Tag: The Motivation for Everything

Seen outside a Tanzanian church.  Source here

Growing up, I was the poster child for Good Christian Girls.

Straight-A student?  Check.

Never listen to Madonna or watch 90210?  Check, check.

Don’t drink, smoke, or chew, or go with boys who do?  Check, check, check.

I tutored inner-city kids.  I helped to lead a Bible club for disabled teens.  My ambition was to become a missionary, for crying out loud.  I was oozing with goodness.

I’ve always liked rules.  Following them gives me a sense of control, a feeling of success, and eliminates pesky guilt.  Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.  I follow the speed limit.  I recycle.  I stay off the grass.  And for a long time, following the rules is how I tried to live out Christianity.

Until I started to realize that it really was just a big show.  I could be very good at putting on that happy, cheerful, servant-leadership face, while all the while I had a selfish spirit, sense of superiority, and sometimes downright hate snarling around in my heart.  Mix that together with a strong fear of people’s opinions and a good dose of anxiety, and you don’t have a very pretty picture.  To my horror, sometimes these attitudes even slipped out for other people to see.

There’s nothing worse for a Good Girl to realize than that she’s really not all that good after all.  There’s not a lot of options at that point.  What was I supposed to do?  Hide it?  Try harder?  Suppress the guilt?  Do penance?  None of those things are very satisfying.  And they certainly don’t fix the problem.

And no, I didn’t have a harsh upbringing, and I didn’t attend a legalistic church.  I actually grew up as a pretty happy person.  I just knew that there was a big disconnect between the person I showed to the world, and who I actually was.

Thankfully, the truth of Grace swept into my life in college.  It was something I had known all my life; it had been staring me right in the face, but I had looked in a thousand other directions before I fell deeply into it’s glory.

And oh!  What a blessed relief, what a glorious rest, to slowly come to the realization that I was not only saved by grace, but sustained by grace, and held by grace.  Following the rules may have spared me a lot of heartache, but they did not, could not, change my heart.

I’m glad I came to this understanding before getting married, because being a wife and a mom has just reinforced what a wretchedly awful person I am capable of being.  At the beginning, I desperately yearned for a checklist of rules that would make me a good wife and mom, but as time went on, I was really glad there wasn’t.  I would have failed miserably.

Readers have often commented to me that they are thankful…surprised, maybe?…at my honestyabout my weaknessesand failings.  But the truth is, I am tired of being seen as the Good Girl.  Been there, done that.  It’s impossible, and it’s exhausting.  I would much, much rather live in grace.

Living in grace means that when I screw up, I’m not only forgiven, but I have the power to change.   It means reveling in the joy of knowing that I never have to earn God’s favor–I already have it.  It’s means that when I do something right, it’s all because of Him.  If there’s anything good that comes out of me, it’s because I have first breathed in His grace.

So why then should I be afraid of being open about who I really am?  I, in myself, am nothing.  I, on my own, am just a show.  I would not, could not, ever have been good enough.  There’s something deeply vulnerable about blogging, about putting myself out there for anyone to see….and criticize.  But I remind myself that if anyone does think negatively about me, well, it’s probably true anyway.  If I am living in grace, I have nothing to fear.

If I let you think I’m that Good Girl, then it is only Amy Medina who gets the attention.  I’m just another really great, religious rule-follower who makes the rest of humanity feel bad about themselves.  No wonder the world would mock me if I fell.  But if I let you see who I really am, then–and only then–can you see the gospel at work in my life.  Only then can you possibly see Jesus.

And that’s pretty much what grace is all about.  What I’m all about.

My kids’ Sunday School teacher pulled me aside after the service.

She was talking to me in Swahili, and I was alarmed by what I was hearing.  Finally, I asked her to switch to English.  I wanted to make sure I understood exactly what she was saying.

Unfortunately, the message had not been lost in translation.  Except it sounded even worse in English.

