Secret Identity

So many people to be…so little time. A recent article in Wired titled Hunting the Ghost reminded me why, for a while, I wanted to be an investigative journalist. I’ve also been reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories over the break, while simultaneously streaming the first two seasons of the BBC’s Sherlock Holmes – a surreal experience that has put me in a detective-loving mood and filled my dreams with riddles.

But back to the story in Wired about “the world’s best bounty hunter,” a woman named Michelle Gomez who does something called “skip tracing.” In the words of the article, “a skip tracer finds people and things that have disappeared on purpose. Gomez specializes in hard-to-locate recoveries. She prefers cases others can’t solve.”

How Sherlock of her.

The article went on to tell the story of Gomez tracking down, not a criminal mastermind, no modern-day Moriarty, but a criminal who stumbled on a genius method of distraction. This bad guy discovered that by creating multiple identities via the Internet, credit cards, and social networking, his true identity became so obscured that it left him practically untraceable. Not untraceable for our Sherlock, of course. Gomez made short work of him.

…he confided that three days before his capture he’d had a feeling something was wrong and thought then about moving to a new location. “I wish I had listened to myself,” he said.

Gomez laughs when she hears this. “Maybe he lost track of which self he was, until I came along to remind him.”

by Melissa Rose

And I thought, I’ve done that. Lost track of which self I am, where my identity is found. Haven’t we all? In an age of “self-branding,” we use social media to create different versions of ourselves about which only we know the real truth or lie.

This is nothing new. People have been fooling themselves and others since people first walked and talked. That was the great thing about Jesus. He came along and instantly knew who everyone was, better than they knew themselves. He happily shared his knowledge:

• The women weren’t chattel, the children weren’t burdens, the old and poor and sick weren’t useless. They were important, valued, and the kingdom of heaven belonged to such as them. 
• The religious elite weren’t good or God-fearing. They were “white-washed” tombs, full of darkness and death, who couldn’t even manage generosity, let alone righteousness. 
• A group of uneducated fishermen weren't beaten down men stuck in dead-end jobs. They were the strong rocks on which Christ would build his church and save the world.

Then there was one of my personal favorites: the encounter with the woman at the well. Jesus gently cuts through all the “branding” that had been done to her and by her, and then does the thing she needs most, though she hadn’t realized it. He reveals who He is, her Savior, her God, the only place in which she could find her true identity: “If you knew who you were talking to you would ask me for the water that gives life.” The woman reveals she’s been hoping for the Messiah, that she believes when He comes He will “explain everything to us.” Jesus tells her simply, “I am that one, and I am speaking to you now.”

Jesus is very clear on who we are and who He is. This is no secret to Him. We are the confused ones. Through the static and the noise and the digital identities we create for ourselves, He speaks. Ignoring the false names we call ourselves and others, He’s happy to tell us who we are.

"I am speaking to you now."

Down all the wrong paths we’ve taken (He, too, prefers cases that others can’t solve). Despite the ways we’ve been branded and the lies we’ve believed and our stupid, stupid pride.

"I am speaking to you now."

We drink of the water He offers, and He names us: Chosen, Holy, Blameless Before God. Beloved, Redeemed, A New Creation.

I forget sometimes who I really am...until He comes along and reminds me.

A Life of Privilege

He didn’t set out to be the focus of all this attention. Neither did his wife and children. He went to Iran to help launch an orphanage for young unwanted girls, to show them that they are valued, that they are loved. To comfort them.

But he believes God is more than a set of rules that no one can keep. He believes in a Creator God who loved us beyond our imagining, humbled himself, and with the gift of his life set us free from sin, and broken rules, and death. For that belief, Saeed Abedini was arrested, tortured, imprisoned and left to die.

His wife and children are not so much younger than me and mine. They live here, in my town, and they are friends of friends. It’s become personal. My prayers for them turn into tearful pleas. I talk about them, keep up to date, sign petitions. And last week, to raise awareness, like so many of us I changed my Facebook profile picture to his portrait.

