by Angela Sanders | Mar 12, 2019
It’s happening again. Do you feel it? The waters that had
finally calmed, allowing hurt feelings to heal and disillusionment to sprout
new hope, are rippling once again, churning, in some places.
Political unrest and controversy never let up, of course,
but it seemed to me, after the last presidential election, most of us agreed to
an unspoken truce on some level, if for no other reason than because we ourselves
needed to convalesce. Well, we must be all better now because harsh tones,
biting words, and judgmental assumptions are whizzing past again from every
direction like poison darts.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve got friends and loved ones out there on both sides of many
issues currently being discussed, and I don’t want any of them to get hurt. Or lost. I can’t protect them on my own,
of course, but I can offer advice to
my brothers and sisters who feel compelled to stand up and speak out.
If that’s
you, please…
Spend at least as much time letting
God examine your heart as you spend examining the behavior of others. We are poor judges of our own character (1 Cor.
4:4). Because you’ll be stepping out
with God’s name on, let Him do the inspecting.
Think before you speak. Emotions can muddy thinking. Rush in
to a conversation, and you’ll probably owe someone an apology before it’s all over
(Prov. 19:2). The rule of thumb in our house is 24 hours if you have the option
of waiting that long.
Say what you mean and mean what you
say. The burden of clarity is on the speaker, not
the audience. If you don’t want to be misunderstood, make it impossible by
choosing your words carefully and telling people what you don’t mean as well as
what you do mean.
Make sure you know the meaning of a
word before you use it in a sentence. If the word is nuanced, clarify your
intended meaning. Likewise, confirm a speaker’s intended
meaning before offering a different perspective. Doing so helps keep
conversation on track and prevents unnecessary conflict.
Say as little as necessary to get your
point across. Remember,
“when words are many, sin is not absent”
(Prov. 10:19).
Let facts speak for themselves. Actual facts from credible sources. This
will require some research on your part, but you could save yourself embarrassment.
Your opinion matters, but everyone has an opinion. If yours isn’t based on truth,
it will be dismissed.
Remember your audience. The person to whom you are speaking is
a living, breathing, feeling, thinking, wanting, needing human being with major
flaws, just like you. Treat them how you want to be treated even when they
don’t reciprocate (Luke 6:31). Their friends and loved ones—who are also
listening—will not only appreciate your efforts, but respect you for them even
if they aren’t in a position to say so.
Examine your motives. If your goal is to make yourself look
good, intimidate, shame, humiliate, confuse, or stir up dissention, you are not
in step with the Father, whose ultimate goal in all things is His glory, not
yours (Isa. 48:11). Wait to post until you are.
Exercise discernment. Don’t believe and/or pass on everything
that matches your mood. Check facts, verify “biblical” content, listen for
tone, scrutinize word choice, and examine motives. If you wouldn’t have written
it yourself, don’t let it speak for you (Rom. 14:22).
Be patient. Remember that irrational, sweeping,
and/or biased comments usually come from a place of ignorance and/or fear. Responding in like-kind will only confirm
the speaker’s bias, stoke their fear, and make it difficult, if not impossible,
for you to share information that could have changed or eased their mind.
Give people the benefit of the doubt. Wait for individuals to show you their
worst before you believe it. Categorizing people by age, gender, religion,
nationality, party, etc. may prove useful when attempting to provide for
general needs, but it should never be used to analyze or assume the content of
individual hearts. Like snowflakes, no two of us are exactly the same.
Ask objective questions. You may be pleasantly surprised to
discover a particular speaker’s perspective is not what it originally seemed,
but if it is and your goal is to persuade, you’ll find questioning to be a much
more effective technique than debate. While counterpoints invite counterpoints,
questions encourage introspection and the reevaluation of personal thought. Furthermore, people who feel heard are more
likely to listen.
Forgive. Limited in our perspective, knowledge,
and wisdom (1 Cor. 13:9, Phil. 1:6), we’re just kids running around with sharp knives,
really. All of us. The only way we’ll ever come out on the other side of this season
healthy, whole, and still loving each other is to forgive one another in real
time, to believe and act as if those around us don’t owe us anything for the
wrong they’ve done to us because they really don’t. Sin is anything that goes
against God’s will and nature, not ours. It’s between us and Him, not us and
them (Ps. 51:4).
