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The knot in my stomach wouldn’t leave me. For weeks I had felt sure I was fighting some kind of illness. But I also had other strange symptoms. I felt confined and unwell, but no other signs of sickness emerged. I felt tired and nothing seemed to help me kick it.

I was driving home on a long distance trip when the symptoms began to accelerate. By the time I got home I was genuinely worried. I knelt on the floor in my room and asked God to reveal what was happening to me.

Over the next couple days, God had undeniably revealed through prayer, scriptures, and friends, that there was indeed a malady I had overlooked: Unforgiveness.

It was an illness of the soul and I had allowed it to fester. It was literally causing physical symptoms that were a manifestation of my heart being walled off, keeping the poison trapped inside.

Most people would not have faulted me for not wanting to forgive this particular offense. It was a serious wound that was being repeatedly stabbed. There was no repentance on my offender’s behalf. No sign of remorse.

I didn’t find much comfort in some of the teachings I had encountered regarding forgiveness. “It’s a choice. Just forgive. It’s a sin if you don’t immediately forgive.” I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but that really didn’t sit well with the reality of the messy and long process of healing. I dug into verses about forgiveness, but I did not find any inferences to a timeline. No commands about how quickly one must forgive.

It is definitely clear that forgiving others, just as we have been forgiven, is vitally important to the health of our heart and soul. It’s not your fault that you have been hurt. Yet our stubborn unforgiveness can cause discord in our own hearts and in our relationships with others.  

I think we can infer that, if we are to forgive as Jesus does, that we are not to hold our grievances against people for too long. I think it’s also safe to say that our hearts are not machines, and that forgiveness may be more of a process than the flip of a switch.

So where to begin?

I am sharing some things I have learned along the way about forgiveness. Maybe they will help you too. 

Awareness. Take time to examine your heart, your feelings. What was the actual offense against you? Why does it hurt? How has it affected you? This may take some time. Being too quick to forgive out of obligation circumvents the important step of connecting with your own heart. Don’t put it off and let it boil over inside. But don’t rush the processing time your heart needs.  

Recognition. Recognize that Jesus’ love for you and others is the power that propels our ability to forgive. Allow Him to sit with you and walk with you in this.

Honesty. Be honest with yourself and with God. Invite Him into your pain and don’t justify the person who wronged you. Fully allow yourself to grieve and to be angry. Jesus was angry too. He is not afraid to hear your gut-honest feelings. Be honest with yourself that you will not forget the wrong done to you. But you can release it.

Release. Picture yourself handing over your offender to God. Release your desire to hold this offense against that person, knowing that God is perfect justice. It often helps me to say out loud, “God, this is between you and that person. You are taking care of this, and I release my desire for revenge. I release my desire to make this person pay for what they did. It’s between you and them.”

Repeat. The anger and hurt we feel may require us to come back to a place of forgiveness; to go through the process again. Be patient with yourself. There isn’t a magic number for how many times you may have to revisit the need to work through it again. 

Assess. Yes, forgive without condition and without limit. “Seventy times seven.” We all need endless amounts of forgiveness. But if there is a relationship that is causing constant harm and damage with no signs of repentance or reconciliation, an assessment of that relationship is needed. You are not called to be a martyr at the price of your emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical health. Talk to a trusted friend to help you, if needed. Establishing healthy boundaries is part of loving God, loving ourselves, and loving others.

It’s worth taking the time to free your heart, and to allow the healing that comes with forgiveness. Protecting your heart as the wellspring of life means keeping it free of contempt and pride. It also means allowing yourself plenty of grace in the process. True forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself and to your children. We experience God’s love and freedom when our hearts and minds are aligned with God’s gift of forgiveness. 

Do you ever feel awkward about how to respond to compliments or words of praise for a job well done? Did you ever find yourself saying something like, “Oh, it’s not me. It’s all God. I’m just here to be used for His purposes”?

Cringe…

Why are we humans so fearful to acknowledge something we did well? We surmise that we are in danger; that we are one step away from a Garden of Eden moment of monumental shame and disgrace if we dare take any ounce of credit for something we accomplished.

I wonder if there is a wider margin between honoring our God-given creativity and prideful depravity than the “fine line” we have created.

I get it. There is reason to be concerned because so many of us have been hurt by people who were only concerned with their own glory and their own reputation. Indeed, pride can lead to precarious situations and devastating consequences. It’s not a light-hearted matter when we teach our children to live with humility. We desire for them to avoid damaged relationships due to selfishness and arrogance. 

