Be a Bonhoeffer!

I have been so encouraged, so challenged, so convicted reading the incredible biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas. O how I pray that I might raise children with the kind of courage and convictions and faith of this truly great man of God! Bonhoeffer, a brillant German theologian who adamantly opposed Hitler and the Nazis, eventually became a double agent. He actively aided efforts to save the lives of Jews by smuggling them out of the country and was intimiately involved in a plot to assissinate the wickedly insane Hitler. It's just a remarkable story about an even more remarkable man, but in April of 1942 the Gestapo finally had gathered enough evidence about Bonhoeffer's involvement in the Jew smuggling conspiracy to arrest him. He was in the prison for the remainder of his short life. While imprisoned, the Gestapo eventually discovered the treasonous proof of his involvement in the effort to assassinate Hitler, and Bonhoeffer was executed in a concentration camp just a few weeks before the end of World War II.

There is so much to say about this godly and courageous man that I cannot even begin to scratch the surface. But for today, I wanted to share something I just read early this morning. As I mentioned, Bonhoeffer was arrested in April of 1942, and the first letter he was allowed to write from prison revealed so much about his character. Steadfast. Confident in Christ. Trusting. Concerned about others, not himself. Grateful, even in the hardest of circumstances.

Bear in mind this is Germany in 1942. Bonhoeffer has lost already lost a brother, cousins, and numerous friends to the war. He has been opposed and oppressed at every point by the government. He has fought to wake up the sleeping church to the horrors being perpetrated by the Nazis. He has been misunderstood, maligned, mistreated by both his enemies and even by seeming friends who had no conception of what he was really doing and the desperate abyss facing both Germany and the world. Bonhoeffer knew, and he fought--faithfully, bravely, often alone, seeking guidance and solace from the Lord he loved and knew so well.

And now he is imprisoned. Here is an excerpt of the description of his first days in prison: "The blankets on the camp bed had such a foul smell that in spite of the cold it was impossible to use them. Next morning a piece of bread was thrown onto my cell, I had to pick it up from the floor. A quarter of the coffee consisted of grounds...For the next 12 days the cell door was opened only for bringing food in and putting the bucket out. No one said a word to me. I was told nothing about the reason for my detention, or how long it would last. I gathered from various remarks--and it was confirmed later--that I was lodged in the section for the most serious cases, where the condemned prisoners lay shackled." His tiny cell featured a plank bed, a bench, and a necessary bucket.

Here I sit in my warm house. The wind is whipping outside, and the temperature has really dropped this afternoon. Yet I am comfortable and cozy and sit here writing with my children healthy, well fed, and happy (well, at least for teenagers). My husband faces no firing squads for his faith. My friends and my siblings are not in danger of being arrested or tortured for speaking the truth. What on earth do I have to complain about? How can I not be overflowing with gratitude? If I sat in that dirty prison cell, alone, uncertain, fearful of what a tyrannical, wicked enemy might uncover about my activities, what kind of words would I write? Here is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in his first letter... and the words and sentiments remained just as steadfast, brave, and trusting all the way to the end of his life:

"Dear Parents! I do want you to be quite sure that I'm all right. I'm sorry that I was not allowed to write to you sooner, but I was all right during the first ten days too.1 Strangely enough, the discomforts that one generally associates with prison life, the physical hardships, hardly bother me at all. One can even have enough to eat in the mornings with dry bread (I get a variety of extras too). The hard prison bed does not worry me a bit, and one can get plenty of sleep between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. I have been particularly surprised that I have hardly felt any need at all for cigarettes since I came here; but I think that in all this the psychic factor has played the larger part. A violent mental upheaval such as is produced by a sudden arrest brings with it the need to take one's mental bearings and come to terms with an entirely new situation — all this means that physical things take a back seat and lose their importance, and it is something that I find to be a real enrichment of my experience. I am not so unused to being alone as other people are, and it is certainly a good spiritual Turkish bath. The only thing that bothers me or would bother me is the thought that you are being tormented by anxiety about me, and are not sleeping or eating properly. Forgive me for causing you so much worry, but I think a hostile fate is more to blame than I am. To set off against that, it is good to read Paul Gerhardt's hymns and learn them by heart, as I am doing now. Besides that, I have my Bible and some reading matter from the library here, and enough writing paper now.

