The days are growing longer just in time for the longer days I have needed lately as I prepare for a trip to East Asia. It has been a dream of mine for years to travel to this part of the world, to be a part of what God is doing there. I am incredibly thankful for the opportunity and have been busy updating my passport, getting shots, and purchasing supplies. I am happy to report that I am completely packed and just counting down the days until we leave Friday evening.
I also wanted to let you know that for those of you who come to this blog via my website, that site will be closing down in the next day or two. Please add my blog -- www.charitysingleton.blogspot.com-- directly to your favorites and continue to visit me here. The cost and difficulty of maintaining a full website has been more than I could keep up with the past couple of years, especially when blogger has become so comprehensive.
Finally, I pray that you all have a blessed Easter. Though it didn't transpire exactly as I had planned, I hope our season in the wilderness together this year has prepared you for Resurrection Sunday.
March 30, 2010
March 28, 2010
Palm Sunday: Awe and Ambivalence
This morning as I was preparing to head for church, I remembered that it is Palm Sunday, a day of celebrating the king of glory. I thought of the many Palm Sunday services I had attended, full of children waving fronds and high energy music.
When I actually arrived at the church service, I was met with a very similar scene. The worship arts ministry was out in full force with the handbells ringing, the orchestra playing, the choir singing, the children dancing. There were slide shows and videos. The service was high energy, the music was loud, and I loved it.
Then, we heard a sermon from Matthew 12 on the evil of our hearts revealed in our actions and words, and another truth about Palm Sunday hit me. Just as the morning worship filled my heart with awe like those crowds who greeted Jesus on the road to Jerusalem centuries ago, so my heart is capable of the same ambivalence they felt just days later when they yelled, "Crucify."
Palm Sunday is certainly about the "Hosannas" for our triumphal king who is more glorious than we can imagine. But it's also a day of warning that our hearts that are more deceitful than we care to admit.
When I actually arrived at the church service, I was met with a very similar scene. The worship arts ministry was out in full force with the handbells ringing, the orchestra playing, the choir singing, the children dancing. There were slide shows and videos. The service was high energy, the music was loud, and I loved it.
Then, we heard a sermon from Matthew 12 on the evil of our hearts revealed in our actions and words, and another truth about Palm Sunday hit me. Just as the morning worship filled my heart with awe like those crowds who greeted Jesus on the road to Jerusalem centuries ago, so my heart is capable of the same ambivalence they felt just days later when they yelled, "Crucify."
Palm Sunday is certainly about the "Hosannas" for our triumphal king who is more glorious than we can imagine. But it's also a day of warning that our hearts that are more deceitful than we care to admit.
Can the same heart cry out both "Crucify" and "Hosanna"?
Lord save us!
"For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. The good person out of his good treasure brings forth good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure brings forth evil." - Matthew 12:34-35
March 25, 2010
How Deep the Father's Love - Part 1
Last Sunday, my friend Kelly and I and her two sons had one of our somewhat frequent "pancake parties." It's really nothing more than them coming to my house after church for homemade pancakes, but every occasion is more fun by adding the word "party" after it. And as has become our tradition, I always add chocolate chips to the pancakes, and the boys know to expect colorful straws for drinking their juice.
This past weekend, as I was buying supplies for the big feed, I got as far as the juice section and remembered that the boys each had a different favorite juice. With a guest list of just the four of us, our party certainly didn't need two bottles of juice. But so as not to disappoint either, I grabbed both orange juice and apple juice before leaving the store.
Later, when I mentioned the two kinds of juice, Kelly insisted that it was unnecessary to buy each boy's favorite. "They would still love you even if you didn't have their favorite," she said.
I started to feel guilty for trying to buy their love with bottles of squeezed fruit, but in that moment I realized that it wasn't their love that motivated the juice buying. It was mine. I knew they would still love me either way, but MY love for them compelled me to do the little extra.
Of course, buying juice has never been a sign of unfailing love in any culture, but it did strike me that this is a glimmer of God's love for me. He's not trying to win my affection or trick me into a relationship when he blesses me; he is motivated out of his own great love. And his demonstrations are extravagant.
As the days of Lent come quickly to an end, we will soon enter a season of reflecting on this deep love of God, the kind of Love that empties himself and humbles himself and sacrifices himself for others.