But I don’t know if complete self-abasement is the answer either.

When you are aware and receptive of God’s love for you, you make room for His love to dwell deeply in you and create oneness with Him. That oneness is not a sign that He is all good and we have no amount of goodness in us. You were created good, and sin did not suddenly wipe out every last speck of everything good from your existence.

In the book of Isaiah, our righteous acts are compared to filthy rags. I think this verse gets a great deal of misuse. The verse means that the human trappings we use to create our own goodness are powerless and superficial. It doesn’t mean that we are like filthy rags or that we do not have any value. It means that when we live in shame, we are misaligned with God’s truth and love. 

Being sanctified in God’s love is not something we were meant to achieve in our own power. We cannot create our own redeemed heart without the perfect love of Jesus. But the very truth that God created us in His image, and remains in relationship with us and never leaves us, shows that there is something sacred in our life that was always there.    

I fully believe Jesus’ sacrifice for us was absolutely necessary for us to be rescued from our shame. Yet I wrestle with the idea that we are only pitiful, wretched souls and Jesus simply took affection-less pity on us. Jesus was God in the flesh, and when I read about His life on earth and how He interacted with people, that’s just not the picture I see. I see Jesus’ love, compassion, and desire for relationship with people. He is the first to see something valuable in people when they do not see it themselves.  

Sometimes we let our feelings of inadequacy become the engine to strive and achieve and help us get where we need to go. When you see yourself as Jesus does, you can let love be your motivation. Your understanding and acceptance of yourself will bring freedom to move ahead with dreams and goals and life without fear of failure. Fear of not being enough never brings you to your highest goals, your highest good.

Feeling that you are never good enough may help you push forward and accomplish things, but always at the cost of peace and your own sacred identity in Jesus. 

God’s good work in you does not require self-degradation. God’s best work in you occurs when you see yourself with the same worth that He sees. Your thoughts soundly anchored in the unyielding love of Jesus keep you grounded in the solid truth that you have infinite value. 

Perhaps that title feels really awkward within the realm of “church-approved” language.

But I hope you might be open to a different angle…

Being loved means being in known in relationship. God is love, and for us to know love is to know God and experience God. We cannot give something we don’t know or haven’t experienced. To know God and to be known by Him are the sacred essence of relationship.

When the Prodigal Son returned to his father, he was willing to work as a servant just to be back in his father’s home. But the father did not want his son to just work and serve him. He did not tell him to pull his act together, or to stop being lazy and work harder. The father wanted to be with his son; to celebrate and to be in relationship with him.

God is our Papa, our Abba, and He isn’t seeking just a servant; He calls you friend. You don’t love your child because of what he or she has done for you. You love your child because they are made in God’s image; you love them for who they are. And God the Father loves you with inexplicable depth and fierceness.

So the question is…. Do you love yourself as God loves you?

Do you care for yourself as God cares for you?

I wonder if we have accepted a fearful, narrow-eyed, narrow-minded version of Christianity that is afraid of “self-love.” The fear of being selfish and of looking too much like our culture prods us not to be truly humble, but to impose self-shame. The wrecking ball swings in the other direction and imposes shame on women who desire to love themselves and take care of themselves. It’s like you’re not allowed self-care unless it doesn’t look too much like self-care. If self-care doesn’t involve reading your Bible or praying in solitude then perhaps it doesn’t look holy enough. 

Yes, there are those who are destructive to themselves and others in a selfish self-love that extracts validation from unwilling participants for their own glory. True self-love never shows up as selfish ambition. But that is not what I see in most moms and nurturers that I know. Most women I interact with do not struggle with too much worldly self-love. They struggle with shame. They feel unworthy of doing anything unless it’s being done for someone else.

Does God love you less than He loves your kids, or the people you care for? You were not put on this earth for the sole purpose of having babies and washing dishes. Yes, those are beautiful and holy things we do in love. But they are not your only purposes. You were created to love and be loved by a God who numbers the hairs on your head, and who spoke unique and beautiful gifts into your soul that are treasures to those around you.

Sometimes we are afraid to show our children that we are frail and human and vulnerable. What if we gave ourselves the freedom to model to our children that we have needs? The call to martyrdom is not the highest calling of a mother. But I wonder if sometimes this is what we model to our children. 