You can imagine that I'm most particularly anxious about my fianée2 at the moment. It's a great deal for her to bear, especially when she has only recently lost her father and brother in the East. As the daughter of an officer, she will perhaps find my imprisonment especially hard to take. If only I could have a few words with her! Now you will have to do it. Perhaps she will come to you in Berlin. That would be fine.

The seventy-fifth birthday celebrations were a fortnight ago today. It was a splendid day. I can still hear the chorale that we sang in the morning and evening, with all the voices and instruments: "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation. … Shelters thee under his wings, yea, and gently sustaineth." That is true, and it is what we must always rely on.

Spring is really coming now. You will have plenty to do in the garden; I hope that Renate's wedding preparations are going well. Here in the prison yard there is a thrush which sings beautifully in the morning, and now in the evening too. One is grateful for little things, and that is surely a gain. Good-bye for now.

I'm thinking of you and the rest of the family and my friends with gratitude and love,
your Dietrich"

What is there to say? For Bonhoeffer, a prison cell became a place of worship to "the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation" for He is the One who "Shelters thee under His wings, yea, and gently sustaineth." No stained glass windows. No heat. No soaring music from the lips of friends sitting beside him. No certainty or safety. No comfort or solace... save in the Almighty, the God of all comfort and peace and joy. Ah, to discover that true joy comes not from our circumstances but from our Savior.

And in that prison yard, Bonhoeffer rejoiced in "a thrush which sings beautifully in the morning, and now in the evening too. One is grateful for the little things, and that is surely a gain."

True thankfulness springs from a heart attune to the myriad blessings bestowed upon us by a sovereign, extravagant Lord, even if we are in the darkest and loneliest of places: the color of the sky, the song of a bird, the smile of a loved one, the scent of a flower, the chorus of a hymn, the hug of child, the crunch of an apple, the wagging tail of a dog, the heft of a great book, the wisdom and grace of God's Word, the recognition of forgiveness.

O might we be grateful! Might we be ready to worship the Gracious Giver of every blessing, wherever we might be--whether prison or palace or somewhere in-between. For He is in every single one of those places--sustaining and redeeming. Help us, Lord Jesus, to be Bonhoeffers wherever You place us! To God be the glory.

Which would you choose?

Well, in light of yesterday's prescient post, I had to make a quick comment on another basketball game last night. In case you just flew in from Mars, last night featured the "Battle of the Blues"--a basketball game between the Carolina Tarheels and the Duke Blue Devils. (I'm employing all my self-control in refraining from editorial comment about the relative goodness of one team and the, hmm, well let's just say the non-goodness of the other! Okay, just kidding, since I have many very dear friends who pull for the team with the VERY evil sounding mascot.) It truly was a spectacular game--a game for the ages. A game we Tarheel fans will be seeing on Sports Center for the next century or two... Lord have mercy. That in and of itself is a trial.

For most of the first half, Dook--oops, sort of an honest mistake, I meant Duke--was leading. Carolina finished the half in a flurry and went in to half-time with a 3 point lead. The crowd was in a frenzy... as were the Fountains.

Then the boys in light blue (as in the color of the sky so that's how we know God is a Tarheel--gee, there I go again) seemed to take a semi-commanding lead. They were up by at least 8 to 12 points for the entire second half. Once again, the crowd was in raptures of cheering as were the Fountains (including even our 10 year old who stayed up for the late game). Life was good. This was fun. Boy, we loved basketball!

Until the last 8 seconds of the game. With the Tarheels up by 10--yes, 10--points with less than 2 and a half minutes to play, Duke starting hitting those deadly 3's and crept back into it. But the Heels still led by 3 points with less than 30 seconds to play and had the ball. Life was still good. We still loved basketball.

I won't go into all the devastating details, but suffice it to say, Duke, still down by 2 points, had the ball with 8 seconds left, and a freshman went down the court and, cool as a cucumber, hit a 3 pointer at the buzzer to win the game. No comment on how we felt about life and basketball right at that moment.