It's more than a two-bottles-of-juice kind of love.
It's more like a two-hundred-bottles-of-juice kind of love. With more where that came from.
This past weekend, as I was buying supplies for the big feed, I got as far as the juice section and remembered that the boys each had a different favorite juice. With a guest list of just the four of us, our party certainly didn't need two bottles of juice. But so as not to disappoint either, I grabbed both orange juice and apple juice before leaving the store.
Later, when I mentioned the two kinds of juice, Kelly insisted that it was unnecessary to buy each boy's favorite. "They would still love you even if you didn't have their favorite," she said.
I started to feel guilty for trying to buy their love with bottles of squeezed fruit, but in that moment I realized that it wasn't their love that motivated the juice buying. It was mine. I knew they would still love me either way, but MY love for them compelled me to do the little extra.
Of course, buying juice has never been a sign of unfailing love in any culture, but it did strike me that this is a glimmer of God's love for me. He's not trying to win my affection or trick me into a relationship when he blesses me; he is motivated out of his own great love. And his demonstrations are extravagant.
As the days of Lent come quickly to an end, we will soon enter a season of reflecting on this deep love of God, the kind of Love that empties himself and humbles himself and sacrifices himself for others.
It's more than a two-bottles-of-juice kind of love.
It's more like a two-hundred-bottles-of-juice kind of love. With more where that came from.
March 21, 2010
Gratitudes Galore
This weekend has been a gift: nice weather, a chance to spend Saturday afternoon with my dad and sisters, a two-hour nap today, my church's vote to approve a new building project, and today, my brother's return home after an 8-month deployment. The video below from their local news affiliate features my brother and his family among others waiting for loved ones (Chief Petty Officer Andrew Costin, and Lisa, Dustin and Samantha Costin who all appear in the video.) Thank you, Lord, for so many good gifts.
March 16, 2010
Sniffing Around
Today I couldn't help it. I went to the gym to work out, but after about 30 minutes, I left. The sun was calling out my name, and I needed to be outside, not more inside.
As soon as I got home, I grabbed my dog's stretchy leash, the one that gives her more freedom, and the two of us took to the yard. She went one direction, sniffing, I, the other, sniffing. And the two of us spent a happy 20 minutes sniffing around.
Of course, I with the opposable thumbs also did some poking and pulling and picking, checking out the new growth that came up seemingly overnight on my bushes and apple trees. I picked up a few more sticks to add to the growing pile, and I pulled up a few dead things to add to my compost bin.
This is what I love about Spring and the Lenten season that runs parallel. The darkness and dampness of winter lends itself to the introspection and repentance we need on a regular basis. But just when we are not sure we can continue on in the wilderness, like yesterday for me, the Lord sees and cares and brings us the hope of a sunny day and the warming ground.
We can easily start to believe the lies of the wicked when we are in the wilderness for a while, that our sin and despair are outside the purview of our Savior. Like in Psalm 94, when the "wicked" call out to the people of God, "The Lord does not see, Nor does the God of Jacob pay heed."
But the Psalmist knows better. To the wicked, he says, "YOU pay heed . . . He who planted the ear, does He not hear? He who formed the eye, does He not see?"
As soon as I got home, I grabbed my dog's stretchy leash, the one that gives her more freedom, and the two of us took to the yard. She went one direction, sniffing, I, the other, sniffing. And the two of us spent a happy 20 minutes sniffing around.
Of course, I with the opposable thumbs also did some poking and pulling and picking, checking out the new growth that came up seemingly overnight on my bushes and apple trees. I picked up a few more sticks to add to the growing pile, and I pulled up a few dead things to add to my compost bin.
This is what I love about Spring and the Lenten season that runs parallel. The darkness and dampness of winter lends itself to the introspection and repentance we need on a regular basis. But just when we are not sure we can continue on in the wilderness, like yesterday for me, the Lord sees and cares and brings us the hope of a sunny day and the warming ground.
We can easily start to believe the lies of the wicked when we are in the wilderness for a while, that our sin and despair are outside the purview of our Savior. Like in Psalm 94, when the "wicked" call out to the people of God, "The Lord does not see, Nor does the God of Jacob pay heed."
