Hello, My Name Is ...

In my home office, framed diplomas and plaques hang above my desk.  Each bears my name and represents my professional and academic accomplishments. In my office in the city, a nameplate outside of my door bears my name and title, which for some reason causes others to respond with respect and recognition of my “status” in the company. My name is written on these symbols of accolade, and I am rewarded. And to be honest, I am proud of those achievements. Perhaps too proud.

My name is written in some places that I’d rather it not be, as well. On the hearts of ones I love, whom I have hurt with my words or actions (or both), and their remembrance of my name may bring pain. Or during the years when I was far from God but still called myself a Christian, spending time with “friends” and making choices that now make me cringe to even think about. When those friends think upon my name, do they remember someone who acknowledged Jesus with her lips but denied Him by her lifestyle? And let's not forget those few but memorable instances when others unjustly and dishonestly represented my name in a deceptive way. My name is written in these dark places, too, and I would give anything to be able to hit the “delete” button and clear my name.

There is yet another place where my name resides, though.

With the One who chose it.

With the One who bought it.

I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…
(Is 49:15-16 NIV)

Regardless of what our name represents here on earth, our name belongs to Him - because He is in us and we are in Him. And here’s the best part – ultimately, whether I or others celebrate or despise my name here on Earth, there is an audacious promise from God to us that not only will He redeem and restore our names on Earth for His glory (Romans 8:28), but we as believers in Christ are also promised a sweet heavenly reward.

Whoever has ears, let them hear ... I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it. (Rev 2:17 NIV)

One of our rewards in heaven is a new name. Our God-chosen name.  Our untarnished name.  A name so uniquely chosen and set apart that it is known only to Him and to the one who receives it. 

"I will also give that person a white stone..." In those times, it was customary to cast a vote for someone’s innocence or guilt by using black and white stones. If a black stone was cast, the vote was guilty. A white stone meant that the person on trial was voted blameless. Pardoned. 
 
Much like the Hebrews were given a name that revealed their purpose, we too will receive our heavenly name. Here on Earth, as a body of believers in Christ, we already share some names that I think sound pretty heavenly.

Redeemed.


Forgiven.


Beloved.


Grace-Given.

I can’t imagine that I have been given a heavenly name more beautiful than those, but the promise says I will. And I believe it.

Yet as awesome as that truth is, there is an even more powerful promise.

I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown. The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it. I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on them my new name. (Rev 3:12 NIV)

There is also a name of God that has never reached our ears. One that has never been profaned or mocked. I believe it will be so beautiful that my earthly ears couldn't bear to hear it. More melodious than the sweetest song, and more beautiful than the gut-deep utterances and cries of “Yahweh” or “Jehovah” or “Abba” that cross my lips in my most intimate moments with God.

May we receive the promise given, that nothing can separate us from our names in Christ – our names are graven on his scarred hands.

May we, with excited anticipation, receive God's radical love given through the beautifully mysterious promises of what awaits us in heaven.

And may we press on and into Christ so that we may live up to the potential of our new heavenly name.

Our white stone awaits.

Hallelujah!

Seasons ... and Twirling.

The past few mornings have been light and cool, with just enough of a hint of Fall to tease me into the excitement I feel every year as the humid midsummer days relax into the softer beauty of Autumn.   The release from one season into another.   

But it’s not just the weather.  I feel the seasons changing in me, too.

Is it true, Lord?  Is this season coming to a close so that another can come?  

I feel the cool wind on my heart.  I see the leaves, fallen on the ground, tired from their exposure to months of extreme heat, making way for new growth on strong trees.  I sense it.  The time for harvest is coming.  Soon.  It’s almost here.  

The past 10 months have tested, challenged, tried, and proven my faith in the One who is my God over and over again.  I would not trade one day, one hour, one minute, or one single second.   Through every moment, He has revealed something new to me about Himself.  He has breathed new life into Scriptures that I’ve read hundreds of times.  He has breathed new Truth into me.   I am more hopeful for His preferred future for me than ever before. 

“Your love is extravagant, 

Your friendship, it is intimate.

I feel like moving to the rhythm of your grace..."

To the melody of those words, and in anticipation of the new season to come, my inner child took over…

And right there, in my living room, without even thinking about it…

I twirled. 