But here's my point: for most of that second half, life was miserable for Duke fans. I'm sure they felt like it was the longest game of their lives (since Duke and UNC fans HATE to lose to the other boys in blue). Their misery for 19 minutes and 59 seconds contrasted completely with us happy, happy, relaxed Tarheel fans... for 19 minutes and 59 seconds.

And then in a moment, everything changed. One team that had struggled, fought, surely felt discouraged and defeated, turned it all around in a second and won the game. And the other team who had been sailing along in seemingly joyous, trouble-free march to victory, lost. So I had to ask myself: would I rather be miserable for 19 minutes and 59 seconds but joyous and victorious at the very end or would I prefer to be delighted and carefree for virtually the whole game only to lose at the last second? Well, guess what, I'll take the misery for a long, long game but with a joyful victory at the very end, every single time. Who on earth wouldn't make that choice? Who wouldn't be willing to suffer through the trials and troubles for a little while in order to enjoy the joyous victory at the very end?

Yet how many of us do that daily in our lives? We want unmitigated happiness and success and pleasure RIGHT NOW. We envy those who seem to be sailing along in life, while we suffer through poor health or shaky finances or difficult relationships or lost loved ones. We tend to forget something very important:

THIS IS NOT OUR HOME!

We may still be struggling through the second half, the shots may not be falling, we may be overcome with discouragement or exhaustion or fear. Failure might seem to be haunting our every step.

BUT THIS IS NOT OUR HOME.

And someday, boy, will it be glorious! All those trials and troubles, all that suffering, all that waiting, all that failing, all that crying will be long behind us as we rejoice in our true home, heaven, and the victory of being with the Lord Jesus and all the company of our loved ones and the saints forever and ever and ever and ever.

And all those long second halves, all those struggles and defeats, will all be long-forgotten... except perhaps to remind us how overwhelmingly thankful and joyful we are for all God taught us and shaped us and helped us through every single one of those sorrows. And really, how long do our hardships and disappointments and sorrows really last in this brief life compared to eternity... heaven is forever and ever.

So to my dear Duke friends--way to go! Your team fought long and hard and deserved their joyful victory at the very (bitter) end. Might we all persevere in whatever trials God has allowed in our lives, trusting that He is at work and that one day, every single struggle will be so worth it in the glorious glow of heaven's eternal victory. To our God, our Savior who will bring all of His own home, really home, one day, be all the glory forever.

Our Losing Season

Whew, what a basketball season for the mighty "Celtics"--my 10 year old's city league basketball team. We began with a loss, ended with a loss, and pretty much filled up all the middle of the season with losses as well. As my Daddy would say, we were building loads of "character." The writing was on the wall early on: the first couple of games the officials decided to cut the score board off, because the other team was pummeling our beloved Celtics so badly. We did win a game, and, boy, was it was thrilling! You would have thought we had just won the National Championship. Of course, that was waaaaaay back in late december, so since then it has been defeat after defeat--but adding character brick upon character brick. I'm thinking those little guys should be ready for seminary or sainthood by the time the season ends.

The last game of the season was particularly tough. Incredibly, one might say miraculously, the Celtics had a lead. In fact, they had an enormous lead: they were up by 10 points with just 4 minutes left to play. Believe me, in this league, that is practically an insurmountable lead.

Practically insurmountable--as in, apparently, not insurmountable. Because sure enough, the other team got hot and began hitting everything while our poor Celtics looked frozen with panic. Our boys couldn't stop the other team, and we couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. The other team tied it up with about 15 seconds left, then stole the ball from the Celtics, and, wouldn't you know it, scored a 3 pointer at the buzzer. The agony of defeat.

We had brought snacks for the game, and our son had to run upstairs from the

gym--ostensibly to help with snacks but actually so no one would see his tears. Bless their hearts: I know it's just a game, and it really didn't seem to bother them too terribly much most of the season... until that last heart-rending loss.

Sometimes life is hard, isn't it? I know in the big scheme of life, our losing season meant next to nothing. There can be so much sorrow, so much despair, so much unfairness, so much tragedy in this world that a lost game--or a lot of lost games--doesn't exactly rank up there as terribly significant. Still, even if it's just a losing season, we all have them, and God uses them in so many ways to teach us, to refine and shape us, to mold us increasingly into His image. I have always loved C.S. Lewis famous quote about pain: "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world."