Don’t put words in others’ mouths. This includes God. Everything He had
to say to us, He inspired men to record in the Bible (2 Tim. 3:16-17), and He
isn’t a fan of people taking creative license with His Word. Add to and/or take
away from it at your own risk (Rev. 22:19)!
Don’t make political jokes. Political jokes are particularly
divisive as they often require the jokester to overgeneralize ideas and events,
make unfounded assertions about individuals and/or people groups at their
expense, draw an “us” versus “them” line in the sand, and/or make light of what
others take very seriously. They reek of ignorance and arrogance.
Don’t burn bridges. Like anything else God gives us, the
relationships in our lives are gifts meant to be returned to Him in worship,
tools for the advancement of His Kingdom for His glory through the spread of
the Gospel, not gadgets for our own comfort, amusement, or convenience. The
burden of Truth our relationships must bear is weighty; insofar as it is up to
you, preserve and keep them (Rom. 12:18).
Well, that’s
my two cents. May God use it for good.
Listen, friends,
in a matter of months, we will elect a President. Some of us will celebrate and some of us will
mourn, just like last time, but we’ll all deal with what we’ve got. Much could
change, yes, but people will still need Jesus. This being true, whom we elect
in 2020 isn’t nearly as important as whom we glorify in the process.
Please—I beg
you—be wise!
by Angela Sanders | Feb 13, 2019
“Love you, guys!” I called across the expansive lawn my
classmates and I had walked together almost thirty years ago, our paths
diverging once again.
I hadn’t seen most of them during those thirty years and
hadn’t expected to see them again until this summer when we had our 30th
high school reunion, but one of us passed away unexpectedly last week.
It was a shock, to say the least. Recent events had lulled me into a false
sense of physical security. Everyone in
my circle who’d passed away lately had had some kind of warning first, a
diagnosis, advanced age, a known risk taken.
This friend, however, just died. Going
about her business, having no reason to think anything big was about to happen
to her and her family, she just stopped living, right there in the left lane of
life.
So my friends and I gathered to pay our respects.
Seeing their faces, I was caught off guard by the deep emotion
I felt for each and every one of them, memories rushing in and over each other like
tide waters. We hadn’t spent every day
of our younger years as an exclusive group or anything, but we had cared about
each other and were part of a collective whole that had survived the struggle
and inherent pain of adolescence together, an accomplishment that tends to bind
hearts.
Mourning alongside my friends in the crowded bleachers of
our high school gymnasium, their anguish deeper than my own because they’d
known our mutual friend better, I felt inadequate. Hoping my presence was a comfort on some
level, I longed to do so much more, but there just wasn’t time. We exchanged hugs, offered smiles, and spoke
words of encouragement before parting, and when we did, my heart tore a little.
It felt strange to say “I love you” to people who had no tangible
reason to believe me after our having spent so many years apart, but it was
true, both in the popular and spiritual sense.
Yes, I was compelled by affection in that moment, but the
sentiment behind my “I love you” went much deeper than this pledge-turned-status-update
now conveys in our culture. When I told my friends I loved them, I
wasn’t just telling them how I felt. I
was committing to be for them what Jesus has been for me, a conduit of God’s
love.
That includes being kind, of course, welcoming, inclusive,
attentive…all the ways people traditionally express love. Let’s be honest, though, every decent person,
Christian or not, does these things to some degree for the people they care
about—sometimes for people they don’t—more often if these behaviors come naturally
to people with their personality type.
Loving people God’s way, however, requires something that
doesn’t come naturally to anyone, consistent obedience to His commands, all of
them (1 John 5:2, 2 John 1:5-6).
You see, when we obey the One Who is not only able to comfort
us in times of loss, but also able to rescue us from the consequences of sin,
sustain us through life’s challenges, and set us down safely on the other side of
death when it’s our time to go, allowing His Holy Spirit to correct, equip,
empower, and guide us, we do more than make people feel better about themselves,
their circumstances, and/or us. We give
God room to show the world Who He is, what He’s like, and what He can do, increasing
the likelihood they will either find or continue to cling to Him, the One who loves
them more than they could possibly imagine and holds their eternity in His
hands (John 3:16, Matthew 10:28).