As parents, we want to teach our children to be like Jesus. You know what? Jesus loves Himself. And His pure self-love doesn’t contradict or diminish His love for others.  

People who have been loved well by others will know how to love others well. I don’t see how it is possible to love others well if you don’t love yourself. Loving yourself means you have agreed with God that you are loved, that you matter, and that you view yourself the way God does. God wants to lavish love on you just as you want to lavish love on those you care for.

Self-love is anything that brings you into a deeper relationship and unity with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Self-care is to know and experience more of who you are in the identity of Jesus’ all-consuming love.

I love the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. Jesus not only offers her His living-water love, He gives her permission to love herself. That sounds scandalous to our evangelical ears. Jesus made it clear that He knew her checkered past. But I don’t think he pointed out her sin solely for the sake of telling her she was sinful. She already knew that or she wouldn’t be at the well in the middle of the blistering noonday sun avoiding everyone’s condemnation. Jesus brought to light her feelings of shame, and invited her to replace it with all of His love. Maybe she could finally love herself the way Jesus loved her. And what did she do next? She went to tell everyone. She was inspired to love her neighbor as herself.

Self-love is a life-giving declaration that the God of love is alive in your soul and overflowing to the people and the world around you.  

It’s ok to love yourself.

Nature is a powerful force that deeply connects us to healing Love. God created all of nature to reflect His love for us. He is Faithful Love, and the world of nature is a picture of that deep love.

During a dark season of uncertainty in my life, I would often walk to the end of an old gravel road to be alone with God. No one could see me or hurt me in that sacred place. I was surrounded by the peaceful wind and the trees. I could cry there. I could heal there. I could hear Love’s voice. 

Allow yourself to be still in God’s creation. Allow yourself to be loved in the world He designed just for you. 

THE TREES WERE FAITHFUL

The trees were faithful

Ever stood

Tapping leaves,

Straight white bark,

Curling arms.

As evening melts the sky

The leaves ripple…

Warm sky colors

Wrap the darkened leaves,

Calmly darkened leaves,

Set against the backdrop of

An evening sky.

As if one could not exist 

Without the other.

A blended beacon of peace-

Rooted trees and peaceful, magical skies

Lending strength and stillness

To the earth and to

Each other.

I watched those trees for many years:

Green, then brilliant,

Then grey,

And green again.

In the quiet dark each night

They patiently listened to my lament.

I watched the branches dip low and the

Leaves flicker…  

The only thing still and calm in my world.

I longed to be 

Rooted and still 

With the trees.

I looked to their constancy and 

Never failing branches, 

And unyielding trunks. 

Their leaves and branches told wild stories of

Storms and snow and healing sunlight.

Grounded but not unmoved.

Rooted but still vulnerable 

To the wind and chaos.

In the wreckage of my life, 

I could count on this-

The trees were always faithful.

I walked to the end of the gravel dirt road, and

Hid myself among these great witnesses; 

Witnesses to my tears and cries for help, 

Keepers of a thousand secrets, 

And loyal to the ground beneath them. 

They saw my pain 

And did not turn away;

The trees were safety.

I took refuge in the reflection  

Of their straight and scattered forms

In the nearby pond;

The illusion of upside down towers 

Plunging down into deep glass.

No judgment from these friends.

No harsh words spoken in anger.

No fear of drowning…  of losing my ability 

To breathe.

My steady constant- they never left. 

Never uprooted. 

Never disingenuous.

They were true to themselves 

and true to the earth

 and true to me.

The trees were always faithful.

This is Norman. My masterpiece art project from elementary school. He currently sits on my parents’ shelf, dutifully holding pencils. But Norman is more than just a stellar example of my artistic skill. He is a symbol of one of the best-loved traits of my mother.

As I sat in a hard plastic chair in an art room full of squirmy fourth-graders and the smell of clay, I fashioned Norman the duck. The instructions were very clear: Make a simple mug out of clay for a Mother’s Day gift. I guess I didn’t feel like following the instructions. I grabbed some extra clay to mold it around a pencil, and endeavored to attach this extra piece to the mug. This would be no ordinary mug. I added a straw-holder. And wings.

My art teacher made her rounds to observe how each student had progressed. She looked down at my creation and firmly said, “That will never work. The extra pieces will break off when it’s baked in the kiln. You’ll have to do it again.”

33 years later, it still sits solid and unbroken on my parents’ shelf.

