Cindy DeBoer

Christian Service

It’s Been Ten Years… So Why Am I (still) Alive?

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On the day before Thanksgiving, 2013, in a closet-sized, moldy-smelling exam room, a University of Michigan pulmonologist confirmed my fear: the shortness of breath I’d been experiencing was due to a rare, progressive, degenerative, and often terminal lung disease, Lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM). Paul and I sobbed the entire drive home from Ann Arbor.

Not surprisingly, a rare disease doesn’t draw the research dollars compared to something like, say, cancer. I get it. Why put out a toaster fire when a whole city is burning down the street? Lack of research funds translates to a lack of up-to-date information as well as a cure. So even though sources were minimal, I scrambled to learn everything I could about this unwanted guest residing in my lungs. Most everything I read at that time suggested women with LAM (it’s a sexist disease – only women get it) had, on average, 10 years to live from the time of diagnosis.

Attempting to make sense of my imploded world after learning my years on this planet would be reduced, I wrote a blog about it and it kind of went viral. You can find that original blog here. And now, as someone shocked to still be alive, I feel compelled to revisit that original blog. Although it reads like a re-imagined list of life priorities, in actuality, it was a simple attempt to find the meaning of life. I had to. I’d been handed an “expiration date,” and I would never again have the luxury of NOT thinking about how I’d spend my precious days.

A humbling and unexpected experience these past 10 years has been watching from the sidelines as many, many other women with LAM have passed away. Especially during COVID. What a gut-wrenching time as numerous LAM-sisters lost their lives (don’t even get me started on how I believe society failed us, the vulnerable…) And for mysterious reasons most likely tied to hormones, LAM tends to spread more quickly and be more severe for women under the age of 40. This means that often, the deceased are younger than me. These precious ones are taken to heaven during child-bearing years – often leaving young children behind.

So what the heck am I still doing here?

Why them and not me?

New Thoughts for a New Decade

It seems to me God chose the wrong “mama” to take home. Why wouldn’t he take the one who has lived more than half a century and watched all her children enter adulthood than the one in her 30s with small children at home? Did God goof?

This line of thinking has kept me up at night and given me many a migraine these past 10 years.

NOT the reasons I’m still alive:

I always believed our single most important purpose here on earth was to bring God glory. I think, like the good Calvinists we were, we learned about “saved by faith alone” at a very, very young age so that we didn’t freak out about trying to please God and think our salvation depended on it. But simply glorifying God can NOT be why God keeps me (and you) here on planet earth. Because, if he truly just desires our praise and glory, he’d receive it even MORE PERFECTLY and MORE ABUNDANTLY from us in heaven. Here on earth, we fall short and screw it all up much of the time. God would have us all at his feet in heaven if glorifying Him is all we were created for.

Other Christians tell me that we’re supposed to just be grateful and bask in God’s beauty and goodness. They say that by doing this, we please God and that THAT is the meaning of our existence. Be HAPPY, Be THANKFUL, and WATCH more sunsets, they say.

I find that sorrowfully lame as well. For one, I’m not so sure how I feel about the “goodness of God” anymore anyway. I think, as is clear in the Beatitudes, that HIS definition of “good” is not the same as OURS. For another reason, I feel like we wealthy, privileged, and first-world Christians love to use thankfulness as our panacea. We dodge the responsibility of leveraging all our “#blessings” to help “the least of these” by incessantly repeating how darn thankful we are.

What would SHE say is the reason I’m still alive?

I can’t stop thinking about what one of my younger deceased LAM-sisters (that’s what we call each other) would say to me. How would she, as one who passed away in her 30’s and left behind several young children, feel about me and my choices, as one whom God spared and has made it to 57 years old?

If it were possible that this LAM-sister could watch me from heaven, would she be pleased that I spend all kinds of hours feeling sorry for myself? Would she say I’m living my best life as I watch more HGTV or reruns of Friends? Would she want me to obsess more about shopping – buying new cars, better clothes, and bigger homes with my bonus years that she was robbed of? Would she think the hours I spend taking care of all my “stuff” and buying more “stuff” is honorable? Would she be supportive of God’s decision to take her home early yet spare me as I hold grudges, argue with my husband, gossip with friends, or spend hours trying to change someone’s political bend?