It may sound a
little extreme, but this is the love
we’re called to (John 13:34), friends, whether or not anyone ever recognizes or
notes it.
As for me, my
“I love you” is a promise, and I intend to keep it.
by Angela Sanders | Feb 6, 2019
I have to see so-and-so today, and I dread it.
Not because I’m afraid of them. They aren’t in a position to hurt me anymore.
Not because I’m jealous of them. I don’t want anything they
have.
I dread seeing them because our interaction always reveals ugliness
in me. I don’t ignore them. I don’t say
vindictive things. I don’t use body language to make them feel uncomfortable. In
fact, I don’t think they even know I still struggle, but I do.
Over time, with God’s help, I have learned how to love them
in practical ways for His sake, how to speak and demonstrate grace with
sincerity, how to measure out mercy when they exhibit behaviors that bring up
dark memories for me, and how to forgive completely, truly believing and acting
as if they don’t owe me anything else for what happened.
The thing is, I don’t care about them, not like I should. I see the work God is doing in their life, but
I don’t rejoice with them like I do with others. When they suffer, I don’t hurt
for them like I’d hurt for someone else.
When they fail, I struggle not to feel gratified.
Honestly? If you told me I’d never see them again, I
wouldn’t be too sad. Curious, yes.
Regretful over what could have been, of course, but not really sad.
See? Ugly. Really
ugly. Strong evidence that I’ve got a lot of growing to do, and I don’t like to
be reminded.
I may have beaten my body and made it my slave to a certain
degree (1 Cor. 9:27), doing the right things by this person so as not to
discredit the Gospel outwardly, but I have not allowed God to transform my mind
where they are concerned (Rom. 12:2).
If I had, I would feel compassion toward this spiritual
sibling who struggles just like I do to keep moving forward in their faith. I
would care less about the effects of their behavior on me and more about their
behavior’s effect on Jesus’ reputation in the world. I wouldn’t keep
congratulating myself for doing the bare minimum in this one relationship when
Jesus gave His utmost for us all.
Hard truth? My obedience in this particular relationship has
been superficial at best so far. It’s time to get serious about letting God demonstrate
what He can do in and through a thoroughly surrendered heart.
It’s time to turn my focus away from what’s temporary—myself,
this person, and our mutual experience included—and fix it on the eternal—God,
the Gospel, and His eternal purpose (2 Cor. 4:18).
It’s time to recognize anew the Holy Spirit’s authority in
my life and give Him jurisdiction not only over my behavior, but over my thoughts
as well, allowing Him to take captive any and all that don’t please Him until I
only see what He sees when looking upon this imperfect sibling of mine, the very
same blood of Jesus that covers my own sin, no less offensive than theirs.
Okay, Lord. I’m
ready. Teach me to love deeply, this time from the heart (1 Pet. 1:22).
by Angela Sanders | Jan 22, 2019
“And this week’s MVP goes to…”
I don’t remember whose name was spoken, only that mine wasn’t and I thought it should have been.
I was angry.
After all, if it hadn’t been for me, we wouldn’t have shut our opponents out. If it hadn’t been for me, Coach wouldn’t have had the option of moving the rest of the defensive line to the front to help score. If it hadn’t been for me, our goalie wouldn’t have had her easiest game of the season.
I had been MVP for four weeks straight, though. I guess Coach thought it best to spread the award around, and she was probably right. I’d gotten cocky and was starting to feel a little better than my teammates.
I’d forgotten how they encouraged me when it took a while to learn a sport that came easily to the rest of them, how they ran extra laps to keep me company because I was slower than everyone else, and how they wiped my tears when Coach’s words felt too personal. I’d failed to appreciate how they cheered me on, gave me room to shine, and stood up for me to bullies on the other teams.
Without them, I wouldn’t have lasted the first practice, but I’d grown prideful and forgotten because someone told me I was the MVP.
