God's Sovereignty and His Goodness Explained by His Authorship

I just read this blog post, which attempts to explain how God can be God and good at the same time--a question I've been grappling with in the shadow of last Friday's tragedy.  It is not light reading, so get comfortable and turn on your thinking cap.  But I can tell I'm going to be mulling this over for days.  To answer the question "Where Was God" last Friday, he proposes an analogy of God as Author and yet as Character of the great Story of time.

Very interesting stuff.  I'd love to hear what you think about it.

That God is God and He is Good

Our Sunday School teacher often says that in the tragedies and struggles of our lives we will wrestle with believing two things:  that God is God and that God is good.  How right he is.

In the wake of Friday's tragedy, I am confronted with the juxtaposition of God's sovereignty and God's goodness.  That He reigns over such chaos and darkness in love.

I do not understand it.  I ask Him where He was.  I protest that He turned His back and implore Him not to leave my children.

But of course He was there.  He is with us always, even to the ends of the earth.  No sparrow falls to the ground without His consent.  Surely no child does either.

And then my unbelief moves swiftly to the next point.  Then is He good?  Is a God who would preside over such horror loving?  Does He care about us at all? 

If I cannot believe both that He is God and that He is good, all hope is lost. 

So I look to the manger, which led to a cross, where He presided over the death of his own Son all because of love for us. I look to His choice to suffer and to die, and it is there that I must rest. He has gone before us.  He has loved us unceasingly.  Surely He is God and He is good.

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.

A Very Blue Berry

I was seeing red this morning by the time my kids left for school.  My middle child had not said one positive thing all morning.  She and her older sister both complained about the clothes I got out (the oldest announcing that she wasn't wearing those pants because she "HATES them!").  She didn't like anything I packed for her lunch or her snack.  Every word was whiny.

Couldn't she see that everything I was doing, from buying her that impeccably cute outfit, to picking it out this morning, to packing her a healthy lunch AND snack I knew she'd like (including a peeled, sliced clementine that she loves), to getting the Secret Santa gifts together for her class, all while feeling really sick...it was ALL for HER.  Couldn't she see that the doughnut her daddy offered her for breakfast was a special treat, even if it didn't come from her favorite doughnut store??  

When did my precious daughter become so, well, bratty?  I feel like I'm going to look up and see her face on My Super Sweet Sixteen, bemoaning the poverty of the used car she's been given or something equally ridiculous.  Maybe she'll announce at age eight that she simply must have an ipad or cease to exist.  It almost makes me want to return all of their Christmas presents and make them eat pbjs for a week.

In these moments of exasperation, it was so clear to me.  The root of their complaining is a lack of gratitude.  The ingratitude manifests itself in a sense of entitlement and what-have-you-done-for-me-lately.  And it didn't take long for that clarity to reach a mirror.  I am guilty as charged.

I look at the opportunities, the things, the relationships I have, and I see the ways they don't meet my expectations.  I complain.  I wallow.  I demand.

So before enforcing austerity measures, perhaps I need to reevaluate my own gifts and start seeing them as such.  And in the meantime, I'm also on a quest to teach gratitude at my house.  As Madame Blueberry learns, "A thankful heart is a happy heart..."  So any suggestions you have for how to teach children to be thankful are more than welcome!!

"Do all things without grumbling..."

A Welcome Greeting

Tuesday afternoon was runoff election day in Alabama.  Not that you would know it based on the number of voters who showed up.  But I felt compelled to vote in one of our local judicial races, so I came home from a day of travel to the glamorous Perry County and hauled the kids over to the Catholic church where we vote.  They were quite excited.

Due to the apathy of the voters, we had the place to ourselves, and the poll workers seemed genuinely glad to see us.  The older lady who gave me a ballot smiled, remarked how cute they all were (ignoring the trail of snot that constantly protrudes from their noses at this time of year), and then looked at me and said, "They are precious gifts from God.  Be sure to treat them as such.  That's what I always tell my daughter."  I smiled, thanked her, and herded my group over to the table so I could fill in the ballot.

I suppose I could have been annoyed by her bossiness, but I was grateful.  Usually, when I'm in public with my kids, people feel compelled to comment about how I have my hands full.  They're right, of course.  I DO have my hands full.  And they mean to be empathetic, I'm sure.  But really, they just feed my martyr complex about the whole ordeal of lugging around a 4, 3, and 2 year old.  The inconvenience of it all is highlighted.  I feel justified in my little frustrations and my short temper.  After all, I have my hands full.

But this lady was different.  Rather than looking at me as the one in need of empathy, she focused on my children.  And in doing so, she reminded me of how precious they are.  I was encouraged to love and care for them, rather than feel sorry for myself and easily annoyed.  This comment did much more for my joy and stamina than empathy ever could, and I walked out of the church refreshed.

I think that in the future I will refrain from empathy, hinting to a frazzled mother that she has all the reason in the world to be frustrated, and focus on the wonder of those little frazzle-inducers instead.