James put it this way: "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." (James 1:2-4) Help me Lord to learn how to "count it all joy" because I know that You are producing steadfastness and ultimately perfection in each of us through our trials and troubles.

How thankful I am that we have a God who cares. Who cares about our deepest disappointments, our most cherished hopes, our greatest fears, and our hidden weaknesses. And who even cares about some young boys' losing basketball season. When we yield to Him, He will work with and through every single one of those things--whether they bring us great pain or pleasure--to bring about our greater good and His greater glory. He is a God who is always at work, always active, always involved--sometimes in spectacular ways, but sometimes in quiet, almost invisible ways. I remember hearing the quote years ago, "With God, even when nothing is happening, something is happening."

As Beaver whispered excitedly in the midst of the never-ending winter in Narnia, "They say Aslan is on the move." And He is! It may have been winter in Narnia with no hope of Christmas for years and years, but Aslan is on the move! Our God is on the move--in our trials, in our triumphs, in our testings. And in our losing seasons, whatever they may be. Hand Him your losing season and trust that He can and will use it in ways you could never imagine to bring about your ultimate good and His ultimate glory.

He did it at the cross. The greatest tragedy, the most horrific defeat transformed into the most magnificent salvation and the most beautiful redemption. If He did it at the cross, He will just as surely do it with your losing season if you entrust it all to and with Him. To God be the glory forever.

The Giant Rip!

Early yesterday evening, I was busily making supper for our family. It had been an awfully hectic day--a meeting first thing in the morning, followed by rushing around for a few quick errands, followed by an out of town lunch and another meeting. Then it was time to zip back to Raleigh for several rounds of after-school and pre-activity pick-ups and drop-offs of children, then to my two favorite stores in the universe (based upon frequency and money spent): Target and Harris Teeter. And, boy, those trips were just in the nick of time, as we were totally out of some VITAL items--notably toilet paper, deodorant, and Apple Jacks (possible starvation was looming for my 15 year old).

At any rate, sorry to bore you to death with all the dull details, but my point is I had been all over the place yesterday--a stay at home mom who was not at home the entire day. Back to cooking dinner: as I was getting things ready, for some reason I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and, whoa, what was that I felt? A HUGE rip. We're not talking a little slit here; we're talking a Goliath-sized tear all across the back of my leg. I mean it was "ginormous," and incredibly, somehow, I had never felt it one bit! What on earth? How could I not be aware of a gash all the way across the back of my pants? How out of it am I?

Moreover, how many people had I seen yesterday that surely thought, "what is her deal? Isn't she a bit long in the tooth to be sporting such a risqué look?" O brother. No wonder the folks at Harris Teeter were smiling at me--those weren't smiles; those were snickers. Even my own family had not said one word to me about my gigantic fashion gash. What is that--mercy or meanness? In the words of Charlie Brown, whom I felt like I was channeling: Good Grief!

But as I thought about it later, I couldn't help but contemplate, how often do I go around like that, clueless to my selfishness, my thoughtlessness of others, my pride? So busy with my own agenda that I'm completely insensitive to the needs of those around me? So aware of and focused upon others' shortcomings, that I am utterly blinded to my own?

Jesus expressed it clearly and colorfully: "Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Brother, let me take out the speck that is in your eye,' when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck that is in your brother's eye." Luke 6:41-42 Ouch. I think there are a lot of us who can quickly and enthusiastically identify those specks located elsewhere while conveniently ignoring the logs residing right within ourselves! Sometimes we miss our logs due to busyness or preoccupation, but sometimes we have to blame it on plain on sin: pride, jealousy, selfishness, hypocrisy.

