A Window to the Soul

It sits in my jewelry box, intermingled with my collection of cheap, cubic zirconium studs from Claire’s and my chunky new thrift store bracelets. A small jewel sparkles within the sleek silver, not a diamond, just a look-alike. It shimmers small and smooth, almost feminine, almost pretty. It didn’t look so pretty when it was in my face.

Eyebrow rings never really appealed to me. They’re not exactly my style—too tattoo and skull-and-crossbones for my taste. Too rebellious. Too emo. Not me. 

And yet, every time I sift through my hand-painted, Ecuadorian jewelry box, I remember that, at one point, it was me. 

. . .

                       

Countless girls had pierced their noses. The dainty studs glittered their faces like freckles. I scoffed each day when a new girl appeared in class, eyes bright, noses bejeweled. How silly. How conformist. 

Mindi had it right.  A jagged metal loop protruded from her eyebrow, not her nostril. A real statement. Rebellion. 

Mindi’s eyebrow ring scowled, grotesque and abrasive, making her unapproachable, inhospitable. Perfect. 

           

With each new question and each new experience a part of me slipped away, disappeared. I did not match my beliefs. I did not have beliefs. 

           

My mind became unfamiliar territory, unknown. I ached for my face to be unfamiliar as well. 

. . .

                       

I clenched my teeth while my hands fisted and unfisted themselves. The curved needle lingered expectantly, ravenously, in the tattoo artist’s steady hand. I had to remind myself to breathe. One meager tear crept saltily down my cheek as the hollow needle bit into the soft skin above my eye. The needle slid smoothly, slowly, like knitting. More like sewing actually, or mending. But the hollow tube paved the way for a thick bar of metal, not thread. This needle didn’t mend or fix, although something was definitely broken. Teeth grinding, palms sweating, I finally exhaled. It was finished. 

. . .

The checker absently scanned my Herbal Essences spray gel, graham crackers, and pack of Extra green apple gum.  His eyes never left my face.  Heat flushed my cheeks and I wondered if I had something in my teeth.  Only in the parking lot did it click. 

The eyebrow ring.

Nothing had changed. Men with six packs of Miller Light and diesel trucks still congregated outside the Handy House.  The air hung oppressive and humid in the North Carolina summer heat. I received sweat-sticky hugs and furtive stares from my aunts and uncles. No questions.  Just stares. 

Was this what I wanted?             

. . .

I no longer wore the dainty gold promise ring my dad had given me for my 16^th birthday. That sounds bad. I didn’t lose the promise, just the conviction. The perfect circle grated against the segmented me. The certainty belonged to someone else. 

Instead I wore my eyebrow ring. Ring implies circularity, continuity, but that’s not accurate. Dissociated, fragmented, pierced says it better.

The mirror always offered a surprise. The metallic glimmer of my reflection in store windows or car mirrors never felt like me.

I woke up one morning tired of surprises.  No longer the person wishing to repel. 

Now it sits in my jewelry box, intermingled with my collection of cheap, cubic zirconium studs from Claire’s and my chunky new thrift store bracelets.  

The Prosperity Gospel We Should Be Living

 

I used to slam up against a prosperity gospel that promised me that if I commit my life to following Christ, goodness and mercy and joy would surely follow.

I didn’t buy it.

And then one morning. In the dark night of my love story. After doughnuts and bulletin passing and a stream of breathless “Good-morning-welcome-to-Coast-s,” the words transformed, the world shifted. That all-familiar, oft repeated phrase,

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me and I will dwell in the house of the Lord, forever and ever and ever Amen.”

Slowly at first. A question. A nuance. An emphasis. Where before I had only seen goodness and mercy and good outcomes and answered prayers and false hope, I now saw a new word. A new focus. Bold and brazen.

Follow.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me. Follow me.

Follow me?

The dictionary definition of follow is, as follows:

1. Go or come after (a person or thing proceeding ahead); move or travel behind: "she went back into the house, and Ben followed her."

2. Go after (someone) in order to observe or monitor.

Surely goodness and mercy will COME AFTER me. Not be given to me. Not be indebted to me. But come after me. In my wake.

Who then is the bringer?

I am.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me.

I am called to be this peddler of good things, this exemplar of righteousness.