Sara, on Fear and Heaven

Last night, reading The Little Mermaid to my sweet girl before bedtime.  We turn to the first picture of Ursula in the book.  As I'm reading, Sara cuddles closer to me and sighs heavily.  I know she is trying to be brave because she's scared of the "Sea Witch."

S, pointing to Ariel in the picture and interrupting the story:  Is God with her?

Mommy, knowing what the question implied:  Well, I don't know about Ariel.  But I know that God is always with us.  The Bible tells us He is.  So we don't have to be afraid.

S, nodding:  And Jesus.

Mommy:  Yes.  And Jesus.

S:  Christmas Time.  We see Him at Christmas.

Mommy:  Yes, Jesus was born at Christmas.  On Easter, we celebrate when he rose from the dead.  Did you know that?  He did that so He can take us to heaven one day.

S, with pouty lower lip:  I don't wanna go to heaven.

Mommy:  Oh, but Sara, heaven is beautiful.  It has walls and gates made out of jewels...

S:  What are jewels?

Mommy:  Shiny things.  It has streets made of gold.  AND it's light there all the time.  There is no night.

(I know this hits home with my little fraidy cat, and she reconsiders.)

Mommy, continuing:  No one cries in heaven because no one is sad.

S:  Because it's not dark.

Mommy, amused:  Right.  And because...

S, interrupting again:  Because God is there.

Mommy:  That's right, sweet girl.  Because God is there.


She was satisfied with this.  I hugged her a little tighter, and we faced the scary picture of Ursula with renewed resolve.

For More on Tebow...

I really loved this piece.

Are You There, God? It's Me, Tim Tebow

We interrupt our regularly scheduled daughter-focused blogging for a little football talk.  After all, I DO have a son too...

The rest of the blogging and media world has weighed in on something about Tim Tebow.  Until now, I have felt very little compulsion to join them.  Until now.

Earlier today I stumbled upon this quote: 
"The universe has a trillion stars," he says. "Ninety five percent of it is dark matter. It's hubris to think the Creator of all that wants the Broncos to win a football game."

I got curious about the source of this statement and did a little googling, winding up here, on an article about Tebow written from an atheist perspective.

See, usually I'd agree.  It seems silly that God would care about the Broncos (certainly He is aware that college football, and SEC football in particular, is imminently more important).  I believe that He created everything--all that dark matter and the places and things I can't comprehend.  Looking at the world around me, I find it easy to believe in a God who is bigger, wiser, stronger than me.  And I find it hard to believe that He would be consumed by a football game in Colorado.  

For that matter, it seems silly that He'd care whether my next meeting goes well, whether I find a good parking space, whether my children obey today.  Sure, He cares about the Big, Important Stuff, but the little stuff?  That's just silly.  An all-powerful God who bothers himself with the mundane details?  A fairytale.  Something we believers have invented to console ourselves about our own pointless existence.  Right?

But this distinction between the Big Important Stuff and the little stuff that God doesn't care about, well, it's a Lie.  And it catapults me down a spiral of my own logic--how do I know what He cares about?  how do I know when something is from Him and when it's just a coincidence?  and how do I know what to pray about?  why pray about the little stuff, since He doesn't care about it?--until I ultimately land at the bottom, alone and self-reliant, resolved to just handle everything on my own.

Oh, the danger of these thoughts.  But He reminds me--All of it.  He cares about all of it, as hard as that may be to believe.  

I know this because He says He does.  He cares about me, this little dot in Alabama.  He cares about my successes and failures, about the details.  He knows every hair on my head (and there are lots, graying more every day).  He knows my thoughts, when I sit and when I rise.  

And He cares about Tim Tebow too. His wins and losses.  

Yep, that's right.  I just said that God cares about football.  I feel like one of the team chaplains I've rolled my eyes about for years.  (Does this mean that God wants my beloved Rebels to lose?  Really?  Maybe he wants Hugh Freeze to win??)

But here's the thing:  Does this mean that Tebow and I (or, apparently, Ole Miss) are assured victory?  No.  God may not see victory as a necessity.  He may in fact see defeat or struggle as the means to bless us.  How often our world confuses the two, victory with blessing.   But God is not confused by them. He gives the victories and He gives the defeats. But He cares.  He is in them.  And He is for us.

When the losses come, as they likely will for Tebow and for us, we can rest in the knowledge that He is good, that He is near, in the victory and the loss. And in all things we can give thanks.

So, despite my pious hesitation to say it, thank you Tim Tebow for reminding me that God is in the little stuff--even NFL football--because His people are in the little stuff.  And He has demonstrated His love for us.

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
   nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
   and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
   and there be no herd in the stalls,  
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
   I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;    
he makes my feet like the deer's;    
he makes me tread on my high places.

So what about you?  Do you, like me, find it hard to believe that He cares about the details?  Do you seek Him in the little things, believing that He is there?