It was the least I could do and I was happy to do it. I hope it made a difference. I hope one more person noticed and added their voice to the cry for his release. But the next day, I changed it back to a picture of myself. Not because I stopped caring, but because I couldn’t live with the disconnect between my life and his. His face—my silly posts about my dog, or my kids, or the new brand of coffee I was drinking. I’ve been thinking about that—that disconnect—ever since.

All that I have is a gift from God, and I am so grateful. Still, I have this in the back of my mind, always, like it is in yours: I have so much compared to most of the people in the world. We do what we can to help, and we struggle to make ends meet daily. But I know, we all know, we live a life of privilege. Why me? Why them? Why him?

And then I see this, the banner Saeed posted above his bed in his prison cell:

So which of us is living the life of privilege?  There is what God gives, there is what He withholds, and there is what He takes away. If it draws us closer in, to Him and to each other, it is a gift. We stand before His throne together. The questions die on our lips. Overcome by His lavish love for us, we praise Him.

By Grace We Are Saved

“You must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that he Himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” ~ Acts 20:35

“Love… does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not remember a wrong suffered.” ~ I Corinthians 13:5

“Our problem is that we remember the things we should forget, and we forget the things we should remember.”

It will arrive in the mail, in magazine articles and news shows, from pulpits and politicians, from friends and family: advice on how to make this holiday season meaningful, joyful...gracious.

photo by Melissa Rose

I’m all for the big gestures and the small kindnesses, the traditional and the not being limited by tradition. The extravagant gifts, the donating and volunteering, the special church services, the cookies for neighbors, the extra tip for the paper boy – all good and worthy things. 

But bear with me for a minute, because I’ve been thinking about grace lately – the kind that God shows us – absolutely free and unwarranted mercy. It engenders in us an immense amount of gratitude, or it should. But God showed us grace while we were still his enemies with the full knowledge that we would never return the favor. We could never do for him what he did for us.

Jesus made this clear, though: God uses his children to continue his grace project here on earth. Like I said, I’m all for the big gestures, the traditional gifts. But God stuff tends to be paradoxical – the kind of thing that doesn’t immediately make intuitive sense to us.

His yoke is easy; his burden is light

He is the beginning and the end…at the same time

He is the God who wills, fully and completely, and he who lets our choices matter

The God who cannot abide sin and who took all my sin on himself to save me

The God who tells me that if I lose all for him, I will have everything I need; that in order to live, I must die

So far above me, I can’t even imagine where he is, and he is near, in my heart

So I’ve been thinking that grace – God grace – is paradoxical, too. I think grace is small and all encompassing, it’s simple and difficult and mercy in disguise.

The holidays are upon us. We will have guests and be guests. I’ve surveyed friends and relatives about past holiday experiences and thought about my own, and I’m thinking these are the perfect conditions for the creation of grace. So this year…

Smile and kiss your husband on the cheek in gratitude when he returns with the tub of margarine for your holiday baking instead of the organic butter you sent him out for.

Without missing a beat, and without one scowl or harsh word, hand your kids the broom and some everyday plates to replace the good china they just broke while setting the table.

Ignore the fact that your in-law, trying to help out with breakfast, is scraping a fork across your best non-stick skillet.

Surreptitiously push to the back of the cupboard that perfect wine or champagne you spent a bunch of money on, because of the guest you just found out is struggling with addiction.

Smile with joy and say a heart-felt, “Thank you!”…no matter the gift.

Welcome the bedraggled extra people that arrive with your nieces and nephews, unannounced, as if they are your old, dear friends.

Be fine with two gargantuan Golden Retrievers (“Is it okay if I bring a small pet?” he asked.)

Don’t complain about the rock hard, or abysmally saggy, mattress your host gave you to sleep on…even a little bit…even with the tiniest of groans in the morning…even to your spouse.