If anyone had seen me, I doubt that words like “graceful” or “lovely” would be used to describe the vision of me dancing in my living room.  But I really don’t care.  

I twirled anyway.  Again and again and again.

And maybe, just maybe, from now on, when I sense the seasons starting to change, 

Instead of walking into them, 

I’ll twirl into them.

Because I can.  

Because His love IS extravagant.

Because no matter what, He is God and He is good. 

 (Reference: Casting Crowns, Your Love is Extravagant)

Am I Beautiful?

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This seems to be the topic of the week.  In the space of only a few days, six different women, ranging in age from 19 to 55, have reached out to me to walk them through doubt, uncertainty and pain over one simple question.

Am I beautiful?

 

I am so not qualified to answer this question.  On most days, I see myself as anything but beautiful. 

    

What is beauty?  Of course, this is a huge question.  Creation is beauty.  Worship is beauty.  Family is beauty.  Love is beauty.  So many things reflect God's creation and presence and can be called "beautiful".  

Although beauty is not gender specific, I do believe women struggle with this concept more than men, in that at the core of a woman’s soul is a longing to unveil her beauty.  And usually, for a woman, the context of the question starts with standards placed on personal, outer beauty.  I am forty-something, yet still delight in my earthly father’s affirmation of my beauty. When he says, “you look very pretty, Melissa” (which he does often because he’s a wonderful father), my heart still melts. 

This idea of beauty isn’t limited to the external, although the world certainly places an emphasis on that. Our desire to share beauty is far more than external: it not only includes, but demands the presence of an internal beauty – a beautiful heart. I do not feel beautiful when I am critical or mean-spirited or impatient or harsh. I do not feel beautiful when my relationships are not healthy and whole. I am not married but know that if God calls me to marriage, then I will long to unveil beauty to my husband, both in my outer and inner appearance. 

Before others, we long to offer beauty to the world. This shows in many ways – our bent toward decorating a home, putting flowers on a barren table, or nurturing those we love with encouragement. Simply put, I am not at home if I feel as though I am not offering beauty to the world. If taken in the context of God’s image, Scripture says that “God created human beings; he created them Godlike, reflecting God's nature. He created them male and female” (Gen 1:17, MSG).  God’s nature defines beauty, and if He created us to reflect that nature, then it’s easy to understand the longing to unveil beauty to those we love, and to the world.

That all sounds nice and flowery.  It probably is in heaven. But it’s not down here.

Because down here, it’s hard. The mirrors are distorted and deceptive. There are many other voices and pictures and ideals that tell us we are not enough. The first experience of rejection in our young lives can catapult us into a lifestyle of striving and performance. It is a bitter root that bakes slowly in us and over time, burns into our minds and hearts so deeply that we no longer recognize it. We move from freely offering beauty to withholding it, out of fear that it will not be enough, or even worse…rejected. But the desire to unveil it remains despite the rejection…so we strive and strive and strive to achieve some imagined benchmark that God never intended to exist.

I have been thinking and praying over this question for days.  And God has reminded me how simple it really is.  I feel beautiful when I am not striving to be beautiful.

When I’m not obsessed with my appearance.

When I’m not worried about what others think of me.

When I’m truly listening to someone else.

When I openly share my heart with someone else.

When I freely accept God’s love, mercy and grace.

When I am no longer Melissa the earth-girl, but Melissa the Spirit-filled girl.

I feel beautiful when I am at rest, because that’s where He is.

And He is beautiful. 

Those who look to Him are radiant (Ps. 34:5).

Believing is Seeing.

"Faith is to believe what we do not see, and the 

reward of this faith is to see what we believe."

 (Saint Augustine)

Waiting for answers.  Waiting for hope.  Waiting for peace.  

It's exhausting, isn't it?

It is in our flesh-wiring to default to "I’ll believe it when I see it.”  But how do I reconcile that with my faith?  Because if I believe what I say I believe, then my faith isn’t dependent on my sight. 

When I am preoccupied and focused on the circumstances in my life  instead of centering on the constancy of God and in Who God is, my faith-life becomes intermittent, at best.   

Stop…Go…Stop….Go. 