Just the thought of all the ways I cheapen this existence – this ONE PRECIOUS LIFE, while she, my LAM-sister doesn’t even GET an existence, sickens me.

When I wallow in self-pity and pilfer away my days in meaningless activities, it feels to me, that in some way, I’m dishonoring the legacy of my LAM sisters – or of anyone who has gone before me who really should still be here on earth. I feel that if I’m not living my best life, I’m basically saying to those deceased: I don’t like the gift of life I’ve been granted. I’d rather be you.

The Good Life

It’s such an existential question: what are we here for? As I write this blog, I’m finding it much easier to identify all the things I am NOT placed on earth for. But when I parse out those things, I’m left with a conclusion that makes me tremble. I’m left with the conclusion that there IS STILL SOMETHING LEFT FOR ME TO DO. Not to just simply be, but to BE fully alive and DO something. Which begs the question: How do I know if I’m fully alive?

I don’t know.

I often think I’m really living and living abundantly. But then I see other people (Christians) who are doing it so differently from me and are as equally convinced that they are the ones actually really living.

But what I do know – and you know this, too – is that there are these holy-moment times when we feel very much alive and we don’t want them to end and it’s almost as if we can feel God smiling down on us. For me, those moments are when I:

  • Sit with a patient at my psychiatric hospital who may be battling things like suicidal ideation, anxiety, depression, anger, fear, hopelessness, or helplessness, or any number of mental struggles, and just listen to them. Not necessarily speak – but just sit with them in the moment.
  • Sit oceanside and get all caught up in the mystery and massiveness of a God who holds the oceans in his hands and cry my eyes out for at least an hour.
  • Scoot my 2-year-old granddaughter down the sidewalk in her Little Tykes cozy coupe and pretend we are going to Costa Rica to sell strawberries, but then abruptly stop because she sees a yellow wildflower and yellow is her mama’s “favowite.”
  • Watch a sunset over a small inland lake in the middle of Michigan with my high-school sweetheart whom I’ve now been married to for 37 years.
  • Give with extravagant generosity – more than the world would say is prudent.
  • Soak in the chatter when all four kids, their partners, and grandbaby have gathered in our home and I hear them cover things like Israel/Gaza, refugees, which breed is better: weaner dogs or Bernadoodles?, who’s the best SNL character ever, a new book release by Jedidiah Jenkins, best practices in sourcing quality coffee, the takeaway from the morning’s sermon, and does anyone want to go to the border and learn about the crisis firsthand from a non-bias, NGO?
  • Walk. Whether in the flower greenhouses in the spring, Meijer Gardens in the summer, the woods in the fall, or our neighborhood in the winter after a fresh fallen snow. I FEEL God when I walk.
  • Spend time with the six junior high girls in my small group at the Potters House School
  • Tell Alexa to play a random favorite worship song and instruct her to “turn it up” so loud that the walls of this old former crack house just shake in worship along with me.

So while I may have failed at planting more trees and visiting our local nursing home regularly (goals from my blog 10 years ago), I’m learning there are definitely some actions that bring light and life (either to me or to the life of others) and, in return, make the world a better place to be.

I want to be all about ACTIONS that bring LIGHT and LIFE. I want to do more than just “be” and kill time until Jesus calls me home. I want to DO some things.

WAIT A MINUTE! Can Saved-By-Faith Christians actually SAY THAT???

There was a time when Paul and I sold just about everything we owned, packed up the four kids, and moved abroad to just live for Jesus in a place where not many others do. Somewhere during that time, someone told us we were “works righteous.” In other words, they suggested our actions indicated we were trying to EARN God’s gift of salvation. That accusation stung hard and burned deep. And I still reflect on it. Why does it still hurt? Because for the life of me, I can’t NOT DO things. It’s what gets me out of bed every day. It’s what I feel deep down in my bones – that whenever and wherever it is possible, we have been called to DO something that matters.

