Last night I tossed and turned for hours. It was so strange–out of nowhere, I woke up with an overwhelming fear for my son’s safety. I was afraid that some day, somewhere, when I am not there to protect him, he would fall. Like, literally, fall–off a balcony, down some stairs, or over a rail.

As random as that fear seems, especially in the middle of the night when Isaac was safe and sound in his crib, the fear isn’t new. Ever since Isaac was born, I’ve had an irrational fear that he would somehow fall from a great height. Some of you might remember that during the first week of his life, I made my dad and brother tie a volleyball net over an open stairwell in our home. It was a major eyesore, but I needed it there. Otherwise, every time I walked by that stairwell it filled me with panic.

Since then, I’ve remained extremely nervous about “fall-zones,” like my parents’ balcony, or my mother-in-law’s stairs. If Isaac is remotely near either one, my blood pressure escalates and I quickly pull him (and by that I mean whoever is holding him) away from the edge. I have no idea where this fear came from, but it has persisted, and now it’s apparently waking me up at night.

What strikes me about this fear is the timing. Everything in our family has been great. Sure, school is busy and our lives are crazy, but crazy in a good way. Our family is in a season of great joy, and we spend most of our days thanking and praising God for His goodness.

That’s the funny thing about fear. Fear can slither in at any time, the good times and the bad. Just when everything is going your way, fear whispers: “This can’t possibly last forever. Something bad is bound to happen. Just. you. wait.”

I don’t know about you, but some of my greatest struggles with fear have occurred during the happiest times of my life. Usually my fear is rooted in some twisted belief about God’s character–that He can only use tragedy to grow me, or that He doesn’t want me to get “spoiled” by His blessing–but the result is always the same: it steals my joy. Rather than revel in God’s provision, I ruin the moment by worrying about the future.

I hate the way fear makes me feel, think, and live. I hate the way fear robs me of joy in the present. And I hate the way fear makes me treat other people. I know the fear is not from God, and that it is the handiwork of His Enemy. I hate it for that reason too.

However, as I work through this crazy fear about my son, there is one reason that I am grateful for fear, and I say this as I defiantly shake my fist at the one who meant it for ill:

Fear drives me closer to God.

Fear brings me to my knees in prayer, and it reminds me that this world is not my home. Fear points me back to the truth that one day, there will be no fear. There will come a day when I never again experience the not yet-ness of earth. Never again will my good days–not even my great days–be punctured by an ache, a gnawing, a fear, or the sense that even in the midst of seeming perfection, something is missing.

The feeling that I have, even in the most joyful seasons of my life, that feeling of temporality and of potential for loss, the feeling that there’s something more perfect than the perfection of this earth–that is my home calling.

One day I will have the perfect joy for which my soul longs. It will be the end of fear. My happy seasons of life will no longer be punctured by the fear of pain and loss, because there will be no more pain. “Perfect” truly will be perfect, as I dwell in eternity with my Savior, whose perfect love casts out fear.

As I pray through this fear about my son, that is my hope and my way forward. I’m going to meditate on God’s love, His goodness, and the home that He is preparing for me. Because I don’t know where my life is headed, but I do know that the end of this story isn’t fear. It’s never-ending joy.

Thanks be to God.

Friends, do I have a treat for you! Only rarely has my husband, Ike, written on my blog, but today I have asked him to weigh in. He’s here to offer his perspective on a topic about which he knows much more than I: male lust.

One of the reasons I asked Ike to address this topic is that I fear Christians have a terribly low view of men. When it comes to male lust, men come off sounding like animals. Whenever I hear that “men cannot help themselves,” I also hear this: the resurrection is powerless to heal the brokenness of sin, and depravity ultimately trumps renewal.

I am not satisfied with this narrative. We need to expect more from men, and from Christ. We women need a better understanding of male lust in relation to the cross, and Ike’s words have really helped me in that regard. As you read, I hope he will encourage you too.