Concentrate on your hipster relative's conversation, suit coat, goatee, anything but the fedora that he insists on wearing during his entire visit, even at the dinner table.

Remember to remove your hat when you walk into your grandmother's house.

Relax and just go with the uncle who has to control everything: meal times, conversation, the remote, the Xbox.

Despite your gourmet leanings, make the same Thanksgiving meal your mother made, including the canned sweet potatoes with mini-marshmallows on top or that weird creamed pea thing—because that’s the meal that feels like home to everyone.

Even though you love that creamed pea thing, try the new dish your sister generously provided this year.

Smile fondly at the granddaughter who stares at her smart phone all through dinner.

Have a heart for your older relatives, and turn off your phone for the fifteen minutes it takes to eat the turkey or open the presents.

Now that your granddaughter has turned off her phone, ask her what she's been up to...and don't scoff or smirk...no matter WHAT she says.

Let your whiskery old Aunt, who sees you only rarely, hug you and kiss you and just laugh when she starts to talk about all the embarrassing things you did as a child.

Swallow your pride and go home for Christmas, or at least call. Just because your family doesn’t accept everything about you or love everything you’ve ever done, that doesn’t mean they don’t want to love you and it certainly doesn’t mean they are not worthy of your love and unconditional forgiveness.

Invite the child, relative, or friend who had a falling out with the family or the one that always cancels at the last minute and don’t be disillusioned when they cancel again. Based on past experience, they might have good reason. Determine to invite them next year, and the year after that, and every year until you finally get the chance to welcome and accept them with open arms, like God welcomed us.

Insert your own holiday experiences of control, irritation and offense here. Bunch up your hands like you have those experiences in your fists. Now let them go.

Be revolutionary – defy the lie that silently forgiving an offense or shrugging off an irritation is somehow wrong, or unhealthy, or not "keeping it real." Do all these things, not out of a fear of conflict, or a sense of martyrdom, or for some future reward in the hereafter, but because grace is what God gives us, so that’s what we give to each other.

Finally, realize that the odds are you will rarely, if ever, be given the same mercy, love, or benefit of the doubt that you are about to give others. Because grace is mercy freely given.

I can’t guarantee it will all go well or feel good. But you know all those barriers we tend to build, brick by small brick, between us? The barriers that interfere with our experience of God and our love of each other? They just might fade away in an atmosphere of peace, love and joy that will be like waking to a clear day. Your guests' relief and peace most likely won't be attributed to you and with good reason—are you starting to realize that if grace happens in your home this holiday season, it won’t be you that was responsible for it?

Just like real love, real mercy, real hospitality—real grace is beyond our human abilities. For us, Jesus would say, it’s impossible. But with God, all things are possible.

So here’s my holiday prayer and fervent wish for all of us: Have some love-filled, mercy-filled, grace-filled, GOD-FILLED, very merry days!

(P.S. If you’re reading this and thinking, “I can’t do this because God’s never been a part of my holiday tradition,” I have good news! He wants to be, just ask him. It’s as easy as this, “Creator God, please show me you this holiday season.”)

Turn Here

“Turn here, Mom!”

I barely heard Jake over the running list shouting in my head:

Get home, eat lunch.

Finish up history and Bible lessons with Jake.

Walk the dogs.

Throw in a load of laundry and do the dishes.

Maybe have time to write.

Take Joe to cross country practice.

Hit the grocery store.

Make dinner.

Pay the bills.

And on.

And on...

“Mom, please,” my son, who’s done a lot more exploring of our relatively new neighborhood than I have, seemed very insistent. “Turn here,” he said again. “I want to show you something beautiful.”

I slammed on the brakes, made a sharp turn, and snapped, “Okay. What?”

Jake waived his hand to take in the scene all around us. “Look.”