In general, I find it is the Christians who would rather not DO anything difficult or unsavory, who like to call “foul” on their fellow believers in action.

It seems to all come down to this: Love God, Love others. The Bible seems very clear to me on HOW we are to love others – to care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the alien in our midst. To love our neighbor as ourselves. THIS, to me, is the life well lived. Not necessarily the easy, comfortable, feel-good life – but a life that matters.

Don’t get me wrong. I do not think God demands us to live a life void of pleasurable things that simply exist to make us happy (think sports, entertainment, food, etc.). I think he maybe even takes pleasure in watching us be pleased. BUT… WHAT IF… WHAT IF we were most pleased by our actions of loving others??? Then, our “pleasurable experiences” would be the ACTUAL things he has CALLED us to do in this life!

Maybe we need to recalibrate what brings us pleasure and joy.

Maybe THAT is the intersection of our great joy and God’s great joy.

 God-Breathers

Our pastor once taught us about YHVH – the Jewish name for God. It was a name so sacred, that Jews couldn’t even say it out loud, they only breathed the word. And, ironically, YHVH is the actual translated word for BREATH. So, the name of GOD, which they dared not say, but only breathed, is the word BREATHE!

So, if I’m still alive and every single breath I take is actually me breathing in and out the very name of GOD, I can also conclude that as a God-breather, I am to blow my breath towards all those who do NOT know God and do not know from where their breath comes.

Now THAT is a reason to still be alive!!!

God-breathers, WE are God’s plan for this earth, we have a purpose, and we’ve been called – oh, so clearly – to bravely breathe the message of God to others. ALL the others. And love them. Love them with a costly, extravagant love for as long as we have breath.

What a Diet Coke can teach us about CNN, Newsmax and political divides

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I confess. I have a dangerously sick addiction to Diet Coke. I know, I know, I know – it’s terrible for me and it’s going to kill me. I’m pretty sure, however, my lung-sucking lung disease is gonna get me first.

But actually, I’m more afraid the way we VIEW Diet Coke could kills us all. As I stared at my beloved DC can the other day, I realized it held a truth that could possibly help us make better sense of the current division in our country and world. This truth, I think, could either save us or, at worst, kill us.

Hang with me while I make the point:

When I was very young – perhaps only 7 or 8 – I annoyed the heck out of my mom with questions she couldn’t possibly answer in a way I’d understand. I asked her if we were white collar or blue collar, Reformed or Christian Reformed, Jews or Gentiles. She always had an intelligent answer and I knew without a doubt she was the wisest woman on the planet. So when I asked her if we were Republicans or Democrats I should have had no reason to question her. But when she replied without hesitation, “Why Republicans, of course!” I pushed back a little and asked:  “But how do we know that for SURE, Mom? I mean, what MAKES someone Republican?” She answered, “Because all Christians are Republicans. Republicans believe life is sacred and should be protected. Democrats think it’s okay to kill babies, take money from those who worked for it and give it to those who didn’t, and make lots of rules that take away our freedoms. Democrats are socialists – as bad as the Russians or the Chinese and they will destroy America – and we won’t be a Christian nation anymore. Jesus would be a Republican.”

I nearly vomited my Cocoa Krispies at the thought of the evil people who think it’s okay to kill babies and destroy America. Yes, of course, Jesus would be a Republican.

So that is what I always believed to be true. My wise mother had told me it is so.