We can learn a lot from the Words that cut through the darkness.  In contrast to Moses, who "endured, as seeing Him who is unseen", the children of Israel did not believe until after they saw the evidence.  They still doubted God when they came to the Red Sea, but only when they saw God open the way, lead them across and drown Pharaoh did they believe. 

Then they believed his promises and sang His praise... (Psalm 106:12)

They led an up and down life because of this kind of faith, and we do the same thing sometimes, don’t we?   

The world says "seeing is believing," but the sight-gift that He offers us is SO much better.  He wants us to believe in order to see.  That is the reward of our faith.

So what about my seasonal blindness in my faith journey? Because let’s just be honest here…there are times when all I can see is the darkness. Sometimes, my cup doesn’t runneth over…sometimes, it’s just empty. How do I wait for hope?

How do I wait for hope when not even a glimmer of it shines, yet still refuse to grow weary and refuse to doubt God’s unyielding faithfulness to me?

How do I experience the pain of a gaping, vacant hole in my heart, yet still resolve not to allow any presence inferior to God to occupy it?

How did Job do it? How did Abraham do it on the road to Moriah? How did Moses do it in the desert? How did Jesus do it in the Garden?

When waiting for hope amid darkness, how do we "endure, as seeing Him who is unseen?” 

There really is only one way. 

To refuse to let go of our empty cup and remain convinced that God’s eyes see eternally further than our own. 

To remain steadfast in our belief that in His perfect timing and in the completeness of His love for us, He will unhide that which is hidden to our eyes. 

To wait with confidence to see what we believe. 

Speaking in Pencil.

She called me today, heartbroken.  Words had been spoken – cruel ones. The kind that leave a wound, then a bruise, and then a scar that remains to maliciously remind. These words had wounded a loved one, and I was overcome with conviction and repentance when she shared her deepest ache through sobs of pain at the effect of the soul-crushing comments.  

You might be thinking that she is the grieving recipient.  She isn’t.  She is the grieving deliverer.  Her cries were so gut-deep that I could barely understand her.                                                             

“Oh Melissa, I hurt the one I love so badly.  How do I fix this?” 

My heart aches for her.  And for the one she loves.  And for me.  Because I have been that person.  I am that person.  While there is a population out there that would boldly proclaim that I have spoken encouraging words over them, there is yet another population (hopefully much smaller) that can describe the painful marks left on their hearts by my ruthless words.  And usually to the ones I love the most.  I don’t even like to think about it. 

Even with the most sincere of apologies offered, and even with the truest of repentant hearts, the memory lingers in the heart of the wounded.  The scar is left to remind, and from that point forward it becomes a battle within that the wounded must fight when someone or something unknowingly opens that scar.   

We write on the slate of one another.  We can trample a heart with 

One.

Single.

Word.

He entrusts us with words.  His words.  Words to edify, exhort, and encourage one another.  Words to build up, inspire, and to humbly lead.  Words to offer hope, comfort, and words to heal.  Words to proclaim the Truth of His love, mercy, and grace.  Yet with the same mouth that we share His words, we shoot sharp darts that can brutally pierce the heart of another.

Sometimes Too many times, I wish I could speak in pencil.  That eraser would be so handy.  As the magical word-remover leaves its evidence of black flecks where punishing words once were, we could point to the dust and show the unlucky recipient the proof that the word was no longer there.  

"See, look, I didn’t mean it.  It’s gone!  We can just forget this ever happened..." 

If only.  Unfortunately, indelible ink doesn’t have a handy little eraser.

I have some good news, though.  

As powerful as our words may be, they are powerless in the presence of the God of the Redeemed...the God of healing and restoration.   No wound is too deep for Him to touch. 
 
For our harsh words, there is grace and forgiveness to cover our sins.  Period.  Done.   

And for the wounded -- with faith, prayer, time, and forgiveness, God can heal a wounded heart.  He has healed mine, and He has healed the hearts of those whom I have wounded with my words.  

May we be reminded today, to pray His words:

May the words of my mouth and this meditation 

of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, 

my Rock and my Redeemer.

(Psalm 19:14)

Would you join me in taking some time to listen to this song as you pray and dedicate your words to  Him today?

(Shane & Shane, "May The Words of My Mouth")