Come again?

Could it be that following Jesus is less about the goodness of life’s outcomes and more about the goodness that we bring, that we carry, that follows us for all to see?

That sounds like a lot of pressure. That sounds like things could get real legalistic real quick.

But it’s not just up to me.

Perhaps as followers of Jesus we are heirs to a journey of growth and refinement that cultivates holy, loving qualities within us. Perhaps the promise is not for happiness and success and a house and a car and 2.5 children, but for fruitfulness.

This can be prosperity, too.

Not the kind of prosperity that aces tests and rains down riches, but the prosperity of a life well valued, a life well lived. A life that where goodness and mercy spring up in its wake.

A prosperity of caring for our brothers and sisters. A prosperity in seeing the gifts this world has to offer. A prosperity in bringing joy and defending the weak.

A prosperity of being followed by goodness and mercy because of a life-giving relationship with the One we follow.

Now that’s a prosperity gospel I can get behind.

*The image at the top of this post is the handiwork of my wonderfully creative brother, Cameron Lewis. Thank you!

You Sneaky God

"The first step to atheism is bad theology." Dallas Willard

My latest in bad theology: I believe in a sneaky God.

I'm sure you've all seen it. And if you haven't, it is a must. This Halloween, Jimmy Kimmel issued a challenge to parents to trick their kids into thinking they ate all of their Halloween candy. The resulting video was epic.

There's kicking, there's screaming, there's crying and snot, there's name calling.

All because of these sneaky moms and dads.

I want to call these kids bratty. I want to mount my high horse of "dang, these kids are entitled," but the truth is, I identify with them. When you really expect something (whether you're entitled to it or not, whether it's a realistic expectation or not) the disappointment of not getting it is harsh.

There are times I want to kick and scream and cry out, "You sneaky God," when my prayers aren't answered, when my plans are thwarted, when my Halloween candy is taken away.

It's more than just a knee jerk reaction to disappointment, though. I've discovered I've started to base my life and my beliefs and my prayers on the premise that God is trying to trick me.

My faulty beliefs started out innocent enough.

God wooed me from a place of anger and cynicism and doubt.

He showed up when I didn't ask for it or expect it or even want it. And my response, an awe-filled: "You sneaky God."

I was wooed by a God who cut through my anger, hopelessness, and numbness to show his surprising, redemptive, and mischievous face.

And now all I can see is the mischief. Now that I believe in and follow this God, I fear he will abandon me in the same mischievous way that he first showed up. That I will ask and beg and cry out desperate for his presence and his answers, and he will go into hiding, a smirk on his face, as I respond with a bitter-tinged: "You sneaky God."

Somewhere along the road, I started to counter his tricks with tricks. I've found myself striving to concoct the perfect blend of anger, cynicism, and doubt to trick him into showing up. I've made it all about me again. I have to act a certain way, jump through hoops, manipulate him into answering me.

I forget that he showed up not to spite me, but to love me.

I forget that I came to love him because he loves me, not because he tricks me. I mean, sure, I appreciate a whimsical amount of mischief and surprise, but that's not what made me fall in love. It was his love. His exceeding of my expectations. His grace and mercy and compassion. That never fails. That doesn't go into hiding just because I look for it.

As much as I fear he won't show up when I ask him to, this is the part that makes my relationship with God based on faith. It's true he doesn't always show up in ways that I think he should. It's true he isn't always readily tangible to me. It's true I don't always get what I want. It's true that sometimes it feels like he took away my Halloween candy just to spite me.

But that doesn't make his presence and his goodness any less real.

In a very apropos message at church yesterday, my pastor talked about trusting God in the dark. In the times when he seems silent and sneaky, a perpetual trickster.

Two pieces of advice he had: 1. Be totally honest with God and 2. When it comes to faith, perseverance pays off.

So, 1. God, I am scared that because you showed up when I didn't ask you to, that you won't show up now that I'm asking.

2. God, I will trust you. I will wrestle with you. I will press into these lies I tell myself about you. I will (try) to stop manipulating you. I will practice resting in your love. I will replace, "You sneaky God" with "You stubborn God" and "You lavish God." Stubborn in your love for me, and lavish in your gifts for me.