                                                                         ************

I made a new friend in college while working the night shift as a phlebotomist in a busy city hospital – the farthest from our conservative rural neighborhood I’d ever worked. She was a fellow nursing student who also loved books and Jesus. We were fast friends. But one night our “downtime” chatter turned to politics and she left me dizzy with new thoughts. She said she was a Democrat! Incredulous, I said, “I thought all Christians were Republicans! Are you sure you love Jesus?” She assured me she did. And went on to explain that while growing up, her mother told her Republicans were rich, selfish and greedy lovers of money who only care about themselves, getting richer, and the unborn. Her mom told her Republicans refuse to help the poor, the widow, the orphan, the refugee or those oppressed – people, she reminded me, Jesus made clear we were to care for. Her mom also said Republicans really don’t care about reducing the number of abortions or they would support public policies proven to reduce unwanted pregnancies – like contraception education and distribution. She told her daughter that although Republicans claim to be the party of life, they all own guns and aren’t afraid to use them on bad people, they have no issue with the death penalty and they don’t feel it’s necessary to be provoked to start wars. Her wise mother told her real Christians are Democrats.

************

So this begs the question: whose mom is the liar?

I’d say neither.

My Mom was looking at the Diet Coke can this way:

My friends Mom was looking at the Diet Coke this way:

And both are accurate depictions of the SAME can of COKE (life as a Christian)!!! But because the can is round, rotating it is necessary to truly understand what makes up a can of Diet Coke. One view is simply incomplete.

************

Allow me to share another example:

Several years ago Paul and I and our boys traveled to Israel to visit our Israeli friends, the Leifer family. They lived just outside the Gaza strip in a kibbutz (a Jewish communal-living community). We were surprised to learn the factories in their kibbutz had always employed residents from Gaza resulting in many friendships between the Jewish and Muslim employees. However, in 2007, Israel closed off the Gazan borders and tall, electric fences were erected. Palestinians were no longer free to come and go in and out of Gaza. Palestinians who worked in the kibbutz immediately lost their jobs and were out of work – as well as bereft from their Israeli friends. The Leifer family told us they were very sad when the fences went up around Gaza – wishing it hadn’t come to that. They, and many others from their kibbutz, stayed in contact with their Palestinian friends and provided them food, clothes, medicine and other goods now scarce in Gaza by passing it to them through holes in the fence.

Our Israeli friends saw this view of the Diet Coke can:

However, since I started paying attention to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict nearly 20 years ago, my perception of the situation as an American living in America was this: all Israelis and Palestinians hate each other. And because the media highlights every single attack between the two territories, to outsiders looking in it seems like the skirmishes happen every day. After a while, it’s easy to believe both parties just have an insatiable bloodthirst in general.

It seems the only narrative we hear here in America is this view of the Diet Coke can:

But, again, the can is ROUND and depending on your position relative to the can, you will see a very different perspective of the SAME CAN! However, the can (the Israeli/Palestinian conflict in this case) is real, complicated and difficult and if we don’t rotate the can to get all the different views, we’re not considering the whole story.

************

I anticipated (as had most of the country) there might be some “issues” on January 6 when the joint session of Congress met to certify the electoral college votes for president of the United States. I planned my day allowing a few hours to watch the news. However, I’m always conflicted on which news source to watch. My daughter and I decided to do an experiment and we put CNN on the TV and beside the TV we mounted my laptop live-streaming Newsmax. We watched in awe and even took notes.

On January 6, for the 2 hours I watched things unfold, these two news sources reported it like this:

CNN immediately labeled the events an “attack” and called those involved “insurrectionists.” They focused on the most aggressive protestors and showed footage of very violent attacks on police officers. Audible cries from police officers could be heard. They repeatedly showed the footage of a window to the Capitol being broken and protestors climbing inside. They estimated the numbers who breeched the walls of the Capitol and entered the building to be in the “hundreds” and that the crowd outside numbered in the “thousands.” CNN aired interviews of participants using obscenities, giving the camera the finger, and wearing emblems of the Proud Boys and Qanon. Protestors declared they were there to “kill Pence” and “use whatever means necessary to take their country back.”