It was only sixth grade soccer, for crying out loud, but a pattern had begun to develop, a dangerous one.
Monikers are powerful. Awards. Titles. Position. They go to our heads, even in the Church, and if we’re not careful, we could start thinking we’re better than our brothers and sisters just because the task God has allowed us to carry out by His grace garners more attention than the equally important tasks others have been assigned.
We’ll forget that we are sinners saved by grace just like everyone else, that we, too, struggle to maintain forward motion in our own spiritual growth, and that without the help and prayer support of our brothers and sisters, we’d probably fail more than we do. We’ll fail to appreciate the wisdom in God’s forming the Church using diverse, but ordinary members empowered by the same Holy Spirit, the mercy and grace we were shown when chosen to cooperate with them, and the much greater sacrifices so many seldom-mentioned brothers and sisters are required to make for the sake of our common mission to advance the Gospel and grow God’s Kingdom.
We’ll forget we are dust and get too puffed up to be of any use, a sickening thought.
Listen, the most recognition any of us deserve for what God accomplishes through us is a participation ribbon for our obedience. There’s only one MVP in all this, and that’s God. When people hand you His glory by mistake, give it back!
by Angela Sanders | Jan 1, 2019
Guess what. The kids will never be settled. Not completely.
Sure, some of the things I want for them will fall into place. They may have moments, even stretches, of happy, but I’m slowly learning that life is like one of those crazy tennis ball shooters, and it never turns off. They might dodge and volley successfully for a while, but they’re never going to get an extended rest.
No one does.
They’re going to get hit, and there’s not a single thing I can do about it. Now, you might think this realization would overwhelm or depress me, but it’s actually a bit of a relief. You see, I know what I have to do, and this truth makes the job a little easier.
I don’t know about the rest of you parents, moms in particular, but I’ve been waiting twenty-three years for the ache in my heart to subside, the one that began when my oldest was born, the one that ebbs and flows with my children’s successes and failures, health and illness, joy and sadness. Dreading the squeeze of adrenaline that has followed every one of my babies’ cries, children’s tears, teenagers’ pained expressions, and young adults’ vulnerable texts, I’ve poured much to most of my time and energy into heading them off, not even hoping for awesome, just normal, so my weary heart can rest.
That’s no way to live.
First of all, it’s wrong. My time and energy? It belongs to God—all of it—and I have sacrificed way too much of it on the altar of the life I imagined for my children, something God may never even have had in mind for them.
Now, God’s been faithful to use what I have given Him to advance His Kingdom, and I’m grateful, but I can’t help wondering what He might have done through me if my attention hadn’t been quite as divided, if I’d had His glory in mind when making parenting decisions all along instead of just more recently. Whatever He might have done, I’m sure He accomplished it in other ways, but I hate that I missed out on opportunities to participate. Even more, I hate that I missed out on opportunities to express my devotion and gratitude to the Father for all He’s done for me.
Second, it’s a bad example to set for my children, whose greatest good is achieved when God is glorified and His Kingdom, their inheritance as born-again believers, grows.
God’s receiving the praise and worship He deserves for being Who He is and doing what He’s done is more important than anything else. Anything. Of course, I’ve known all along it was more important than my own happiness and have done my best to prove that. However, it’s also more important than my children’s happiness, and I know my words and actions to this point haven’t always conveyed that truth.
Well, today, that changes. Todd and I are empty nesters now, so it might seem like a moot point, but it’s not. Once a parent, always a parent. For the rest of their lives, I will be making decisions that affect my children—their children, too, if that’s what God has in mind for them—and I’m going to spend that time giving God His due, no matter the cost.
I thought I might feel a little anxious about this resolution, but I’m really not. I know and truly believe that God is working all things together for my family’s good because we all love Him and have been called according to His purpose (Rom. 8:28). What’s more, He’s not a God of confusion (1 Cor. 14:33). If something is His will for me, then it’s His will for my loved ones, too.
Like I said before, the kids are never going to settle anyway. If they suffer as a result of my obedience, at least the sting will count for something good and lasting. At most, it will deepen their faith.