During Sunday School, all the children sit on a mat outside.  The teacher told me that one of my children had found a little pouch with money in it.  Even though it was in close proximity to another child, my child took the money.  Another one of my children witnessed this event and encouraged the other child, saying, “Good job!”

Of course, it was all brought to light (thankfully), and my two children were implicated in this scheme.

It definitely was one of the more humiliating experiences of my life.

Oh yes, the children of the missionaries stole money from a child who is probably a thousand times poorer than they are.  At church.  That made me feel really good.

We slunk away with our tails between our legs.

At home, Gil took one little thief and I took the other.  We both extracted that each child knew exactly what they were doing.  And each knew that it was wrong.

I wanted to shake that child and yell, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?  And, WELL, THERE GOES CHRISTMAS!

But then I remembered:  Christmas.

You know, we want our kids to understand the “true meaning of Christmas,” don’t we?  That’s it’s not all about the presents and the parties and the cookies.  And we tell them and we tell them and their eyes glaze over and they look over our shoulder at the presents under the tree.

This time was different.  I looked deep into my child’s eyes and said, “This is why Jesus had to come to earth.  Because our hearts are full of sin.  Because it pops out of our hearts when we least expect it.  Because our lives are broken.  Because God loves us anyway and we need to be rescued.  That’s why we celebrate Christmas!”

And the child looked back and me and I saw an inkling of understanding.

Long lay the world

In sin and error pining

Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope

The weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks

A new and glorious morn!

If you could read my mind, you would know that I’m really not a very nice person.

I think I’m right way more than I should; I get irritated and intolerant; I am arrogant; sometimes I am too lazy to give my kids what they need.  Fear keeps me from loving people.  I can revel in seeing someone fail; I am selfish and inflexible; I stress out often and take it out on other people.  Sometimes I shock myself with my lack of love and lack of forgiveness.

Actually, forget about reading my mind; you really just need to talk to my husband or kids.

There was a time in my life when I seriously considered all the major world religions.

But I discovered, that if they were true, I was screwed.  All of them taught that the path to heaven or enlightenment was to be a really good person.

And I knew that I was not a really good person.  Or even a sort of good person.  Sure, I could smile and mind my manners and follow the rules and make people think that I was Such a Nice Girl, but I saw all that was sinister inside me.  And I knew that had the circumstances been right, if I had lived in Germany in the 30’s or Rwanda in the 90’s, that I would be capable of all that was evil.

I also considered that perhaps there is no heaven or enlightenment, that everything I can touch and see is all there is.  But that is even more terrifying, because then there is no answer for the evil inside me; I would be just a meaningless mixture of chemicals.  It would mean everyone just makes their own rules and there is no true beauty and no true purpose or real soul.

I’m telling you this today because I want you to know why I believe in something as astonishingly crazy as the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Of course, there was a time when I researched and I read literally dozens of books on the subject, because I didn’t want to believe what I wanted to be true, I wanted to believe what is true.  And now I am convinced that the physical Resurrection of Jesus is one of the most verifiable facts of history, and I believe that it confirms that Jesus’ claim to be the Son of God was not just the ravings of a mad man.

But I also believe because I cling to it as a drowning man clings to a life vest, as a man in the desert runs to a spring.  The Resurrection is Life; it is the assurance that despite the wretchedness of my heart, that God accepts me as His own, because the price has been paid.  It is oceans of beautiful, astonishing, immeasurable Grace.  It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with God.

And the Resurrection shows me how all of life makes sense, how I have no need to fear, how it’s all One Big Story and I (even I!) get to play a part in it.  It rips apart my selfishness; it motivates me to love other people; it gives me hope and power to change.  To change!

By the grace of God, I would give up everything for it; I would die for it; because I have already gained everything.

This is why I celebrate on Sunday.  This is why I leave this country and these people that I love and move (again) half way around the world.  Because the Resurrection is everything.

Watch this today.  Because it’s awesome and I never get tired of it.

Photo credits:  Gil Medina