I unknowingly sported a ripped pair of pants yesterday out of sheer preoccupied busyness, but I cringe to consider how often I am missing those "logs" in my life that hurt others, diminish my witness, or somehow bring dishonor to the name of Christ. May it never be! Help us Lord to see the logs in our own lives and then come quickly to You in repentance. Might we keep short accounts of our own sin... but long patience and grace with the failings of others. After all, aren't you thankful for Jesus' amazing grace in your own life? Surely we who have been forgiven so infinitely much can and must thereby extend such compassion and grace to those around us. Get rid of your logs and trust the Savior with the specks of others. To the God of all grace and mercy and truth be the glory.

How to Spell Love

What would be a good acrostic for Valentine's Day, I pondered, while still lying in bed early this morning. hmm, how about LOVE. Wow, now that is original. Let's see, L is for... "Love." Now remember, this is a pre-caffeinated and ancient brain here. O is easy--O is for "Others." V sort of had me stumped for a second or two (you can see how much effort was going into this endeavor) until my eureka moment--V is for "Very" as in "Very much." Wow, now I was really cooking! E is for "Especially" as in "Especially Jesus." Love... Others... Very much... Especially Jesus.

I'm thinking Hallmark might be in my future.

Maybe the Nobel prize for literature.

Does anybody have Oprah's phone number?

And then I stopped dead in my tracks. There was no C in this acrostic. There just has to be a C. C is for Chocolate, of course. And C is for Cookies... or how about Cookies with Chocolate Chips. C could even be for Candy... though I'm not much of a candy person myself. C could also be for Cat, though cats generally treat us with bemused detachment or mild disdain. Don't get me wrong. I like cats a lot, but really, if you want to learn about love, get a dog. With dogs we are family. We are the beloved. We are the best. With cats, we are the staff. How on earth did I get onto this subject?!

C is also for Choice. As in Love is a Choice. Isn't that so true. We don't always feel loving. Sometimes we feel irritated or exhausted or overwhelmed or discouraged or just plain selfish. But we don't love others only when we feel like it. We must daily choose to die to our self-centeredness. Die to our pride. Die to our desire to have things just the way we want them. Die to our need to control. Die to our love of stuff and things. Die to our craving for comfort and our preoccupation with pleasure. Die to our need to be perfect... or for others to meet our standard of perfection.

And make the choice to love. Love the irreplaceably precious, but sometimes challenging, people God has placed in our lives--our family, our friends, our neighbors, our co-workers. And love those who are sometimes incredibly unlovely, maybe even undeserving. Because such were we, and Christ died for us.

C is for Choice. And it is for Christ.

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down His life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters." I John 3:16

Christ on the Cross spells Love. It's just as simple and profound and utterly earth shattering and life changing as that. If you want to truly understand what love is, look unto Jesus. "Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, scorning it's shame and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Heb. 12:2 Done. That is love.

But C is also for Creator. Love is a God who didn't just create a world in which we could reside. He created dogwood trees in bloom and soaring eagles and neon-colored tropical fish and flaming red camilla bushes and snow topped mountain peaks and crooning mockingbirds and crimson sunrises and sunsets. You know, He could have just made us a sun--did He really need to have the sun rise and set with such panache, such showy staggering beauty? Nope. But such is our God and that is Love.

Love is an extravagant, loving Creator who entered His creation to love and die and save those He had made. Those who rejected Him, those who failed Him, those who miss the mark again and again and again. And He just keeps loving and forgiving and sustaining and upholding it all by His almighty power and grace and goodness and glory. How can we not respond to such a Lord with all our hearts?

But we have to make the choice. The choice to love Him as our Savior and the choice to daily die to ourselves and to love others with the love He has showered upon us. Might we choose today to Love. Because He is worthy, and He showed the way, and He will enable us if we call on Him in faith. To our Creator, to our Christ, who showed us what real Love is, be all the glory.

All in!

Morning devotions at our house are a thing of beauty. One of my sons wolfs down a Jethro-sized mixing bowl of Apple Jacks (yes, note how we are carefully following the healthy adage of "eating the rainbow" at our house? Have you've seen how colorful Apple Jacks and Captain Crunch are?). My daughter rushes in, frantically searching for the pants that have not yet been folded and reside somewhere in the mountain of clean clothes on top of the dryer. My youngest son wanders into the kitchen, bleary eyed and asking if I can put a LOT of sugar on his "snap crackle pop." And while reading the morning's devotion to the children from "The Daily Bread" or "The Upper Room," I'm also pouring milk, cooking bacon (like I said, healthy eating 101), looking for batteries for my daughter's calculator, or her car keys (are we sensing a pattern here?), and sipping hot tea.

