new to you friday–on “Prayer” and prayer

Saying a book by Philip Yancey is one of his best is like choosing a “best” flavor of Graeter’s ice cream or a “best” Beethoven symphony. They’re all pretty terrific. But I’m currently reading Yancey’s “Prayer” and it deserves the accolade. If you haven’t read it, snag a copy and let me know what you think—about all of it, and about what it has to say regarding the questions raised here.

I’m only halfway through the book, but so far I still come down on the side of this post—that God is more concerned with process, with the journey, with who we are becoming than in answering specific prayers in specific ways. He does some of the latter, to be sure, but I don’t think it’s the main reason to pray. What do you think?

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This weekend some good friends came to visit and I planned to give them my bed and sleep on the couch. One of the friends is quite allergic to Louie the Wonder Cat and as I changed the sheets I found myself praying, “God, please don’t let the cat hair bother him.”

It was an almost automatic prayer, conditioned by years of being told that God acts on such details.

“No prayer is too small,” Sunday school teachers exhorted. “He counts the hairs on your head and cares about everything.”

I would like to think that’s true, and many days I do. Paul did, after all, remind the Philippians to “in everything…present your requests to God.” Other days I question it—not his care for my life, exactly, but his preoccupation with its minutia.

As an outgrowth of the popular Jesus-as-best-friend/boyfriend theology (“I am so in love with you” goes one popular chorus), we assume He is waiting with bated breath to hear the details of our days, the small annoyances and happy moments. We pray for parking spaces to appear, for headaches to fade, for missing keys and homework to be found.


And yet.

I return again to the familiar “Lord’s Prayer,” in which Jesus prays for bigger-ticket items: the glory of God’s name, the manifestation of His kingdom and His will, the provision for basic needs, the rescue from sin and temptation.

Perhaps the allergy attack, the trek across the parking lot, or the nagging headache would provide more exercise for our patience and perseverance muscles, and thereby serve more kingdom-building purpose, than the answer we seek. Maybe our focus needs to shift from the momentary to the eternal. And just possibly God is more concerned with our character than our convenience.


I suspect that, like so many things of God, the answer cannot be fully known in this life.

I believe the prayer of a small child for what seems (to his parent) a meaningless trifle may carry great weight with God, who knows the child’s faith. I believe the same prayer uttered by the parent, who is called to put aside childish ways and think as an adult (1 Cor. 13), may be viewed quite differently.

So I’ll acknowledge that small is relative. But recently I’ve been embarrassed to pray those prayers, myself, when bigger, thy-kingdom-come prayers aren’t crossing my lips. I’m an adopted daughter of the king and called to active participation in the kingdom bringing, the sin forgiving, the temptation avoiding. That’s plenty to keep me busy. So while God may know the number of hairs on my head, I won’t be praying about my next haircut.

holy crap!–why I don’t want to work at a church

This weekend I heard yet another story about yet another dysfunctional situation at yet another church.

Without going into detail that could identify the particular congregation, the issues involved manipulation, harassment, dishonesty, uninformed leaders making hasty decisions, six-hour meetings to deal with the fallout, firings, and inestimable wastes of time and morale.

Oh, wait, I don’t have to identify the church—it could be one of thousands.

That’s the sad thing, and it’s the reason I don’t want to work on a church staff.


Granted, my temperament is also part of it. I’m an independent spirit who disliked the institutionalized idiosyncrasies of school (no bathroom without a hall pass, lunch at 10:30 a.m) and the corporate workplace (no open-toed shoes, meetings about the ROI of thinking outside the box), and one of the things I enjoy most about the freelance life is an absence of drama.

But it would be nice if I did want to join a church staff team, if the beauty and community of God’s saints co-laboring at a church—any church—compelled me to be a part. Instead it compels me to run the other direction.


The local church is the hope of the world—Hybels and others have said it many times. And I agree.

I love my current church and the church I served in California and the one where I grew up, even though they haven’t been immune to the issues listed above. And I’ve invested in those churches, teaching preschoolers and memorizing choir anthems and washing dishes and manning registration tables and getting up at 6 a.m. for praise team rehearsal.