Admittedly, this may not have been the only time I did not follow directions…

Seventh grade Tech-ed. Clear instructions to build a basic wooden lamp with a flat square base. I made a triangle, and built sides to go around it so it could hold things. My teacher said I would never finish it in time and would receive a lower grade. It was finished in time, and still stood on my nightstand 20 years later.

I did a lot of crazy stuff growing up: Dressing in a Halloween costume to school when it wasn’t Halloween, wearing my dad’s polyester suit from the 60s, dying my hair with red Kool-aid, wearing my mom’s pink silk nightgown as a dress to my school choir concert… I get it. Some of it was just crazy kid-stuff. But I learned to be unafraid to be my own person.

As an adult, this independent spirit led me to attend college in a state I had never been to, and where I didn’t know a single soul. After graduation, I ditched plans for law school and uprooted to the other side of the world to be a teacher. Both of these life choices were some of the best decisions I ever made.

And in all of those moments- all those years of crazy moments– I never heard my mom say:

Are you crazy? That’s a terrible idea. It’s too risky. That will never work.

It never occurred to me that I would not be able to accomplish something that I had determined in my mind to do. I wasn’t trying to be rebellious, but I often thought outside-of-the-box. I wanted to know if my ideas could be successful. That can be a good or not-so-good trait, depending on the situation. But as a child I learned important lessons about myself and my abilities from those situations. 

I didn’t fear disappointing my mom, because she always recognized and encouraged my value as a person. I never felt like she thought I was not good enough or smart enough to do something. I knew she would always love me for who I was. My mom never tried to stuff me in a box or squash my dreams.

As I raise three very spirited girls of my own, I hope to instill that same sense of value and confidence in their souls. So when my youngest wants to dress up as a ninja princess and sing and dance barefoot around the front yard… or my 16-year-old volunteers to speak in front of a room full of other teenagers about her struggles with ADHD… or my engineering-minded child wants to disassemble a household appliance because she believes she can fix it…

Absolutely. A thousand times “yes”.

Often our inner voice comes from things our parents have said to us. As an adult, I hear the inner voice of my mom’s encouragement and support. The same voice that affirmed me, cheered me on as a child, and made Norman the duck a beautiful reality.

Thank you, Mom.

I have read a bazillion parenting books. Some were awful, some I gleaned from.  I recently took an online parenting class that gave a beautiful and gracious approach to parenting. The most prevalent theme of this class reinforced a hard truth I had heard years ago–before you parent your kids, parent yourself first. When we approach our children in a manner that frightens them or shames them, all the best parenting techniques in the universe will be ineffective. Kids hear what is in our heart, no matter how “calm” we try to appear on the outside. We have to deal with our own stuff first, our own triggers and emotions.

In a recent sibling battle (how long are we “sheltering-at-home??”), one of my daughters struggled with some really big emotions. I took deep breaths. Prayed. God spoke to me about how to approach her, and my daughter and I had an amazing conversation. She shared deep and difficult feelings she was experiencing. A great bonding moment and a parenting win (yay!).

The next day arrived. Oy…

I didn’t handle the battles that day as well as I had hoped. My kids are super forgiving, and I know they feel safe with me. I knew we would work it through. But how on earth did I wake up in another mom’s body that day and where did the capable and confident mom of yesterday go??

Such defeat. I knelt down and let the tears fall. I asked God how He could possibly love me in the midst of such failure. So clearly I heard His strong voice, “There is grace.”

My kids and I recently watched the movie “Pilgrim’s Progress.” There is a scene in the movie where Christian (the main character on a journey to The Celestial City) encounters the character Legality. Legality is a stone-like man that sits high on a hill with a gavel in his hand. The hill is covered in tombstones that materialize every time he ominously bangs his gavel. The tombstones have messages: “Obey the rules,” “Do not make any mistakes,” “Be quiet,” “Always remember everything.”  Christian attempts to climb this mountain with a heavy and ugly burden strapped to his back, while Legality shames him and criticizes him. It was such a vivid picture of the legalism to which we as a church, and as moms, sometimes ascribe. Work harder. Do more of this. Do less of that. Claw and crawl to please this merciless task-master we call “God,” and then berate ourselves when we fail.

But what if every mistake is a beautiful lesson? What if screwing up is the wide open door to peer into our truest heart in full assurance of mercy? What if we view it as an opportunity for genuine repentance that our kids desperately need modeled to them? What if we accepted that we will never do this perfectly?