Newsmax referred to those involved as “protestors” and early on suggested they could be “Antifa.” They did not show the footage of attacks on officers or the breaking of the window and instead interviewed multiple peaceful protestors who said they came to DC that day only to pray and express solidarity for an election they felt was stolen. At the exact time CNN was declaring “hundreds” had entered the Capital, Newsmax said there were “approximately 6 people who have entered.” Newsmax showed a group of people standing in a circle together praying. For most of the broadcast, Newsmax cameras were on the opposite side of the building than CNN’s cameras. CNN had chosen the side where the crowds were the biggest and most aggressive. Newsmax had chosen to broadcast from the calmer side of the building.

My daughter and I just shook our heads. Neither broadcast was lying outright – just choosing to only report one perspective. It’s no wonder our nation is divided. It’s no wonder no one knows who to trust anymore – because some of the most watched news networks refuse to rotate the can of Diet Coke.

The biggest problems occur between us as a society, and indeed, even as individuals when our preferred news sources go so far as to claim any other perspective of the SAME CAN OF COKE either does not exist, is fabricated, or is distorted.

Because they want your viewership, they’d rather insist the Diet Coke can is NOT ROUND instead of ROTATE the can.

Lovers of God, of truth, of sanity and all that is good – please let us never forget TO ROTATE THE CAN!!! This, I believe, is the only way forward in love – is to do the hard work of learning to understand one another. Because only when we’re able to love each other – even those who see the can from another perspective – can we live in the wholeness and freedom and unity that God longs to give us.

When we refuse to ROTATE THE CAN we build up a disbelief, a false narrative, a distrust – which often then bends toward hate – of those who are simply looking at another perspective to the SAME CAN OF DIET COKE.

The thing is, we’ve been warned. The most reliable of sources (the Bible) made it very clear that the enemy of our souls would do everything he could to “steal, kill and destroy” us and he does this by his one and only tool: deception.

Hey friends – let’s not let that wicked, wily enemy take us down with a stupid can of DIET COKE!!!

The Pond Scum Exchange (Why voting matters less than you think)

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When we bought our sucky crack-house we thought the fantastic view of the zoo/park across the street might possibly redeem the pitiful structure. However, the park struggles financially and some things have become a bit of an eyesore. All summer long our park pond has looked like this:

Our neighborhood Facebook group recently debated the park pond problem. The back and forth went something like this: (Oh, a little caveat, our neighborhood isn’t exactly BIG on polite and edited language – so I just **** the swears like a good Christian and you can just say them in your head because Jesus doesn’t read minds… {insert eye-rolling})

Neighbor 1: What the f*** is wrong with the pond in the park? It stinks, it’s ugly and looks like Shrek should live there.

Neighbor 2: I think the new zoo/park president f***ed the whole place. It’s his fault.

Neighbor 3: What do you know about the president? He’s a great guy and has done a lot of good for the zoo/park.

[And then an argument ensued with about 10 more posts from an additional 10 neighbors and easily 20 more swears]

Neighbor 4: I think it’s a tax issue. We’re being screwed. The pond in the park on the north side isn’t covered in scum. They need to use some of our f***ing tax dollars to improve this side of town! We’ve been effed by the city.

Neighbor 5: You’re a f***ing socialist. You want all the neighborhoods to look the same and be treated the same.

[And another argument ensued with more jabbing back and forth and more swears]

Neighbor 6: I heard it was because of climate change. Something about f***ing with ecosystems and sh**.

Neighbor 7: Are you f***ing serious??? Climate change is such a f***ing hoax from liars who just want to keep us scared and controlled.

[And yet ANOTHER argument ensued – multiple posts, more swears, more name-calling, more hurt]

Neighbor 8:  You know what? I have a kayak and an old swimming pool surface skimmer. I bet if 2 or 3 of us went over this afternoon with our kayaks and pool skimmers we could have that pond cleaned up in about an hour. Anyone with me?

[Crickets…]

**********

Why I Want To Be Neighbor 8

Despite our constant affinity for social media bickering, I think ONE thing we might all agree on right now is this: Our political climate is heated, toxic, and dangerous – perhaps the worst in America’s history. It’s certainly the worst of my lifetime.