I love the church, serving the church, and being part of the church. I support my leaders and elders and try to be part of the solution.

But I don’t want to work there. If I’m going to spend 50 hours a week in a toxic environment, I know many that pay a lot more.


What do you think? Am I being too harsh? What causes these problems and how can we improve the situation?

new to you friday–things i don’t understand

It’s been a heavy couple of weeks here on the ‘ol blog, so let’s revisit something a bit less serious—the ongoing list of stuff I truly don’t understand. Here is a sampling from editions one through eight….


The biathlon. Does anyone except Jason Bourne need to ski cross-country while shooting a rifle?

Couples who sit side-by-side instead of across from each other at restaurants.

Civil war reenacting.

Why parents of young children feel compelled to answer the question, “How old is your child?” with something like “22 months and three weeks.” Couldn’t you just say, “Almost two”? I didn’t really care that much anyway.

Those ducks people dress up and place outside their front doors.

Why none of the children I grew up with had peanut allergies, but today every third kid swells up if he walks past a jar of JIF.

Pastors who think it’s a good idea to have their son as associate minister, wife as women’s ministry director, daughter as children’s director, etc……and the elders who allow it.

Why hotel lamps have to turn on and off with those stubborn push buttons instead of operating like every other lamp in the world.

Dreadlocks.

Kindergarten graduations.

“Customer service” 800 numbers requiring you to input your account number……only to have a live person ask you for it again when they finally come on the line.

Cigarettes made with 100% organic tobacco.

The apparent brain-melting difficulty of actually matching congregational singing with the Powerpoint graphics containing the words.

Refusing vaccinations for one’s child.

The intermittent spraying of vegetables at the grocery store. Do people really believe the broccoli is fresher if it’s also dripping wet and impossible to get in a flimsy plastic bag?

The saggy pants trend.

why vs. how

If you’re stuck, consider asking “how” instead of “why.”

I’ve realized most of the questions keeping me up at night start with why: Why did she say that? Why does he feel that way? Why didn’t that client call back? Why hasn’t this relationship worked out? And why does it bother me so much? (That’s an especially fun one, as it blends “I shouldn’t feel the way I do” WITH the unpleasant question. Not recommended for beginners.)

Why questions about ourselves can be helpful—it’s good to consider our own issues and the way we contribute to problems. But why questions about other people are usually unanswerable–in the moment, at least, and usually longer. As such, they provide lots of opportunities for the overactive imagination to create its own answers, which—especially in the wee hours—are rarely positive and logical. (At 2 a.m., “The client went with another freelancer because he’s the owner’s nephew” will never win out over “The client hated my work and I’m going to lose all my jobs and have to work at Baskin Robbins.”)


So I’m learning to ask how questions instead.

“Why didn’t she want to have lunch?” becomes “How can I keep making new friends and broadening my community?”

“Why does that client ask my advice and then ignore it?” becomes “How can I find more projects with leaders who are ready to move forward?”

“Why didn’t God give me what I want?” becomes “How can I give God what he wants from me?” (ouch.)


This technique is WAY easier to explain than to do (at least for those of you who, like me, long for closure and logical explanations. Often my biggest question is “How can I deal with not knowing the why?”). But if I’m going to over-think something, at least I’m starting with better questions.

What why question are you asking right now? What how question can replace it?

new to you friday–in the pink

A highlight of this week was a long lunch with a dear friend—one of those people you see only once or twice a year yet find yourself talking to about life and theology and ideas before the salads arrive.

He’d read Tuesday’s blog post and so we talked about trust, and waiting, and how I have trouble submitting to God because I don’t always trust God. I told him the story below and admitted most days I’m still here—resisting God’s gifts because they’re not the right shade of pink.

Someday I’ll get it. In the meantime I’m grateful for good friends who love me anyway, and readers like you who let me work it out in words.

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(minutes before meltdown)

I spent Thanksgiving in Morro Bay, along the coast of central California, with my friends Phil and Kari Ann and Phil’s grandparents. We did all the usual turkey day stuff—watched the Macy’s parade, played games, watched football, and ate too many carbs.