Our kids don’t need to see perfection. They need to see transformation.

 A parent who is humble and repents when there is wrong done. A repentance that does not grovel, but also does not “gloss over” or invalidate. They need to see that we as parents are ever increasing in Jesus’ glory…  growing and becoming safer, less reactionary, more willing to admit fault. Kids need to see a life that accepts and gives grace. We can graciously communicate to them, “We do not know how to deal with this right now. This is hard. We are struggling. But we are going to take deep breaths. We are going to seek Jesus. We are in this together.” We can go to Jesus and allow Him to heal our deep hurts that get in the way of being the parent we want to be.

This is the amazing mystery of Jesus’ intimate relationship with us. He not only forgives and offers grace, but takes what is selfish and painful and confusing, and actually uses these things to bring us deeper into knowledge of the Father and of ourselves. The darkness doesn’t get the last word; all can be worked for good.  This sacred step of transformation pulls us into the throne room of God and invites His radical love to crash the darkness.

God is love, and His love invites us to experience even more love. Deeper than any drowning pit of legalism, shame, or despair, it is concrete and real and ever-present. The love of Jesus is unhindered by your mistakes, or your kid’s mistakes.

And remember, dear friend, that you are not on earth just to improve your parenting. You exist because the God of every star and of every grain of sand created you to be loved by Him and to be in relationship with Him. Your worth is not defined by the title of “mom, dad, or grandparent.” Your title is beloved. Your own identity in Jesus will move more mountains in your children than “perfect parenting” ever could.

I *strongly dislike* driving in snowstorms.

The snow hit my windshield like a thousand bursting stars. Semi trucks flew by and rattled the van, momentarily leaving clouds of snow that eliminated any scrap of visibility. And the slipping cars in the ditch… Yuck.

I am always relieved to arrive home safely. As I looked outside from my warm home, I had a change of heart… how lovely the snow looked. A swirling and wild goodness. It fell silently and accumulated like sacred powder. It covered cars, and the kids wrote messages in the snow on the van windshield until further accumulations erased it.

It stuck on trees and coated the earth like a peaceful dream. I felt tucked in and safe, like nothing in the world could break through the calm. The power of something so silent. So small.

Morning came and revealed a different world than the bluster of the night before. Perfect whiteness covered roof tops with gently smoking chimneys. The snow stopped its relentless ambush in the air. It rested peacefully on the earth and the trees. So innocent looking, as if the chaos from the dark night before was never real. The world was now still, and new.

I walked outside to see the once bare tree branches covered in smooth and unruffled wonder. The snow perfectly stuck to each branch, and to itself. It took up residence in the branches without invitation. Some of the branches were so small, yet the snow piled up in its tiny crevices like an impossible feat of science. If someone gave me a handful of snow and said- pile it up on this branch just like this– I could never do it. It seemed to gather and collect with purpose. Quietly, the snow inhabited the space where it landed with perfect contentment and confidence that it was where it was meant to be.

I saw the storm. I felt the storm. But I didn’t realize that during the storm, during the struggle, the thrashing trees in the unforgiving wind, the low visibility, the slippery road, the darkness and uncertainty— a miracle occurred.

The snow landed with purpose and brought meaning to once unwilling and unchanged branches. The trees carried it with grace.They ceased their struggle and embraced the wondrously brilliant, beautiful, and unexpected gift in their arms.

I tenderly approached each branch, in wonder of those little snowflakes that formed masterpieces in the most unusual and unexpected places. The snow brought life where no one else would have predicted it.

The trees were now still and quiet and compliant, yet strong as ever; quietly reconciled with the snow. They chose to continue on in that strong manner that trees always do… grounded and strong and unrelenting. The snow remained an accumulation of quiet chaos, almost purposefully placed. It covered the branches like white linen bandages, a healing grace, a beautiful reminder of remaining steadfast in a storm.

Here lies beauty not just after the storm, but because of the storm. Because of the snow.

“For this light momentary affliction

is preparing for us

an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” 

2 Corinthians 4:17

Last week I shared about the beautiful life lessons while observing my daughter’s Taekwondo class, and the breakthrough the Lord wants us to experience in our lives. Are you feeling a little banged up this week? Month, year? Life can be so hard. But it doesn’t have to be without meaning and purpose.

I have been reading in the book of Job this week… soooooo fun, right? I needed encouragement so I turned to the book of Job. *Ha*

And yet, I do find something deeply healing about it.

