there was a Lord and that he could save us— I just didn’t know his name.”

Continue reading “I Just Didn’t Know His Name”

Church & Ministry, Taking Heart, Truth & Orthodoxy

We Quickly Fly Away, But…

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I don’t normally talk to inanimate objects, but there’s this one time I got mad at a flower.

During this particular day, I was standing on the sidewalk waiting for a ride and happened to look down. That’s when it did it. Or at least, that’s when I noticed what it was doing. A tiny flower, no taller than 2 inches or so, had bloomed in the little patch of dirt. It was pretty and colorful and it was just standing there, being all flowery, and as far as I could tell, happily so.  I, on the other hand, completely drained and empty inside, exploded, yelling in my mind, “Why do you even exist??!”

Here’s the context: though only in my early 20’s, I was burning out in ministry and probably showing signs of depression. For me, life had been boiled down to what I accomplished in ministry and the purpose of life was being fruitful (ministry-wise). I was laboring for the sake of what I understood as eternal (visible conversions, explicit discipleship), seeing other parts of life as superfluous and worldly, and by the end of two years I was running on fumes.
Continue reading “We Quickly Fly Away, But…”

Church & Ministry, Truth & Orthodoxy

I Am Dust

Wow, has it really been over two months since I last posted? It isn’t a bad thing, I guess, as these weeks have flown by and included a road-trip family vacation down south, various summer church activities, and the like (i.e. I don’t really remember much of what fills my days).

Something I have been mulling over these days is how to live out of a correct understanding of my own limits. It’s possible that most other people already know how to do this, but a recurring pattern in my life is that I often push past the point where those who know me well begin to notice I’m fraying a bit at the edges. The reasons I am prone to this are complicated– I’m thinking having to do with personality, culture (Chinese? American? Mix?), modeling, sometimes guilt and other times pride– and it’s tough because I am not as self-aware as I ought to be about this given the way it affects me and those around me. Whatever the reasons, I am increasingly convinced that the understanding, implications, and applications of understanding that we are finite creatures is an important topic to consider in ministry in particular and life in general.

One Biblical Foundation to Consider: God Alone Has No limits

I think one reason that it’s been hard for me to think about the having a healthy understanding of work, limits, and rest is that so much of Scripture seems to talk about how God is able to supersede our limitations and do more than what we’d expect. God often calls us to do hard things and many people in the Bible were called to operate out of their comfort zones. Because of this, I’ve often found myself in Christian circles where saying that something is beyond one’s capacity can be seen as a symptom of a lack of faith in the power of God or, worse, a self-focused rejection of God’s call for us to deny ourselves.

While it is true that God calls us to deny ourselves daily and not live a life driven by comfort and our own human assessments of our capacities, I believe that understanding our own limitations (physically, emotionally, capability, capacity, giftedness) is not antithetical to faith, but a sign of faith in the word and character of God.

We see in the Psalms again and again the contrast the psalmists make between God who is unlimited vs. us, people, as created creatures. Rather than being cause for condemnation, it is fodder for worship. God alone is the one who does not slumber nor sleep and thus though we are weak and needy, he is our help! (Psalm 121) The work of our hands only matters if God establishes it, and rather than live in anxious toil because of this limitation, we rest because God grants sleep to those he loves! (Psalm 127)  God cares for us and remembers that we are dust. This isn’t a derogatory statement, but one of love and gentleness– he remembers we are dust and he knows our frame (how we’re made) and has fatherly compassion on us. (Psalm 103) (Christopher Ash talks about these passages here: How to Maintain Pastoral Zeal While Avoiding Pastoral Burnout.)

A year or so ago as I wrestled with how to deal with brokenness and the fallout of people’s sin in ministry and life in general, reading through Zachary Eswine’s book Sensing Jesus was one of the best things I could do. The premise of his book is the way that we often operate when trying to serve God and others actually shows our refusal to recognize that we are not God. Rather, we act as if we are omnipotent (all-powerful), omniscient (all-knowing) and omnipresent (everywhere at the same time) in the big and small things we do. His book is amazing at getting to the heart of much of our striving and is written beautifully too. I highly recommend it!