Yesterday morning, I decided to begin our devotion with something new. I had just heard on the radio about the New York Giants' slogan "All in." Now granted, I literally only heard a 30 second clip mentioning the slogan, so I know next to nothing about the subject--but, really, when has that ever stopped any of us? My Daddy used to tell the story of a professor who asked his class one morning, "What's the difference between ignorance and indifference?" One wag of a student responded apathetically, "I don't know and I don't care." Okay, so I admit I don't know squat about the Giants or their slogan, but I still like it a lot. So there you are.

Anyway, back at the ranch... I'm telling my son that I had just heard about a wonderful defensive something or other (defensive back, defensive line, defensive end?--this is just going downhill, isn't it?) named Justin Watts say... At which point my son interrupts me. "Mom, Justin Watts plays on the Tarheels basketball team!" "Well, gee," I responded, "I knew he sounded like a terrific guy!"

Undeterred, I soldiered on, telling my son that this Justin fellow (who, it turns out is named Justin Tuck and is a defensive end--I love google) explained briefly what it meant to be "All in." The Giants have adopted the slogan "All in" which refers, I think, to playing hard, be fully committed, giving their very best effort in every practice and in every game. But he went on to explain that it refers to far more than just "our gladiator role on the football field... we have other passions in life as well, and my greatest passion starts with my belief in Jesus Christ as my Savior."

Despite the fact that I butchered the story for my son, we really did have a very brief but good discussion on what it means to be "All in" for life and for the Lord--in addition to finding another reason to pull for the New York Giants.

But I've really thought about that. Am I "All in" for life? One of my favorite verses has always been Colossians 3:23-24 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." If you are doing homework, or making lunches, or practicing a sport, or singing a praise song, or laughing with friends, or watching the sun rise while walking the dog, do it heartily as unto the Lord.

Whatever we are doing can be an act of thanksgiving, an offering of our hearts and our hands to the One who gave us life and ability when we are "all in"--present in that moment, thankful for that moment, and giving our all in that very moment. When we do whatever we are doing, wherever God has placed us, wholeheartedly and thankfully, then the secular can become the sacred. Folding laundry can be a mini worship service! Rather than desultorily facing that mountain of clothes again with a deep sigh, I can choose instead to rejoice that I have the privilege of serving and loving these precious lives God has entrusted to me for such a brief time, and then give that laundry my best shot. Then in the midst of the grind, God transforms the mundane into the meaningful. I couldn't help but be reminded of the monk many years ago who discovered the delight of peeling potatoes when he offered that laborious chore up to the glory of God. Our work truly can become worship--even in the most routine of tasks--if we do that work wholeheartedly and unto the glory of God.

God calls us to be "All in" for Him. All in as we love Him and seek to glorify Him with our lives--all our lives, all our activities, all our responsibilities. "All in" as we give Him our best and serve others wholeheartedly, love wholeheartedly, rejoice wholeheartedly. After all, He was surely "All in" for us--"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down His life for us." 1John 3:16 Might we be "all in" for Him this day and every day. To God be the glory.

After Your Fall

It had been that kind of a morning. Nothing major; just the typical little annoyances and mundane trials that can sometimes deflate and discourage us. Things like children's messy bedrooms and two of those unnamed children's failure to put loads of clothes away despite being asked to do so pointedly and repeatedly days ago. Fuming mama still managed to soldier through a devotion to the children--in between fussing at them. Boy, I bet that was one meaningful devotion for each of them! But I digress. A pitiful arthritic old dog that couldn't get down the back stairs (and his mama's attendant worry). An overwhelmingly and impossibly long to-do list. A creaky old back. An unnamed child taking waaaaaay too long to get ready for school... and rushing to school like a maniac... and forgetting to give said child medicine so frantic dash back home. And then, when said child jumps back into car for return lunatic trip to school, the brand-new-from-Target frog piggy bank that was a gift for his teacher's birthday (long story--but she is such a sweetheart and it is her birthday and said child desperately wanted to get it for her since she adores frogs) falls out the door and shatters all over the street. Child devastated. Mama frustrated. Very frustrated.