But the Psalmist knows better. To the wicked, he says, "YOU pay heed . . . He who planted the ear, does He not hear? He who formed the eye, does He not see?"
The Lord has seen indeed and lifted my soul out of the dark place. Yesterday, I cried out in my day of trouble with the Psalmist. Today, I find my delight with him.
"When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul." -- Psalm 94:19
March 15, 2010
The Wilderness Within . . . Again
Life kind of got the better of me over the past week, and making time to reflect on Lent in this little space has been difficult. Forgive me if you showed up each day to find me missing.
Life kind of got the better of my other Lenten intentions as well, and I have found myself far from the contemplative spirit I was hoping to foster. Work is stressful; my trip to Southeast Asia is approaching quickly; my normal evening and weekend activities are requiring more attention lately; and I am trying to make extra time to spend with my family. Fasting from multitasking and trying to do one thing at a time has not made my life simpler in the past couple of weeks; it's meant that I've been running (quite literally at times) to fit it all in.
It's easy to fill this space with the quiet reflections of a life going well. But in the past couple of weeks, the wilderness has been more than a metaphor, and the darkness and dryness of my circumstances has been nothing compared to the struggle in my soul. It's not doubt I'm confronting. It's sin. Black, dirty sin. And the more I cry out to the Lord, the more obvious it becomes.
Ironically, after a month of reflecting and repenting, I have come to experience what I first discovered a month ago. The darkest wildernesses we will encounter are the wildernesses within. Navigating our circumstances, however treacherous, feels "easy" with a well-watered soul. But making our way through even the easiest of circumstances becomes almost impossible when we are dry and dead inside.
I don't know if you are finding the wilderness within to be almost too much, like I am. But if you are, here's what we are going to do. We are going to look to Psalm 107 where there is great hope for people like us, hope for the wanderers who can't find their way, hope for the prisoners of misery and rebellion, hope for fools of iniquity and traders in sin.
Cry out to the Lord in your trouble.
Give thanks for the Lord for His lovingkindness.
Offer sacrifices of thanksgiving and tell of His works with joyful singing.
Life kind of got the better of my other Lenten intentions as well, and I have found myself far from the contemplative spirit I was hoping to foster. Work is stressful; my trip to Southeast Asia is approaching quickly; my normal evening and weekend activities are requiring more attention lately; and I am trying to make extra time to spend with my family. Fasting from multitasking and trying to do one thing at a time has not made my life simpler in the past couple of weeks; it's meant that I've been running (quite literally at times) to fit it all in.
It's easy to fill this space with the quiet reflections of a life going well. But in the past couple of weeks, the wilderness has been more than a metaphor, and the darkness and dryness of my circumstances has been nothing compared to the struggle in my soul. It's not doubt I'm confronting. It's sin. Black, dirty sin. And the more I cry out to the Lord, the more obvious it becomes.
Ironically, after a month of reflecting and repenting, I have come to experience what I first discovered a month ago. The darkest wildernesses we will encounter are the wildernesses within. Navigating our circumstances, however treacherous, feels "easy" with a well-watered soul. But making our way through even the easiest of circumstances becomes almost impossible when we are dry and dead inside.
I don't know if you are finding the wilderness within to be almost too much, like I am. But if you are, here's what we are going to do. We are going to look to Psalm 107 where there is great hope for people like us, hope for the wanderers who can't find their way, hope for the prisoners of misery and rebellion, hope for fools of iniquity and traders in sin.
Cry out to the Lord in your trouble.
For he has satisfied the thirsty soul.
Give thanks for the Lord for His lovingkindness.
He saved them out of their distresses.
Offer sacrifices of thanksgiving and tell of His works with joyful singing.
He sent His word and healed them.
"He changes a wilderness into a pool of water and a dry land into springs of water; And there he makes the hungry to dwell, so that they may establish an inhabited city, and sow fields and plant vineyards, and gather a fruitful harvest. Also, he blesses them and they multiply greatly, and he does not let their cattle decrease."
March 8, 2010
Wilderness Gratitude
One of the greatest dangers of the wilderness is the tendency toward ingratitude. The wilderness is hard, and after a while, the miracles become overshadowed by the mayhem. And in the process, instead of being thankful for manna, we start whining for quail.