Why This Matters

These are a few reasons why I am convinced that understanding and responding accordingly to my own creaturely limits is helpful for me, honoring to God, and best for loving others:

1. Knowing my limits helps me better serve those around me.

A few months ago, when talking to Jeff about how I could grow in serving our family, he encouraged me by saying something like, “Well, I think you’re getting to know better when you’re reaching your limits and how to ask for help.” It surprised me that he said that, but I am learning to see this now as an issue of stewardship for the sake of serving others.

It’s easier to talk about stewardship with physical things (e.g. money) because we all see clearly that we have a limited supply of it. Though there are many good causes we can give to and people we can serve, we give of our money towards specific circumstances we believe we are called to. I can act like there is no limit to how much money I have, but I’d eventually  have to face the reality of an empty bank account.

It’s tougher with intangibles– energy, giftedness, emotional capacity– but still real nonetheless.  There’s no bank statement sent out, but that low-balance text alert does come in the form of depression, sickness, burnout, frustration, anger, deep discouragement, etc. That not only affects me, but those around me who I am called to serve and can no longer serve well. When I recognize my limits, I am able  to prioritize a resource that is limited. Though I may want to, I can’t give my best to everyone. That means I need to set priorities with godly wisdom and with the help of those around me for the sake of those that I am called to.

I remember an older missionary giving advice during a talk at a college conference. One thing that stuck out to me was “your body is your horse, take care of it because you can only push it so far.” It stuck out to me because it seemed strange that he would choose to share something so seemingly non-spiritual, at least that’s how it seemed to me at the time. Now I realize the wisdom in that. First of all, God made our bodies and we are called to honor him with them. And secondly, we can’t push them beyond what they ought to handle and still continue to serve others as we are called to.

2. Knowing my limits keeps me from temptation.

Do you ever get to the point where you know you’re thinking crazy and that if you open your mouth, you’re going to say things that you shouldn’t say and wouldn’t say if you were clear headed? A few weeks ago, I had one of those thank-you-Jesus-for-keeping-me-from-saying-what-I-was-thinking-yesterday moments. That was in large part due to my realizing at the time that I was, in fact, thinking crazy because I was physically exhausted and that any “discussion” I started would not be fruitful and would find me saying things that are, in fact, untrue. And it was true that in the morning after a good rest, I was feeling better and relieved, was able to pray “thank you SO MUCH for keeping my mouth shut!”

Being physically, spiritually, or emotionally exhausted is not an excuse for sin. If I sin when I’m tired, I still need to repent and ask for forgiveness from those around me. But, we are embodied souls and the interplay between our souls, minds, and bodies, though mysterious, is real.

This quote in Kevin Deyoung’s Crazy Busy (quoting D.A. Carson) is great:

If you are among those who become nasty, cynical, or even full of doubt when you are missing your sleep, you are morally obligated to try to get the sleep you need. We are whole, complicated beings: our physical existence is tied up to our spiritual well-being, to our mental outlook, to our relationship with others, including our relationship with God. Sometimes the godliest thing you do in the universe is get a good night’s sleep– not pray all night, but sleep. I’m certainly not denying that there may be a place for praying all night; I’m merely insisting that in the normal course of things, spiritual discipline obligates you get the sleep your body needs. (97)

A few months ago, I was battling feeling an overwhelming amount of annoyance at people which I normally wouldn’t feel. I didn’t want to serve people or in ministry and I kept finding things people did annoying. I was sharing this to ask for prayer and help, and it took three different people at different times suggesting that maybe I needed rest and that I was just really tired to realize that yes, I needed rest and was just really tired.

3. It brings me to humble dependence on other people and deeper appreciation for God’s church.

One summer on missions in Taiwan, I was supposed to lead a Bible study and I felt like I just could not do it. I couldn’t take it on physically–I was exhausted– and I felt so guilty. This ended up being one of the biggest testimonies of God’s work that trip, that because I was unable to lead the study, my teaching assistant, another young man from the local church did so– with better language skills than me (of course), and with the possibility of continuing the relationships long after the team left.

As Christians, we are all part of a body and we can’t say to each other “I don’t need you.” Though we would never say “I don’t need you!” to another person in the church (that’s messed up!), we often do not live in such a way to affirm the opposite, that in fact, Biblically  “I do need you.” One way I have seen the work of God through the body of Christ most clearly is when I, having reached the end of my own resources, experience God’s provision not through the increasing of what I can do, but through another who is able to do what I cannot.