And, unless for some sick reason you enjoy fear, peril, and instability, I think we all long to have the bickering, back-biting and fear-mongering stop. We long for peace and unity and a country we can be proud of. We long for a time when both Democrats and Republicans and everyone in between can share thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams in a civil way with a glass of wine and lots of grace. We long to be a country where diversity is not only tolerated, but even celebrated. That I would not mind if your opinions are very different from mine – because you and your opinions help make me be a better me.

We long for November 3 to be done already so people will stop telling us how wrong we are.

The thing is, from all that I’ve seen and heard, the degree to which we attach importance of the presidential election seems to be inversely proportional to the degree of our involvement on the most pressing issues at stake. Another way to put it: those who are most likely to be vocal about the election to the point of demonizing “the other,” seem to be the least engaged in solutions.

Right now, I know many people who are: working to help the homeless, serving in underserved and underfunded schools, mentoring children and youth from troubled homes, praying for every person entering and leaving abortion clinics, serving at the local and state level of government where many of the decisions that directly affect us are made (like allocated abortion dollars – it’s FAR MORE of a state-by-state issue than a NATIONAL government issue – please read THIS if you believe the president has much say in abortion-related outcomes), serving those held in border control facilities by offering free medical care, working in Central America to decrease violence and expose and eliminate corruption so people won’t feel compelled to flee, coordinating racial reconciliation groups in their neighborhoods, bringing donuts and notes of encouragement to their local police precincts, volunteering at local food banks, building homes for Habitat for Humanity – and so, so many others…

And you know what all these people have in common? They are too busy DOING the things that America desperately needs that they have no time to spend on social media or elsewhere complaining about the problems and arguing over which person in some lofty seat of over-emphasized importance will best fix them.

They grabbed their kayaks and their pool skimmers and GOT BUSY!!!

In this unbelievably polarized political environment, our little neighborhood “pond-scum exchange” serves as a powerful reminder that the number one way we can bring change to the world is NOT by – as many falsely believe – making sure you vote for the “right” candidate, but to actually

BE THE CHANGE.

Lessons from the brain dead

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imagesI was absent from one of the most transformative events in my life. It happened to my husband while in Guatemala but left an indelible print on me and I’ve never been the same since.

Back in the day when we believed visiting Guatemala regularly would bring lasting change to the country, we often included orphanage visits as part of our “missions” week. (Anecdotally, our views on short term mission trips and their purpose and product have morphed significantly since those early days. For deeper probing, here are a few resources:  Relevant Magazine, The Poor Will be Glad and When Helping Hurts)

On this particular visit, Paul and his fellow well-intentioned travelers decided to stop at a new orphanage that was home for children with special needs. No one in the group could have anticipated what they were about to see.

He described the place to me as a small home made up of three adjoining rooms. The first and last rooms were filled with beds for the children – the middle room served as their dining room, lounge and play room. The place was lit too brightly by flickering overhead fluorescent lights and smelled of urine and vomit. The staff barely noticed yet another American “tourist” group stopping in; so with lack of direction, the group migrated to the playroom hoping to play with the kids.

Paul held back. He described some kind of supernatural power drawing him to the sleeping quarters made up of rows of beds and cribs.

He heard her before he saw her. Her shallow, slow breathing rattled and gurgled with every breath. Next, he smelled her. It was a hideous combination of bad breath, urine, and body odor. Although the crib was abnormally large, Paul expected to find an infant. It was, after all, a crib.

When he peered in, he was quite taken aback by the sight.

Her name was Corinna and she was 10 years old and that crib had been her whole world her entire life. She was born severely handicapped and has never walked, talked, fed herself or even sat upright. She stairs blankly to the left – always to the left because her head is stuck that way. Without provision of physical, recreational or occupational therapy to the residents their bones and muscles and brains just atrophy away day after day.

Corinna was not hooked up to any machine or life-assisting devices. She just existed. Her stiff and contorted body pained Paul to even look. But instead of pulling away, he felt compelled to lean in. He put his head right in front of hers. He stroked her hair, he talked to her, and he prayed for her.

She barely blinked.