Here’s Ike….

*****

As a spectator of the lively conversations about modesty, I know that Christians have a great deal to say about what women should and should not do, or should and should not wear.  However, relatively little of the modesty discussion has been addressed to men. Instead, the church has adopted a problematic notion that, left unaddressed, will prevent Christians from ever arriving at a real or biblical solution.  It is the notion that all men lust, hopelessly and helplessly.

A friend of mine was recently confronted for dressing immodestly.  She was approached indirectly, and informed that some men in her church were struggling with her dress.  She received the statements graciously, but she later shared an insightful frustration with Sharon and me.  She commented that she would gladly dress more modestly out of love and concern for her brothers in Christ, but there seemed to be no corresponding “rehabilitation” required for these men who, apparently, struggled with lust.

As our friend pointed out, there is a glaring inconsistency in the church, one that allows men to make judgments about the modesty of women without confessing and repenting of their own complicit lust in the process.  Instead, a woman is accused of immodesty and shamed, all by virtue of the fact that a man has lusted after her; however, the man who engaged in lust does not experience the same public shame. In fact, he is sometimes considered praiseworthy for addressing such a “threat” to the community.

I imagine countless women can sympathize with my friend’s experience.  The truth is, the Church has acquiesced to the notion that “all men lust,” and this is a problem. When men are portrayed as helpless sexual animals, they are logically excused from the hard but truly effective work of exercising self-discipline.

And yet, this hard work is exactly what Christ calls us to. In Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount we hear one of Jesus’ most radical interpretations of the law: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. (Matt. 5:27-8)

The way in which my friend’s “immodesty” was handled, as I am sure is the case with so many incidents, might lead us to think the verse continues: “…and when you do look at a woman lustfully, go to that women and tell her to dress more modestly.”

But this is not the case. Jesus tells us rather, “if your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away” (Matt. 5:29). Jesus cuts to the heart of it: The true seat of lust is a man’s heart, not a woman’s body.

No doubt, there is truth to the statement that all men lust, but it is a truth about the condition of the heart, not a women’s clothing.  Rather than portray men as helplessly prone to lust, it would be more accurate to describe lust as an ever-pressing temptation to all men, a temptation that requires great vigilance and discipline of mind.  The failure of men to diligently address this temptation has led to the false conclusion that all men are incapable of resisting the temptation entirely.

On this issue we men are our father’s—Adam’s—children.  On no other issue do we men so unabashedly play our father’s card: God, it was that woman you put here…  Much like Adam, we often shirk our personal responsibility by shifting the blame and attention, in this case, to the secondary contribution of immodesty.

To be sure, there is a place for conversation about modest dress, but to stop there is to treat only the symptoms of a much deeper sickness: we as men have not chastened our desires and disciplined our minds in accordance with the things of God (Phil. 4:8).

Treating the issue—gouging out the eye and throwing it away—means doing the hard work of establishing healthy thought patterns regarding women.  In particular, men need to establish healthy habits for our eyes and our minds in relation to the female body and person.

What does this look like in practical terms?  Personally, I have established habits and practices to vigilantly resist this ever-pressing temptation. However, rather than prescribing universal rules for all men, here are some self-reflective questions that might help individual men determine what is effective for them:

1. 1. Why are you looking at a woman?  There are many legitimate reasons to be looking at a woman: she is your co-worker, classmate, leader, or volunteer in a ministry you work with, etc.  But we men know there are less than honorable answers to this question as well. Be aware of your motives
2. 2. Why are you looking a second time? When you see a woman, especially one to whom you are sexually attracted, what is your reason for looking again?  What is your intention and what do you hope to accomplish?
3. 3. When you look at a woman, where does your gaze come to rest?  Do you look her in the eyes, or do you look at her disrespectfully when you think she doesn’t see you? For me, it is difficult to lust after a woman when I am looking her in the eyes.