Also there for the fun were the couple’s two little girls, who are ages three and six. The girls are a joy in my life—we cuddle and read books and catch tree frogs and color pictures and watch “My Little Pony” DVDs until I’m nauseous—but they are three and six, and therefore susceptible to temper tantrums, crankiness, and general drama.

Since I traveled and basically spent every waking moment with them, I got to see quite a bit of the drama. Tears when being forced to go to bed or take a bath or put shoes on or take shoes off. Squealing when confronted with unfamiliar food, too-hot food, too-cold food, or not enough food. Or, my favorite, the three year-old’s complete meltdown when—although she is dripping wet, covered in sand, and shivering uncontrollably from playing in the ocean—she absolutely refuses her mother’s offer of clean, dry clothes because they’re not pink.

(It may be best if I have sons.)

I don’t recount all that to pick on these sweet girls. They’re no more ornery than any other little girls who haven’t had their naps. I mention it because it struck me, as Avery screamed “No black pants!” at the top of her lungs at Pismo Beach, that I usually behave like a tired preschooler with God.

I don’t understand when he “forces” me to do things that are good for me, and I often refuse his expressions of care and comfort because they don’t look like I want them to. (They’re not pink, in other words.) I cry when I don’t get what I want, and when he does lavish gifts on me I grab them with a sense of entitlement and then look around for more. I get tired, and overwhelmed, and I lash out at the Father who cares for me most.

The girls will eventually mature and grow out of these behaviors with their earthly parents. I hope I eventually grow out of behaving this way with God.

a prayer

God,

Because I’m one of the few people in the world who has a truly good man for a father, I shouldn’t have a problem thinking of you as my Father, or believing that you, too, are good.

But as you know, I often do.

My dad sends me encouraging emails, and listens to me process my problems, and recently lugged a hydrangea plant from Cincinnati and then planted it in my flowerbed while wearing his work clothes. I know if I ask him for something good like help or protection (or a hydrangea), and it’s in his power and in my best interests to give it to me, he will give it with delight.

But when I ask you for those things, I don’t believe you’ll really answer. If good things happen, all too often I assume they would have happened anyway (the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous, etc. etc.) or that I made them happen. If not-so-good things happen, I blame you. (Yes, I know it’s irrational.) And when I don’t see immediate results in either direction, like RIGHTNOWPLEASE, I assume you’ve ignored my request.

So I wanted to say, as I sit tiredly in this Barnes and Noble after a day of shoveling mud and throwing away the waterlogged contents of a neighbor’s house, that I am sorry.

I’m sorry because I just realized, sitting here, that the house I so wanted last year, that I spent days mourning when another family outbid me, is very close to Old Hickory Lake and those owners—besides paying more each month than they should be—are probably bailing water. You said “no” on that prayer and now I see at least one reason why. Thanks.

I’m sorry because that job I hated and prayed about whether to leave—well, you eventually answered definitively (it doesn’t get any more clear than “the boxes are down the hall”) and you got me eight weeks of severance pay in the process. Thanks.

I’m sorry because a couple of those guys I wanted to have relationships with during the last decade (good Lord, and I mean that literally, have I really been dating for 18 years? We’re going to have a separate talk about that…) would NOT have been good matches for me long-term. I was too blinded by infatuation to see it at the time, but you knew and protected me from mega heartbreak by allowing some miniature ones. They didn’t seem so small at the time, but I get it now. Thanks. And at least one of them lost all his hair, so there’s that.

It would be nice if, occasionally, I didn’t have to wait years to see how you’ve answered. Perhaps a start would be for my prayers to be more in line with your will, so you didn’t have to say no so often. And it would be good if I could remember this so I don’t doubt your goodness quite so much the next time you do say no. We can talk about that stuff later, too. But for now—thanks.

me

new to you friday–your mama

Each year I believe this even more than when I wrote the original post. But, a happy P.S.—the friend who endured shots and tests delivered her first child, a handsome boy who’s just discovered his feet, last November.