Okay, so I know it all sounds incredibly petty, but isn't it often such ordinary annoyances that snatch our joy and steal our perspective? Sure, I had a wonderful quiet time with the Lord early this morning, but by the time Kermit fell onto the hard cement of our street, I had somehow forgotten all about it, as my heart felt just about as ungrateful and unyielding as that pavement.

But here's the thing, the Lord in His mercy and grace enabled me right in that moment of the shattering froggy--well, maybe a second or two right after that moment--to put it in perspective. Piggy banks can be replaced, messy rooms can be cleaned, to-do lists will somehow, someway be checked off; but loving my 10 year old, demonstrating grace, living with joy and gratitude--priceless and irreplaceable.

This little moment: no big deal, you say? O, but you are so wrong, for it's in all those seemingly inconsequential moments of life where we have the choice of grumpiness or gratitude, of worry or worship, of frustration or forgiveness, of fear or faith, of falling in failure or rising in victory, that true persevering faith and hope and character is built.

You know, we will all fall. I should know--I'm a professional. How easily I can forget Whose I am and Who is in control and Who lives within me (in case you don't know--the Lord Jesus, praise His Name!). How quickly I succumb to pride or selfishness or worry or plain old discouragement; blessed beyond all measure and reason, and, yet, still sometimes, somehow dissatisfied or ungrateful. Yep, I fall and fall and fall again and again.

But the question isn't whether we will fall. Or how we fall. Or even why we fall. The key question is: what will we do after our falls? Will we go to the Savior, the One who died for our sins and failures and falls, and ask for His forgiveness, seeking His grace? Because if we go to Him, in repentance, He will always forgive and then enable us to rise and rise and rise again.

We can't rise. But He can, through us. "For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again; but the wicked are brought down by calamity." Prov. 24:1

"The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when He delights in his way; though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong, for the Lord upholds his hand." Ps. 37:23-24

"Rejoice not over me, my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me." Micah 7:8 I love that--notice it's not "if I fall" but "when I fall." We're human; we falter. We're sinful; we fall. But if the Lord Jesus is our Savior, by the power of the Holy Spirit, we "shall rise," not "if" but "shall!"

I've heard it said, the definition of a saint is "Falling down and getting up. Falling down and getting up. Falling down and getting up--all the way to heaven." That just about sums it up, doesn't it?! As Alan Redpath once shared, "Do you know what God expects of you?" Faithfulness, love, obedience, you might be thinking? Nope. "All God ever expects of you is failure." Well, you're exclaiming, I can do that! I can meet God's expectations 110%! But Redpath continued, "All God ever expects of you is failure... but He's given you His Holy Spirit that you need never fail."

Fall, sure. Maybe even fall repeatedly. But ultimate failure, never--because as long as we keep rising after our falls, we will never ever be failures. And you know how I know? Because one terrible, wonderful Friday the God of the universe gave His life on a rough wooden cross so our falls need never be final. And then that glorious Sunday, He rose from the dead so that we too can rise and rise and rise from our falls. It's called salvation. And grace. And it is glorious and wonderful and awesome and incredible... and, well, words simply fail.

So the next time you fall--and it may be all too soon--remember the Savior who died and rose again so that you can rise after every fall. You have the choice. Don't stay there in the dust. Don't give up or give in to despair. It's not the fall that matters. It's what you do after the fall that makes all the difference. To our Savior who died and rose from the dead--for us--be all the glory.

p.s. If you need a little inspiration (or even just a little reminder), I suggest you look at the brief video of Heather Dorniden running and falling and rising in the Big 10 Championships. I've included the link below. Mighty good stuff! (and she is a believer!)

Emily Fountain shared a link.

Girl Takes a Terrible Fall During a Race - But Wait Til You See What Happens Next!

www.godvine.com

After training for this event for months and months, Heather Dorniden faced the unexpected when another racer cut her off - she fell very hard. But when you see what happens next, you'll be amazed and inspired. Check this out!