These are only a few of the self-reflective questions we men must consider if we hope to reclaim our minds. Ultimately this issue is not about locating the proper place of blame but about freeing and renewing ourselves from the possessive oppression that lust exercises upon men’s minds.  In this liberation we men are freed for clear and healthy thinking, and to love and honor our sisters in Christ as whole people, created in the image of God.

*****

If you have any questions for Ike or me, feel free to let us know in the comments section!

Every now and then, God nudges my heart with a topic that I think someone out there needs to hear. Most recently, the topic is one I know quite a lot about: breakups. Although it’s been awhile since I was single, I had my fair share of breakups, and I remember them well. They were extremely hard, but I also learned a lot.

If you’ve never been through a breakup, you would probably be shocked at just how devastating they can be. Not all breakups are equally heartbreaking, but when a serious relationship ends–especially one that was either long-term or headed toward marriage–it can shatter you.

In many ways, a painful breakup is like a death. When a relationship ends, one witnesses the demise of a dream and a hoped for future.  Simultaneously, everything changes: the most significant person in your life is now gone, and your plans are completely upended. For some, the upheaval launches them into a season of depression, self-doubt, and deep-seated grief.

However, breakups don’t always receive the same attention and community care that other losses do. Granted, the loss of a breakup is qualitatively different from other losses, but the grief is still very real. Clichés and simplistic encouragements are no more comforting after a breakup than they are after any other deep loss.

On the heels of a breakup, my anguish was sometimes made worse by thoughtless or insensitive comments from friends. Which is why, looking back on it, I would offer the following advice to those of you who know someone going through a breakup:

1. Don’t rush the healing process–Although there comes a point after every breakup when it is time to move on, don’t rush the process. I never felt more isolated and alone than when my friends didn’t let me grieve. They wanted me to accept God’s plans and timing and get on with it. As a result, I felt ashamed and embarrassed about my feelings, which compounded my pain all the more.

2. Don’t pick sides–The friends of a broken-up couple should never be asked or expected to choose sides. Picking sides is unfair, it causes division, and the “picking” itself can be horribly misguided–unless you witnessed wrong-doing firsthand, you can never know whose side of the story is really true.

Picking sides also adds heartache to an already broken individual. Speaking from personal experience, the only thing worse than losing my boyfriend was losing all my closest girl friends too. I remember feeling lonely to the point of despair. In retrospect, I think some of my friends confused “supporting” and “siding.” I didn’t need them to be on my side, but I sure did need their support.

3. Don’t give easy answers–Breakups raise a lot of questions about ourselves, our futures, and even God. It takes time to work through those questions, and unfortunately cliché answers usually don’t help. It doesn’t help to hear, “You’ll meet someone better!” when you can’t even begin to think about dating again, or the only person you want to be with is your ex. And it doesn’t help to be told, “It just wasn’t God’s will” when you were SO SURE it was.

If you have a friend going through a breakup, treat them the way you would any grieving loved one: Be quick to listen and slow to speak. Make space for them to mourn. Call them. Sit with them. Check on them. Pray for them. Breakups are awful and hard, but having a caring community surround you in the process can make it just a little easier.

And if you are going through a breakup right now, my dear one, take heart! The pain you feel is real and serious, so don’t ever think you are weird or pathetic or weak for the depth of your sorrow. Know that you are not alone–so many of us have been there, or are there right now. But also know that it doesn’t feel like this forever. Little by little the pain will fade until, one day, amazingly, it will be gone.

Until then, spend time with people who love you. Read the Psalms. And don’t stop talking to God. When you’re in great pain it can be difficult to open your heart up, even to God. But He is there for you, He loves you, and He will resurrect your heart, and your dreams.

What a difference 5 years can make. An even bigger difference a decade!