A few days later back in Michigan, Paul recounted this experience to me: “Cindy, it was like there was no one there – she was so vacant. And yet, I felt the presence of God with her. All I could think was this: God loves this precious one. She has been bed-ridden her whole life, she has never said a word and never will. She, by all practical purposes, is brain dead. She can do absolutely nothing for herself. She can do absolutely nothing for others – to show appreciation, to show love, to enjoy life, or – especially – to secure her salvation. And yet, God still loves her as much as he loves anybody. God actually sent his son to DIE for Corinna – to give her this life that seems so unlived. God’s love just blew me away as I sat holding Corinna’s hand. The beauty of that moment made me weep with love for her and for what an amazing God we serve.”

              * * * * * * * * *

Paul and I tried to take a walk together today, but we had to stop frequently so I could catch my breath. I told him to just do the talking because I’m no longer able to walk and talk at the same time.

My medications are causing me more problems than I care to share. And I’d quit the whole lot of them if I didn’t believe in some weird medical-background-way they’re helping me live longer.

And with each tiny sign of deterioration I feel a little less whole, less human. A little less significant. A little less worthy.

And on my bad days I worry. I worry that I haven’t done enough. I worry that I haven’t said enough or shared enough with my kids. I worry that I didn’t accomplish much or do enough good. I worry that I’ll never finish my book and I’ll never have anything of significance to leave behind. I worry that within a generation or two people will forget me and that my life didn’t matter.

Then I worry that I worry about such stupid stuff.

But today I remembered Corinna. She who lay there in a crib for 10 years and never once actually “did” a single thing. Although she could barely move, she reminds me of how much God loves each and every one of us – his precious creation, made in HIS image – and that he would have died for us even if we were the only one.

I believe Jesus whispered in her ear every single day, “You are my beloved, Corinna. Of you, I am especially pleased.”

And I wonder how is it that I keep returning to my old patterns of fear and doubt and anger and resentment for my sucky lot in life – because, when I remember Corinna, I remember that I, too, am Jesus’ beloved, no matter what I am able to do or not do, say or not say, be or not be.

Yes, Jesus loves me. This I know.

Jesus Ain't Your Sexy Valentine

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Clean water crisis. Human-Trafficking. Immigration. Orphan care. Affordable Housing. Failing Education Systems. Gun Violence. Teen-age pregnancy.

Sitting in this hip coffee shop I can hear twenty-somethings all around me talking about what’s wrong with humanity and how they aim to fix it. Millennials are raising the bar for the rest of us. They’re hyper-aware of societies ailments and far more actively involved in finding solutions than previous generations.

Yet increased awareness presents a serious problem that’s pervasive in “woke” people of ALL ages: It has become the “in” thing to do. Buying TOMS shoes, a week at an orphanage in Central America, sending bottled water to Flint, Michigan, and filling food baskets at Thanksgiving – all such Facebook-worthy ways of serving Jesus. I can’t even count the times I’ve seen a Facebook or Insta post with a white, middle-class high-schooler/college kid surrounded by raggedy-clothed, dirty-faced black/Asian/Indian/Hispanic orphans from their recent short-term “missions” trip abroad.

But if we engage in something that’s uber trendy, we must stop and ask ourselves: What’s my motive?

Write a check. Angel tree. Annual service day at a soup kitchen. Donate clothes. “Like” all the posts by the latest hip justice organization. Put said organization’s sticker on our computer. Run a 5k for awareness. GoFundMe pages. Youth groups spending a day in the inner city. Wear a trendy justice t-shirt. Carry a cool mug inscribed #endhumantrafficking.

And why? Why is there such a BOOM in this movement?

I’d like to suggest we’re crazy about this movement of increasing awareness because it’s easy.

Easy. Appealing. Quick. Non-habit forming. No sacrifice.

One could even say these approaches to following the way of Jesus are somewhat “sexy”: We are seen. We are heard. We look good and feel good with our “service”. Others think we’re incredible. Sexy, right? In fact, we could post any of those hot service opportunities on Valentine’s day with #mytruelove and everyone will think we’re holy.