The street I normally use to get home takes me through a typical new suburban neighborhood scene. These communities were carved out of flat, desert pastures and Idaho potato fields. The trees and plants in our area are all new and small. Mostly what you see is sky. But Jake’s route took us through an older part of the neighborhood, with mature trees lining the streets and walkways. We were driving under a stained-glass canopy of sun-washed reds, oranges, and autumn golds. It took my breath away. It made me smile. I exhaled and my shoulders relaxed. 

We turned the corner and Jake said, “Look at those bushes, right there. You should see them after it rains. Mom, they sparkle.”

This was my thirteen-year-old son, and lately it had seemed the most important thing to him was which aliens he was going to kill in his favorite video game. I’d been worrying about him just a bit. I’d been praying for him. I breathed another sigh of relief. He’s a typical kid, but he also belongs to God. In that moment I knew God was opening his eyes to His creation, and Jake was “seeing the beauty of His Lord by it.”

I’ve been thinking about other times in my life when God’s said something similar to me, like when I started to get the idea I should marry a guy I’d met only a few months before. “This guy, Lord?” I’d said. “I mean, he’s cute and smart, and yeah, there’s definitely an attraction there. But he was a confirmed atheist just a few months ago. He’s barely gotten to know you. His only mode of transportation is a motorcycle, his preferred clothing is mostly leather, and that earring hanging from his ear may have a cross on it, but still…and I’m really not interested in marriage right now. You know all the plans you and I have for me…”

Turn here. I want to show you something beautiful. So I did, and it was.

Or the time I started to get the feeling I should leave a successful career in Christian non-profit development and fundraising to homeschool my children. “Really? I was never one of those kid-crazy girls. There’s a reason I didn’t get a teaching degree like everyone else in my family. What if we end up hating each other? And I’m really making a difference here – look. Look at all the good things I’m doing for you.”

Turn here. I want to show you something beautiful. So I did, and it was.

I know there have been times when I was so set on my own course, I didn’t listen to that voice. Nothing catastrophic happened. No lightning from heaven. Some good things were even accomplished. Looking back, there is a difference between the eternally significant things I get to be a part of when I follow God’s leading, though, and the finite things I accomplish when I don’t. God’s work lasts. Mine crumbles, gets blown away, like autumn leaves in the wind.

So this is my reminder, God’s reminder, to me and to you. Let’s look up today, and look around. Let’s think hard about the courses we’ve charted for ourselves, and let's listen for that voice. We might hear it...Turn here. I want to show you something beautiful. Here's hoping.

Make Room for the Love

"Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned. Give and you will receive." ~ Luke 6:36-38

There aren't a lot of interpretive challenges with Luke 6:36-38. It's very straight forward. Do not judge. Do not condemn.

Which, on the face of it, seems a little odd. Jesus had just finished doing what appears to be a whole lot of judging and condemning the religious rulers of the time. They had apparently turned their professions, the law, and their wealth into idols. They said they were all about loving and obeying God, but for Jesus there was ample evidence to the contrary.

What was the evidence of their hypocrisy? The Bible said it often, "But Jesus knew their hearts," or "But Jesus knew what they were thinking." And that's my, "Ah ha!" moment.

I don't know anyone's heart. I don't know what they're thinking. I can guess based on what they say or what they do, but I can't really know. And I never know the rest of their stories.

We don't get to judge like God does, we don't get to condemn like Him. Yet, that's where, in our brokenness, we tend to rush.

Fight that desire. Lay it at God's feet and leave it there. Because here's the most shocking, the most revolutionary thing about what Jesus says in Luke 6: "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful." ...as your Father is merciful. God is perfectly just, always fair, but the Bible makes it clear He overflows with mercy. In Micah, I read that God delights in mercy. In Psalms, I read that mercy is "over all His works."

Wow! Look at that, right there, in Luke 6:36. What does God give us the ability to do like He does? Show mercy, give and forgive - love.

Let go of the judgement, the condemnation. Make room for the love. That's all.