Job was real. He didn’t buy into the spiritual clichés of his companions. He longed for a deeper understanding of God. In the midst of Job’s agonizing cries of suffering, God spoke to him and did not hold back revealing Himself to Job.

I have to admit though, God’s reply to Job sounds a little blustery at first. Like a chastising father, shaking his finger saying, “How dare you doubt and question me?”

But we know that God’s character never changes, and that He is who He says He is: Gracious, compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in love. Wickedness is indeed punished, but when it comes to questioning God, it’s the heart that counts.

I remember a sermon our pastor gave several years ago about the difference between questioning God, and questioning God. In Psalm 13, David writes, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” David wasn’t condemned for his honest grief. His questions overflowed from a genuine heart. He questioned God not to test or reprove Him, but to lean in and be vulnerable. Vastly different than a heart of bitterness, disbelief, and pride.

Only a few verses later, David’s true motives are exposed. “But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me.”

I think that was also the heart of Job. And God responded not in fiery rebuke, but in loving assurance. He reminded Job of His sovereignty: That He has laid the foundations of the earth, placed the massive stars in place, created storehouses of snow, directed the lighting, and formed every living creature.

He then said to Job’s companions, “You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.” The Lord asked Job to make a sacrifice for his friends, and lavished even greater blessings on him than before. God the Father was still pleased with Job.

In considering the life of Job, I think the first place we can start when we are struggling for a breakthrough is to lay our soul bare before the Lord and be real, and trust that God will be compassionate in our pain. I have experienced the Lord’s compassion in my pain in profound ways.  A loving Father leaning in close and filling up empty places of my heart. When we invite God into our woundedness, He will grieve with us, and start the tender process of healing.

We also need the right kind of weapons. Our battle is not against flesh and blood, so we need to fight in prayer, and hold up our shield of faith-faith that He who began a good work in us will carry it to completion.

What comes next will be different for everyone. We can ask God to search our hearts, and be humble in hearing from Him. In Christ, we can demolish every stronghold and renew our minds in the light of His Word.

Like Job, we can’t give up in our pursuit of seeking God in our trials. There is too much at stake. Our breakthrough is dependent upon a heart yielded to God. Victory will look like a life transformed by perseverance, resulting a harvest of joy.

 

 

 

It was testing day for my oldest daughter in her Taekwondo class, and I felt the usual stirring in my stomach. I knew she worked hard and wanted to meet her goals. I wanted to see her experience the glow of doing what she came to do.

She has overcome some tough challenges in her life. Still struggling to work through others. In the midst of a sweaty gym and plenty of nerves, the strength gained in her tough stuff was the best tool she brought to her test.

The first part of her test was what she did best: clean forms, long kicks, and a determined attitude.

Tension creased my eyes after that. It was the final part of the test, where she had to break a board. The best way I know how to put it- she is just too nice. Great form, but as her teacher, Mr. T, often says, “You need to get mad at that board!” After several failed attempts, he moved toward her with words of intense encouragement.

She broke the board.

During her three years of taekwondo, I have noticed some things about her teacher.  First, he is just as passionate and involved with a beginner student as with an experienced black belt. Always 100% of his time and heart are in his encounters with his students.

Second, he never lets them plateau. Always pushing to be better, do better, grow further, become stronger. He enthusiastically celebrates accomplishments with them, then lines them up along the wall to do wall sits until their legs feel like they are going to fall off.

But by far the most powerful thing I have observed is that, as much as he can help it, he won’t let his students fail. I have noticed this particularly during the board breaking part of the test.

He certainly does let the students fail in ways that are healthy and good and necessary for learning. He doesn’t bail them out of a situation to shield them from a challenge. But he sees their heart and their effort, and he knows their work ethic and ability. If someone works hard and tests well, he is not going to let them go down on the board break.

At one point, Mr. T’s oldest daughter was testing for a high red belt, one step from a black belt. It was a rigorous test. She kicked the board numerous times, and it looked like her foot had been hurt. I have never seen him treat his daughters differently than the other students. Still, I wonder if, as a parent, it was difficult to watch his daughter struggle. Being both the teacher and a judge, he sat at the table with the two other judges. I tried to observe his facial expression. He remained professional and calm, but something in his eyes showed fierceness for his daughter.

Fellow classmates held up the board as she continued to kick. After a short time, Mr. T got up, grabbed a board, and walked quickly to his daughter. He held it up, and spoke with determination and calm instruction. With each failed kick he spoke intently to her, keeping her focused.