In 1 Corinthians 10, Paul says the Lord was angry with his people for complaining and grumbling, and includes these "little" sins of ingratitude alongside idolatry, immorality, and trying the Lord.
My own wilderness of the past few weeks has left me feeling less than grateful at times. It has been easy to talk about the things that are going badly. And indeed, some things have gone very, very wrong over the past couple of weeks, particularly as they relate to my dad's health.
But again and again, if I work at it, I can see many blessings, too -- miracles amid the mayhem. Today, as we continue our Lenten meditations, a few blessings from the past couple of weeks:
1.) my dad's successful surgery and release from the hospital (yesterday)
2.) unexpected time to spend with my family at the hospital and on the phone
3.) a negative CA125 - cancer free for 21 months now
4.) counting down the days until an exciting mission trip to Southeast Asia
5.) a job I enjoy that can meet my needs
6.) a great theology conference at my church this past weekend
7.) loving support from many friends and family
8.) a haircut
9.) 9 days of puppy sitting for Brewster the Golden Retriever
10.) a growing relationship with Jesus
In 1 Corinthians 10, Paul says the Lord was angry with his people for complaining and grumbling, and includes these "little" sins of ingratitude alongside idolatry, immorality, and trying the Lord.
My own wilderness of the past few weeks has left me feeling less than grateful at times. It has been easy to talk about the things that are going badly. And indeed, some things have gone very, very wrong over the past couple of weeks, particularly as they relate to my dad's health.
But again and again, if I work at it, I can see many blessings, too -- miracles amid the mayhem. Today, as we continue our Lenten meditations, a few blessings from the past couple of weeks:
1.) my dad's successful surgery and release from the hospital (yesterday)
2.) unexpected time to spend with my family at the hospital and on the phone
3.) a negative CA125 - cancer free for 21 months now
4.) counting down the days until an exciting mission trip to Southeast Asia
5.) a job I enjoy that can meet my needs
6.) a great theology conference at my church this past weekend
7.) loving support from many friends and family
8.) a haircut
9.) 9 days of puppy sitting for Brewster the Golden Retriever
10.) a growing relationship with Jesus
March 6, 2010
One Day at a Time
For the past couple of weeks, I have led life one day at a time. All plans have been written in pencil, and more than once recently my day has turned out completely different than I had planned.
That's what life is like in the wilderness. Though God may have our days completely mapped out, He doesn't reveal more than the next step to us. For planners like me, living moment to moment can be maddening at times. But when you are in the wilderness, being on a need to know basis can sometimes feel more like grace.
Two weeks ago, had my dad known that his simple heart catheterization would lead to quadruple bypass surgery and a mitral valve repair, followed by the complications he has endured with each new day -- the implantation of a pacemaker, the low platelets, the heavy fluid around his heart and lungs making it difficult for him to breathe, and now the pulmonary embolism -- it would have been a lot harder to sign that consent form. But having God show him just one day at a time has made each day in this wilderness a little more bearable. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring is often God's mercy for us.
That's the way the Lord was bringing the Israelites through the wilderness in the months after they first left Egypt. A pillar of fire by night and a pillar of smoke by day led them step by step from their days of slavery toward the land God had promised them. They didn't know what each day would bring, what enemies they might face or what difficulties would await them. They just knew that God would show them the way and that he would go with them.
Until the people of Israel refused to follow God's daily leading, that is. After God had graciously led them all the way to the edge of the promised land, miraculously providing food and water and all they needed for life, they refused to take the next step he showed them, conquering the enemy and inhabiting the land flowing with milk and honey.
Provoked by their rebellion, God was persuaded by Moses not to destroy the nation, but instead, he gave them over to a future of wandering. In a single breath, God told them what the next forty years would hold for them, a generation of wanderers, and we don't hear of the pillars of God's presence again until Moses' death just outside the promised land years later.
The punishment for their rebellion was not really the wilderness and not really the wandering. The Israelites had been wandering the wilderness one day at a time with God leading them for a while. The way I see it, the greater punishment was knowing the sum of their days in the wilderness before the first day was over and having to make their way without God's presence leading them one day at a time.