Not So Strange

I watch CBS Sunday Morning religiously. I know. I'm probably the only person on the planet under sixty that watches this show, but what can I say? I attend my church at night, so CBS Sunday Morning is a restful way to enjoy my first cup of coffee and ease into the week. They do stories and commentary I don't see anywhere else and I like the fact that the host isn't hyper. Yeah, it's "easy like Sunday morning."

Anyway, this morning my favorite story was this one  http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=50152746n , about New York photographer Richard Rinaldi whose Touching Strangers portrait series "brings unlikely intimacy to photographs. For each shot, Rinaldi grabs strangers off the street and poses them like adoring family."

At first, people are hesitant. As one participant put it, "It was sort of awkward, and then...sort of not." After working with Rinaldi and the other people he's chosen to photograph together - after putting their hand in someone else's, or an arm over a stranger's shoulders, after looking deeply into their eyes and smiling, Rinaldi's subjects seem to become, well, intimate.

As a young teacher said about the much older, retired fashion designer he worked with, "I felt like I cared for her." An ethereal-looking young white woman says about her experience of being photographed with an even younger, very serious-looking black male college student, "It was nice to feel that comfort."

I watched Rinaldi pick strangers off the street, bring them together and ask them to experience caring about each other with no expectations other than a chance to show the rest of the world what that looks like--and well, you know me by now. I couldn't help but think about God, and how He calls those of us that claim to believe and trust in Him to operate in the world.

If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Rom 12:18

Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Rom 12:10

We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. Rom 15: 1-2

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you." John 15:12

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Eph 4:32

Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. Col 3:12-14

"Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples." John 13:35

In a world where, God knows, the rule is cynicism, meanness, vengeful hate, and divisiveness, He calls us to do just the opposite. And just so we make no mistake about it, God says that we can't claim to love Him and then not love our neighbor. We can't claim to love him and then look the other way when we see someone in need, and it doesn't really matter what that need is--it might be food, solace, or the gospel. Like Rinaldi, God pulls strangers from the crowd, brings them to us, and asks us to take their hands, look into their eyes, and become part of their world, to comfort and to care.

Steve Hartman, the reporter of Rinaldi's story, sums it up. "He shows us humanity as it could be...as most of us wish it would be."

The world wants the kind of relationship and intimacy that God has to offer. If we are His children, we will give the world a picture of what that looks like. If you've never tried it, trust me, at first it will feel sort of awkward...and then, sort of not.

Desert Flowers

Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord. 
His going forth is as certain as the dawn; 
And He will come to us like the rain,
Like the spring rain watering the earth. ~Hosea 6:3



Jesus answered him, "If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him. ~ John 14:23

I grew up on The Wet Side of the Cascade Mountains, and even though I've lived on The Dry Side for going on two decades, I still forget sometimes how much my plants need water. I was reminded of this recently, when the day got away from me and I was too tired by the time I sat down that night to go outside and fill up the watering pot.

"Oh, I'll water in the morning," I thought. But then, morning came and once again the day flew by. That evening, I arrived at my front porch expecting the overflowing baskets of color I've become accustomed to. Instead, crunchy, liquid-starved leaves and shriveled flowers were the reward for my neglect.

I couldn't help but think about the times when I feel spiritually dry. Of course, it's the same situation. I've gotten too busy, forsaken my first love--Christ and fellowship with God-- and I start to shrivel. The irony is that when I find myself in a spiritual desert of my own making, my first reaction is to do more, become busier, fill my life with work and people and things. Self-medicate.

I read this today: "The thing we must understand is that God did not choose us to 'use' us...the Bible makes it clear that God created us because He longs to have fellowship with us. What does God desire? He wants you. All of you." (Joanna Weaver)

I've had a spiritual issue, one that fell into the area of dissatisfaction, for months now. While I was aware of it on some level, it wasn't occupying my mind. I wasn't feeling bad about it, praying about it, or particularly concerned about it. I wasn't really thinking of it as a problem.