She broke the board.

Her dad was very professional about it, and showed little emotion. But the intensity with which he helped her showed that he was determined not to let her fail. He would not let her fail. He would not let her hard work come to nothing. He was determined to see her claim victory.

Mr. T often says that breaking boards is as much an emotional and mental test as it is a physical one. The hard boards represent obstacles in life that must be faced; a test of perseverance in hammering at the wall in front us. Maybe that is why he advocates so intensely for this particular part of the test. He knows his students want to break their board. And he wants them to experience a breakthrough.

“Sow righteousness for yourselves and reap faithful love; break up your unplowed ground.
It is time to seek the Lord until He comes and sends righteousness on you like the rain.” (Emphasis added) (Hosea 10:12).

God the Father is our fiercest advocate. He does let us fail, and learn hard things that we must learn.

Yet because of grace, He steps in and coaches us, loves us, and holds the board until victory is achieved.

But He is God the Father, and He does more than hold the board. He is the very power behind every movement that leads us closer to His heart, and closer to a breakthrough.

God loves to see His children experience victory.

Some of us are weary from kicking our board, just bloody and bruised with no sign of victory. And we don’t necessarily know why.

In Part II, I want to share with you some important weapons, and some possible “whys” that may reveal our struggle to achieve a breakthrough.

Please join me again here next week, dear friend.

Breakthrough is in sight.

One of my favorite events during the holidays is to watch my children in their seasonal performances. It is a moment when the materialism and busyness of Christmas briefly stop, and we focus on little souls and little hearts that exude Christmas joy.

I was sitting in a room full of parents and grandparents watching my kids in their homeschool Christmas program. My youngest was in a group that had been learning sign language. They performed their sign language skills accompanied by the classic song, Do you hear what I hear?

I will let that sink in a minute.

Their message roared as those beautiful little seven-year-old hands swayed and moved with silent beauty, in a song I heard countless times. I soon felt silent tears hugging my cheeks.

No words spoken. But we all heard them. I heard it more clearly than ever before.

Do you hear what I hear?  “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy” (Isaiah 35:5,6). The deaf, the blind, the lame… they will hear and see and jump for joy. The message was profoundly communicated with no sound at all. Just as there is a language with which deaf people “hear,” there is a deeper language that we have all been created to hear.

On the night of the Savior’s birth, God sent angels to deliver the message of hope, freedom for the captives, and light overcoming darkness. The ambassadors sent to hear and convey this transformational message to the world were the most upside-down choice in the culture of that day… shepherds. The angels did not descend in glory to tell the rich and powerful that the Sovereign King of all Creation had humbled Himself into the form of a vulnerable infant. They came to shepherds. The lowest of low in society, their testimony was not even acceptable in a court of law. Yet, the testimony of what they had seen and heard was entrusted unto them by the angels of heaven.

Being deaf or blind or lame or poor or an outcast did not disqualify people from witnessing and hearing one of the most crazy-amazing events in human history. God spoke to them in their language. Not just their verbal language, but their heart-and-soul language. Jesus spoke the love and hope that the world so desperately needed in a language they would understand. He did not ask people to figure it out on their own, or to do anything special or difficult to know Him. The Savior revealed Himself to them in a way that would meet them right where they were:  Hurting, grief-stricken, poor, weak, discouraged, sinful, addicted, broken-hearted.

The Heavenly Father spoke in a language that everyone could hear. We don’t need a special translation to comprehend the language of Jesus’ love. Jesus knew what the world needed to hear, and how to speak the message in a way that everyone could equally hear and understand. He made Himself known whole-heartedly and held nothing back.

I have watched several friends experience tough losses this holiday season. I have seen friends suffer with physical and mental illness. Yet I have seen the joy that these dear friends still have. Deep, abiding joy. Not the counterfeit “Hallmark joy,” but the real stuff that defies the notion that contentment exists only in a “we are all healthy and happy” bubble.

Such enduring joy would be unexplainable without the reality that Jesus Christ came to be with us. He desires us, wants a relationship with us, and deeply cherishes us.

Joy is possible because God speaks the language that holds broken hearts close. It is a language that enlightens displaced hope and uncertain futures.

To all of us, Jesus speaks in the language our hearts understand. He speaks to each of our hearts where we are, because He came to set our hearts truly free.