I’m not bashing those experiences or remotely suggesting they be stopped. I most definitely feel there is a place and a time for such things. The problem, as I see it, is that we (Christians) are mostly looking for a quick, non-painful way to appease our Jesus-driven consciences and we’re much too quick to flaunt it for our own acclaim.
We Christians are FAR less likely to do the long, hard, costly, sacrificial and unnoticeable work that is the backbone of the Christian calling.

But Jesus said:
“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” Matthew 7:13-14.

He straight-up told us: It ain’t supposed to be easy, friends!!!
Jesus did all kinds of hard, subversive, and not very Facebook worthy things. He hung out with those marginalized by society. He touched people that nobody else would touch. He shared meals with those no one else would. He went to places nobody else would go. Jesus didn’t do sexy things.

If Jesus had a Facebook page, we’d probably scroll right through his posts. It is THAT mundane. THAT uncomfortable. THAT un-sexy.

To go all-in for Christ will most likely lead you to hard, toilsome work with basically no recognition. It’ll be costly and time-consuming. It sometimes costs money, but can also cost friends, reputations, and safety. It’s not usually quick and easy and it’s not usually comfortable.

When I think of the un-sexy way of Jesus, I think of some of these people:

  • A neighbor who has invested YEARS into the life of a troubled, fatherless, high-schooler who doesn’t appreciate it and throws away every opportunity provided for him. But our neighbor refuses to give up and pursues him with relentless love and care. Not sexy.
  • My friend who has visited her father, uncle, and aunt, twice a week, every single week at the local nursing home for over 10 years! As their ONLY living relative, they wouldn’t get a single visitor if it weren’t for her. Not sexy.
  • We know a guy who after Hurricane Katrina sold everything and MOVED to New Orleans. A lot of us did sexy things for Katrina-victims and pasted it all over social media. Our friend LIVED there for two years. Not sexy.
  • We have friends who live in Honduras. They run an organization that works to abolish corruption within the extremely corrupt Honduran government. The work is dangerous – an attorney from their organization was shot and killed in broad daylight by gang members. This work is COURAGEOUS, costly, takes decades, slow progress, and sometimes exasperating. Not sexy.
  • There are many schoolteachers who CHOOSE to work in some of the poorest districts in our city. The pay is poor, their resumes won’t ever be impressive (failing students make teachers look bad – no matter how awesome they really are) but they believe in making a difference in the lives of kids who just maybe need a break in life. They will do this for 20, 30 maybe 40 years and they may never see the fruit of their labor. Not sexy.

The un-sexy work Jesus invites us into may be long-suffering, toilsome, tiring and expensive, but we’re not doing it for ourselves – it’s UNTO HIM!

  • What if we mentored troubled kids – any age – and stuck with them through ALL THEIR GROWING years?
  • What if we volunteered with Kids Hope and actually gave a kid hope?
  • What if we joined a refugee/immigration settlement organization and spent the next FIVE years mentoring a new family?
  • What if we talked to our neighbors, learned of their suffering, and prayed with them weekly?
  • What if we made homemade casseroles and brought them to the homeless camps (trust me, they exist) every week?
  • What if we enter in to the roller-coaster life of the mentally unstable – the bi-polar friend, the depressed sister-in-law, the suicidal teen, the homicidal neighbor?
  • What if we mentored those in troubled pregnancies?
  • What if we helped pay the heat bill every winter for a family who heats their home with the stove?
  • What if we gave up eating out for six months just so another family could EAT?

You know what I think would happen if we did some of these things? We’d be tired. We’d be involved with these issues for a really long time and get frustrated with the slow pace of change. We might even get angry at those we are serving. We’d want to give up and quit over and over and over.

But we’d be doing the work of Jesus, for HIM, and for His glory. Not ours.
“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Jesus Christ.” Colossians 3:23-24

This is the way of Jesus. And it ain’t sexy.
Don’t make Jesus your sexy Valentine.