4. Knowing my limits helps me to be merciful towards others in understanding they have their own God-given limits too.

I find that I get upset at others for not doing more when I am pushing past my own limit. (Public confession: This happens especially at home.) I compare my own tiredness to others’ and in my mind, they have a right to be tired if they’re doing more than I am (at which point I feel bad that I can’t handle more), but if they aren’t, then there’s no sympathy from me! The more I am pushing myself past the breaking point, the more I expect others to be pushing themselves too. But when I am being faithful to work within my God-given limits, recognizing that God as my Father is compassionate toward me, I can empathize, sympathize, and be understanding towards those who are having a hard time or need rest.

A pastor’s wife shared once at a workshop about how in any given harbor, there are boats of different sizes with different weight limits. If the water level rises beyond a certain point in any one boat, it means that the limit has been exceeded and if it’s floating much higher, than there is still more that can be put onboard. Likewise, we all are made differently with different capacities physically, emotionally, etc. If I can accept that and seek to honor God with that as a boat myself, it helps me to recognize that others also have their own weight limits that may differ from mine.

5. Knowing my limits leads me to deeper worship through the recognition of my own creaturely bounds vs. God who alone is God.

One distinction that has helped me in considering my limitations is recognizing the difference between being a sinner and being a creature (created). I used to think that saying no to an opportunity that could be God-given because of my own assessment of my limits was a lack of faith. It is true that my orienting question for serving others shouldn’t be “will this make me tired?” Serving and loving others means suffering, inconvenience, and tiredness oftentimes. But I believe there is an appropriate place for considering that I am a creature, created to be limited in energy, wisdom, power, and strength. Rather than being led to guilt (“What’s wrong with me?”) or apathy (“Oh well, if I can’t, I can’t”) because of this, I can be thrown into deeper dependence on God and awe at his being God (i.e his divinity).

I am bound by space and time. I can only pray for so many people or care about so many issues. I can only “take” so much on. And as I consider what I am unable to take up, the emotional burdens I can’t carry, the time commitments I can’t make, people I can’t help, causes I can’t participate in– I can come to God in praise and trust that he who has no limits is able to carry all that I am unable to.

How I’m Learning

What I’m not saying is that I’ve figured it all out or that this is the only factor to consider when taking on that extra responsibility or going out of my way to serve another person. I’m learning that I need wisdom, both from God through Scripture and through those who are good examples of this to me. I need to see people who give to God and others sacrificially when it’s hard and inconvenient, and yet have a Biblically sound and practical way to consider their own limitations. I also need those around me who know me well to either give me a kick in the rear (don’t be lazy!) or to let me know, “hey, I think it’s okay for you to say no and I think you need to rest.” I’m learning that there is a difference between a sustainable tiredness that is part in parcel of being a parent with young children and serving in the local church versus a sustained dread-filled exhaustion. The first is to be expected, and we rejoice that we are tired because of God’s blessings! The second is cause to consider whether or not I am living out of Biblical truth.

God’s grace comes in varied forms, and I am learning to consider that the grace I am praying for to sustain me with help through the day may not come in the form of my receiving superhuman strength and abilities (though if necessary, it may!), but the grace of being permitted to say “no, maybe in the future”, to sit down and rest for a few minutes in trust that God will enable me to finish a task later, to ask for help from a willing husband and grandmas (the girls’) and friends. I am learning to embrace the fact that I am in fact, dust– and this was in fact designed for the sake of the glory of him isn’t merely “super-human”, but God.

•••
Here are some resources that in the last year or two have been greatly helpful to me and shaped what I’ve shared:

A great practical and engaging talk by a seasoned minister: How to Maintain Pastoral Zeal While Avoiding Pastoral Burnout (YouTube) Here’s the description:

How can burnout be a problem in ministry when Christ Himself encouraged His followers to give up everything for the sake of the Gospel? Christopher Ash explains that there is a vital difference between living sacrificially for Jesus and pursuing our calling in a way that leads to mental and physical exhaustion. When Christian leaders bear in mind that we are created by God from dust and that all of our endeavors are dependent on Him for success, we are reminded that Gospel ministry is a humbling privilege and enabled to rejoice that we are recipients of God’s grace in Christ Jesus.

Sensing Jesus: Life and Ministry As a Human Being by Zackary Eswine (Amazon, WTSbooks)

Crazy Busy by Kevin Deyoung (Amazon, WTSbooks)

Some Books recommended by Christopher Ash in talk above (I haven’t read these, but may soon!)