We deceive ourselves by thinking that life would be easier if we could just see what the future held. The reality is, God gives us these seasons of uncertainty in the wilderness to remind us that all our days are in his hand to dole out to us one at a time as a gift. And when He walks through them with us, it makes the gift greater still.
That's what life is like in the wilderness. Though God may have our days completely mapped out, He doesn't reveal more than the next step to us. For planners like me, living moment to moment can be maddening at times. But when you are in the wilderness, being on a need to know basis can sometimes feel more like grace.
Two weeks ago, had my dad known that his simple heart catheterization would lead to quadruple bypass surgery and a mitral valve repair, followed by the complications he has endured with each new day -- the implantation of a pacemaker, the low platelets, the heavy fluid around his heart and lungs making it difficult for him to breathe, and now the pulmonary embolism -- it would have been a lot harder to sign that consent form. But having God show him just one day at a time has made each day in this wilderness a little more bearable. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring is often God's mercy for us.
That's the way the Lord was bringing the Israelites through the wilderness in the months after they first left Egypt. A pillar of fire by night and a pillar of smoke by day led them step by step from their days of slavery toward the land God had promised them. They didn't know what each day would bring, what enemies they might face or what difficulties would await them. They just knew that God would show them the way and that he would go with them.
Until the people of Israel refused to follow God's daily leading, that is. After God had graciously led them all the way to the edge of the promised land, miraculously providing food and water and all they needed for life, they refused to take the next step he showed them, conquering the enemy and inhabiting the land flowing with milk and honey.
Provoked by their rebellion, God was persuaded by Moses not to destroy the nation, but instead, he gave them over to a future of wandering. In a single breath, God told them what the next forty years would hold for them, a generation of wanderers, and we don't hear of the pillars of God's presence again until Moses' death just outside the promised land years later.
The punishment for their rebellion was not really the wilderness and not really the wandering. The Israelites had been wandering the wilderness one day at a time with God leading them for a while. The way I see it, the greater punishment was knowing the sum of their days in the wilderness before the first day was over and having to make their way without God's presence leading them one day at a time.
We deceive ourselves by thinking that life would be easier if we could just see what the future held. The reality is, God gives us these seasons of uncertainty in the wilderness to remind us that all our days are in his hand to dole out to us one at a time as a gift. And when He walks through them with us, it makes the gift greater still.
March 2, 2010
Quiet Enough to Hear
For the past couple of weeks, my car has been making a funny noise. Sometimes it sounds like a man nervously rolling coins in his pocket. Other times, more like a squeaking door. And it usually only happens when I turn a corner or go over a bump.
Eventually, I'll need to have someone look at it, but for now, I'm just taking note. The problem is, I don't know how long the noise has been there. My car may have been making the noise since I bought it. The only reason I am noticing it now is that for the first time I am driving it around in silence.
Though my multitasking fast has not been as "pure" as I had hoped when I first began, I actually am driving, eating, and working in quiet most of the time. And now that I am a couple of weeks into the fast, the noises in my head are finally quieting too.
Now I can hear from Jesus.
Just like the noises from my car, Jesus has probably been speaking to me about issues in my life for years now. I just don't often live quietly enough to hear Him. Also, I find that I pray more fervently for others these days because when the Spirit whispers a name to me, I hear it, and I start interceding.
And joyfully, I have found that Jesus also is stirring up gratitude in my heart during this quiet season. When I have the space to think about what I am eating, the money I have to pay my bills, the opportunities I am given with family and friends, I am deeply grateful. Without the silence to consider these blessings, however, I often take them for granted.
Though at times I resist this season of quiet in my life, I am growing increasingly accustomed to these new sounds I am hearing. Sounds that are refreshing not draining. Sounds that help me fix the things that are broken.
Even if it means a repair bill for my car.
Eventually, I'll need to have someone look at it, but for now, I'm just taking note. The problem is, I don't know how long the noise has been there. My car may have been making the noise since I bought it. The only reason I am noticing it now is that for the first time I am driving it around in silence.
Though my multitasking fast has not been as "pure" as I had hoped when I first began, I actually am driving, eating, and working in quiet most of the time. And now that I am a couple of weeks into the fast, the noises in my head are finally quieting too.