A couple weeks ago I attended my 10 year college reunion, and it’s really had me thinking. These reunions have become significant mile markers in my life: At my five year reunion I had attained my M.Div., was working as a college minister, and Ike and I had JUST started dating (pictured below to the right). At this year’s reunion (pictured at the very bottom), Ike and I are now married, live in the Chicago area, and have a son. It makes me wonder what’s in store for the next five years!

It’s also had me reflecting on all the ways I’ve changed in the last 10 years. In particular, I’ve been thinking a lot about my twenties and what I learned during that decade. My twenties were both amazing and incredibly hard. Those were the years when I truly became an adult. And those were the years when a lot of head knowledge became heart knowledge.

As I thought about it more, I took a survey of my Facebook friends and Twitter followers, asking them the number one lesson they learned in their twenties. After processing their answers alongside my own experience, I have come up with the top 5 things I learned in my twenties (in no particular order):

1. My parents were right. In my early 20′s I had an insufferable, holier-than-thou streak that my poor parents were forced to endure. I don’t know why I thought I was so enlightened, but my parents proved their maturity and superior wisdom by showing me grace.

Over time, I have come to realize the inestimable value of life experience. From it springs the riches of wisdom and, in that regard, my parents are far wealthier than I. In so many ways, about so many things, they were right.

2. Your life will not turn out the way you think it will. By now, I thought I would have published at least one book and become a majorly successful writer. To date, that has not happened, and my 23 year old self would be extremely disappointed. But here’s the funny thing: I’m not disappointed at all. God’s timing is not my timing, and His plans are not my plans. In fact, His plans are much better than I ever could have imagined.

God’s plans are also harder. There are some parts of my story that I would have never chosen. However, God taught me a lot about myself and a lot about Himself during those difficult chapters. He taught me about humility and brokenness, but He also taught me about trust, hope, and resurrection.

3. The world is not black and white. The world is much more complex than I ever knew it could be. As a younger person, I saw things in very stark terms: there are good people, and bad people; there are evil causes and righteous causes; and every problem has a simple answer.

Seeing the world in black and white is easy. It doesn’t require one to listen. It doesn’t require patience. It doesn’t require mercy. And it doesn’t require much thought. But over time I noticed that, not only is the world more complicated than the narrow categories I tried to impose on it, but Scripture is too.

There are parts of the Bible that seem rather paradoxical, that don’t offer easy answers. Jesus himself was famous for doing what you’d least expect. There is a mystery and complexity to our faith, and we don’t have to have all the answers. But that’s ok, because we follow a God who does.

4. I figured out who I was. Well, sort of. Figuring out who God created me to be has been one of the greatest challenges of my life. This path has been more like a labyrinth, winding through all manner of obstacles that subvert my true self: ungodly motives, selfish ambitions, vanity, people pleasing, envy about other people’s talents and success, discontentment with my own abilities, and trying to be someone I am not.

To me, it makes sense that twenty-somethings grapple with their identities. Twenty-somethings have just emerged out of their teen years, a season defined by conforming to others’ expectations. At home, teens obey their parents, and at school they try to fit in. As teenagers, our identities are received from others; as twenty-somethings, our identities become self-established.

However, old habits die hard. It takes time to tune out the world and listen to your own heart, and God’s. I’m still learning to do that, and I will probably keep on figuring it out for the rest of my life. But my twenties was when the process really gained momentum.

5. I learned to appreciate who I am. The flip side of trying to be like other people, or trying to be liked by other people, is the crushing disappointment of falling short. When your gifts are not the same as the role model you aspire to imitate, or your body does not conform to an accepted standard of beauty, you can either spend the rest of your life fighting that reality, or you can embrace it.

For me and many others, that hard work really began in my twenties. I’m still learning to appreciate who God created me to be, but I take a lot of comfort from 1 Corinthians 12. In it, Paul reminds us that the Body of Christ is incredibly diverse, each member playing an essential part. The strongest or most glamorous members are just as dependent on the weakest members as the weakest depend on the strong. We all have a special role to play, so my task is to figure out just what my gifts are, and to exercise them to the best of my ability, for the glory of God.