Last week, while I was driving around thinking about a million other things, God pulled this issue out of my heart and showed me what I'd been living with. Bam! I was immediately convicted. There I was, clutching my steering wheel, huge tears of remorse and relief rolling off my chin and plopping into my lap. My heart was pierced. The life that I have is a gift from God, and I was acting like I'd just as soon throw it back into His lap. I needed to repent immediately, and I did. Then, there was that wonderful feeling of forgiveness and love. That's how God works most of the time--not in the fire or the whirlwind--but that still, small, gentle voice. When it's His conviction, His voice, repentance comes easy and forgiveness tastes sweet.

What I had been doing in the days leading up to that moment was spending time, and not just a little, reading the Bible, meditating on scripture, and praying, by myself and with others. Because of the time I was spending in fellowship with God and other believers, I was carrying around with me a deep awareness of His presence, in me and around me. I believe that's why I heard that gentle voice, leading me from the slavery of dissatisfaction to the joy of thankfulness, that day behind the wheel of my car.

Am I being too hard on myself..."pierced to the heart" because I was feeling a little dissatisfied? No. Beyond the negative stuff that a lack of contentment does to our hearts and spirits, it also affects the world around us in ripples that never end. Take a simple example:

Say "Mary" focuses her feelings of discontent on the old antique desk her grandmother left her. It's too small, not really suited to her purposes, scratched and battered and really, antiques are out of fashion--vintage reproductions are the thing. So, Mary decides to hop on the "vintage" bandwagon and buy herself a new desk. Whether she's buying at Walmart, Restoration Hardware, or ordering custom, that vintage hardwood (or even semi-hardwood) reproduction doesn't just appear. The wood has to come from somewhere. Very likely, it will come from a rain forest in a country like Peru, since Brazil's hardwoods have already been stripped beyond what their stretch of the Amazon can bear. But even in Peru, there isn't enough hardwood to meet the demand, so black market loggers will convince a tribe on a reserve to permit them to log the trees on and around their land. The loggers will inevitably over-harvest, and there goes one more watershed and one more tribe's source of fresh drinking water.

"Oh, c'mon," you say. "These things are complicated--the global politics, human greed--I can't be expected to lay awake at night worrying about stuff like this." And you're right, you don't have to toss and turn, tortured by the U.S.'s voracious absorption of the world's resources--that's what I'm saying.

Here's how it works: God's people walk in fellowship with Him. This produces, among other things, contentment of the kind that roots out desire for anything other than what God provides. This means less demand for precious world resources. Which means less trees cut down in the world's rain forests. Which means less watersheds destroyed. Which means healthier men, women and children in poor countries like Peru. Back home, Mary's contentment means less bitterness, fewer short tempers and kinder acts to her children, her husband...her neighbor.  For Mary and those around her, it means a life of peace and generosity..."on earth, as it is in heaven."

Am I oversimplifying global environmental politics and human relationships? Maybe. But I know this: for followers of Christ, it really is that simple. Can our own personal relationship and fellowship with the Creator God of the universe make that kind of difference in the world? Yes, it can. Because "with man, it's impossible. But with God, all things are possible."

God doesn't call us to save the world. He doesn't even call us to save ourselves. He just call us to abide in Him, and when we do, he's promised He will change us and through us, change the world.

What does God desire? Fellowship with us, and there is no substitute for fellowship with Him. We can't expect to hear His voice if we're not listening for it. This isn't a law or a rule. This truth isn't there to make you feel guilty when you don't do it. It just is what it is. Our Savior is humble and gentle. His yoke is easy. His burden is light. God doesn't force us to have a relationship with Him. But He loves it when we come to Him and when we do, we feel His pleasure. Like my parched plants, the living water flows over us and in us. We drink it in, it gives us life, and overflows to the lives around us.

I thought my flowers were dead that day. But they weren't. They just needed water--and don't we all?