Now I can hear from Jesus.
Just like the noises from my car, Jesus has probably been speaking to me about issues in my life for years now. I just don't often live quietly enough to hear Him. Also, I find that I pray more fervently for others these days because when the Spirit whispers a name to me, I hear it, and I start interceding.
And joyfully, I have found that Jesus also is stirring up gratitude in my heart during this quiet season. When I have the space to think about what I am eating, the money I have to pay my bills, the opportunities I am given with family and friends, I am deeply grateful. Without the silence to consider these blessings, however, I often take them for granted.
Though at times I resist this season of quiet in my life, I am growing increasingly accustomed to these new sounds I am hearing. Sounds that are refreshing not draining. Sounds that help me fix the things that are broken.
Even if it means a repair bill for my car.
March 1, 2010
The Wilderness Excuse
Just a couple of days ago, I waxed eloquently about the mercy we can find in the wilderness when we find ourselves failing to meet the religious standards we set for ourselves. I talked about Jesus picking grain on the Sabbath, and I confessed how I've been talking on the phone while I drive back and forth to the hospital to see my dad, even though I have given up multitasking for Lent.
And while I completely believe everything I wrote that day, I am feeling a heaviness of heart to expand that thinking on this day. While the wilderness is certainly no place for legalism, it's also no place for indulgence. And though we may cry "Uncle" regarding our spiritual disciplines, there's never an excuse to give in to sin. In the darkness and hunger of the wilderness, it's really easy to confuse those two issues.
I think of Jesus' temptation during his 40-day wilderness just after his baptism and just before his public ministry. Matthew's account of that event says that Jesus had already been fasting for 40 days and nights when the devil asked him to turn stones into bread. The way I see it, the fast was all but over anyway, and Jesus was just days away from the similar miracle of turning water into wine. Had he done what Satan suggested, I'm not sure it would have been sin.
But Jesus knew that this was not the only temptation coming his way. To let down his self-discipline in the contrived wilderness of fasting would only be a gateway to indulging his flesh in the real wilderness he was experiencing as he confronted his enemy. Turning stones to bread was one thing; bowing down and worshiping Satan was another. And Jesus could not afford to get them confused.
As I continue making my way through both my self-imposed and super-imposed wildernesses this Lent, I have found myself walking a very fine line to cope with all that's going on around me. Is it ok for me to talk on the phone while I drive even though I am supposed to be abstaining? Probably. Is it ok for me to become angry and complain about my situation? Probably not.
Of course there is grace and mercy on the other side of both types of indulgence. But there is also growth and maturity and a closer walk with Jesus when I continue to say "no" to both. And I don't know if I can afford to get them confused right now, either.
And while I completely believe everything I wrote that day, I am feeling a heaviness of heart to expand that thinking on this day. While the wilderness is certainly no place for legalism, it's also no place for indulgence. And though we may cry "Uncle" regarding our spiritual disciplines, there's never an excuse to give in to sin. In the darkness and hunger of the wilderness, it's really easy to confuse those two issues.
I think of Jesus' temptation during his 40-day wilderness just after his baptism and just before his public ministry. Matthew's account of that event says that Jesus had already been fasting for 40 days and nights when the devil asked him to turn stones into bread. The way I see it, the fast was all but over anyway, and Jesus was just days away from the similar miracle of turning water into wine. Had he done what Satan suggested, I'm not sure it would have been sin.
But Jesus knew that this was not the only temptation coming his way. To let down his self-discipline in the contrived wilderness of fasting would only be a gateway to indulging his flesh in the real wilderness he was experiencing as he confronted his enemy. Turning stones to bread was one thing; bowing down and worshiping Satan was another. And Jesus could not afford to get them confused.
As I continue making my way through both my self-imposed and super-imposed wildernesses this Lent, I have found myself walking a very fine line to cope with all that's going on around me. Is it ok for me to talk on the phone while I drive even though I am supposed to be abstaining? Probably. Is it ok for me to become angry and complain about my situation? Probably not.
Of course there is grace and mercy on the other side of both types of indulgence. But there is also growth and maturity and a closer walk with Jesus when I continue to say "no" to both. And I don't know if I can afford to get them confused right now, either.
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