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A couple of my friends lost their mom in a car wreck several years ago. Other friends tolerate relationships with their mothers ranging from strained to abusive to non-existent. Two friends struggled with infertility issues for years and almost adopted a baby only to have the birth mother change her mind at the last minute. Two others adopted a child; she’s now an adult, an addict, and a prodigal who’s left them to raise a grandchild. Some of my single friends long for a child of their own and don’t appreciate the reminder of another year ticking by. And one friend is currently undergoing shots, tests and ultrasounds to try to become pregnant. She’ll find out Monday—the day after Mother’s Day—if she’s carrying a baby.

Given all the complex emotions surrounding motherhood—being one or having one—I wish churches showed more sensitivity in recognizing Mother’s Day each year. I suppose there’s no harm in acknowledging it, but leaders must realize the day is not all corsages and overpriced buffets. For every woman experiencing hope or happiness this Sunday, another will be working through grief, regret, or anger.

So if you’re wrapping up (or just starting) your remarks for this weekend, please consider the range of life stages and hurts represented in your congregation. Each of the friends I mentioned will be in church this Sunday morning—they could be in your church.

Oh, and a hint for next year: this does not mean adding baby dedication to the morning’s activities. Wound, here’s some salt—start rubbing.

flooded with blessings

This post brought to you by Facebook and a flood.

My friend Amy recently wrote, “Jen, I would love to read your thoughts on this: if we live happily and comfortably, should we be thankful to God for it or should we be on red alert because it probably means we’re not sacrificing enough? And I’m not talking about being ‘rich,’ per se, I’m talking about simple stuff like having a refrigerator and clean water and an extra set of sheets and towels and more than one pair of underwear…that sort of thing. I never know if I should be joyful or nervous when I realize I’m comfortable and happy…!”

And then Nashville received almost 14 inches of rain in two days, flooding streets, destroying homes and businesses, and killing 18 people. Suddenly it did seem only the luckiest had extra towels and uncontaminated water.

And I got to thinking about “stuff,” and the things we say about stuff.

How many of the following have you heard?

1. “Compared to 95% of the world’s population we are ALL rich, just by being born in this country.”

2. “It’s not wrong to have money, it’s about the condition of your heart and what you do with the money.”

3. “The person who dies with the most toys still dies.”

4. “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” – Jim Elliot

It’s true we have won the global lottery just by being Americans, especially those of us who are white middle-class Americans. Should we feel guilty for that?

It’s true that love of money, not the money itself, causes many evils. But rich is relative; if I shop for secondhand clothes before lunch out with friends and my sister buys clothes at the mall but packs her lunch, who’s a “better steward”? And how do I know if my heart is right?

It’s true we can’t take it with us. But God put me on the planet—is it so wrong to want a few vacations and a food processor?

It’s true our treasures in heaven vastly surpass our treasures here. But is anyone else in the universe as spiritual as Jim Elliot was?


Discussions of money and our faith often raise more questions than they answer, because—like so many things—we want black and white answers, and—like so many things—the answers are as muddy as the Cumberland River water swamping downtown Nashville. The problem is the fall affected this aspect of our natures just as it warped every other part of us, so something God created as good—sharing and giving—now includes guilt and manipulation and comparison.

As my dad once wryly observed, if we give all our money away to care for the poor, we’ll be poor and people will have to take care of us. (By the way, my dad is one of the most generous people I know.)

On the other extreme, What Jesus Would Not Do is spend more on iTunes downloads and Diet Coke than he gives away.

So what’s the answer?

Well, Amy, since you asked, here’s my opinion: God asks us to give 10%, which may not have been hard for Jim Elliot but which I hate. And that’s as much black and white as he gives us. Beyond that, we ask him if we’re doing enough and if we’re doing the right things. We keep asking, every week or every month, and obey the best we can.

And no, you should not feel guilty about being happy or having more than you need. Guilt is not helpful. Instead, let the gratitude for these blessings prompt you to do more so that others can also have a warm place to sleep, dry clothes, enough food. Keep asking God to let you know if you should do something else, or something more specific like giving time, and be prepared to not always like his answer. Keep asking God for humility, too, so that when you sponsor a child in Africa or volunteer at a soup kitchen it remains a gift to God, not a cause for pride. And then, if you and God are at peace about your checkbook and your motives, be at peace. Enjoy a week at the beach with your family or a vanilla latte or a new sweater and thank God for the blessing.


And if you want to help Nashville, click here.