So those are the top 5 things I learned in my twenties. Thanks to everyone who contributed your own insights to this post! And to all you twenty-somethings out there, I really hope you will enjoy this decade. It can be incredibly hard but also exhilarating and eye-opening and just plain fun. And the best part is, it only gets better, so press on my friends!

To the rest of you, what did you learn in your twenties?

Just over a year ago on a sunny morning in March, Ike and I sat on a plane in Dallas as it taxied toward the runway. It was an ordinary day and an ordinary flight, or so we thought. Before the plane was able to take off, our ordinary flight became a terrifying ordeal when, out of nowhere, one of the flight attendants went berzerk. Chaos and confusion ensued. Until we realized she was having a psychotic episode, we thought the plane was being hijacked.

I wrote about the experience here and here if you care to read the details, but needless to say the incident affected us deeply. I think it’s accurate to describe the experience as traumatic.

Since that day, Ike and I have both endured numerous emotional aftershocks whenever we fly. Unusual mechanical sounds or raised voices can trigger heart-racing panic. On each flight,  I find myself monitoring the demeanor of the flight attendants; as long as they seem calm, I feel a little safer.

On top of my anxiety about flying, the trauma has manifested in other arenas as well. Last year while at Disney World, our bus was traveling way too fast (so I thought) and I began to wonder if the driver had hijacked the vehicle. That is where my brain goes these days.

The trauma I experienced was minor in comparison with the national tragedies that have transpired in the last year. I won’t compare my experience to a movie theater shooting or a center-city bomb blast. My experience only gives me a teeny tiny taste of the mental and emotional anguish of those victims. But now, whenever these tragedies appear in the news, I better understand how a trauma can linger.

Traumatic events open a window for fear to enter in and take control. Environments that were once fun and care-free now trigger suffocating anxiety, and the unpredictability of these triggers can lead one simply to dwell in a place of fear.

However, headline-making traumas affect more than the victims involved. They jolt our national consciousness and shape the public imagination. Whenever a disaster occurs, we pray a little louder and hold our loved ones a little tighter. And we too must face the demons of fear as they scramble to gain a foothold in our culture and in our hearts.

In the wake of yesterday’s Boston Marathon bombings, fear is one of our greatest adversaries. Fear is quiet, but it is also persistent and powerful. It can silently shape our lives and our beliefs in terribly destructive ways. As we pray over this tragedy in the days to come, I would encourage you to pray against the dragon of fear in these two ways:

1. Pray for the survivors to find peace: In addition to the crushing sadness wrought by this tragedy, the survivors will also grapple with enduring fear. For the Boston Marathon survivors, I suspect that big cities or large crowds will trigger anxiety for years to come. Some will wrestle with PTSD and flashbacks. Some will be haunted by fear on a daily basis. The survivors will never be the same again, but pray that fear will not gain a stronghold in their hearts and in their lives. Pray for them to experience healing, freedom, and peace.

2. Pray against fear in your own heart: Terrorism is most successful when it produces a culture of fear. Fear stymies reason and thwarts the way of love. Fear is the handmaiden of our Enemy, and we must do all we can to fight it.

2 Timothy 1:7 tells us that “God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” 1 John 4:18 adds, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” Together, these verses tell me that the followers of Christ are not to be a people of fear but of love. The world is frightening and there is a lot we could fear, but Christ makes possible another way. In a scary world, being salt and light means resisting fear and instead choosing love.

The radical love of Christ is not born out of fear, but of courage and trust in God. In other words, Christian love is a discipline. So this week, I pray for the strength to be salt and light in a violent world. I pray for the courage to banish the darkness of fear with the radiant light of Christ’s love. In the same way that I can look to a flight attendant’s calm demeanor as a source of security, I will look to our unshakeable loving God, and therein find surpassing peace.