the miraculous sermons in my front yard

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday, , 1 Comment on the miraculous sermons in my front yard

A couple of weeks back I was cleaning out flower beds. That, in itself, is a minor miracle, considering it was mid-march in Minnesota.

As I raked out a few leaves and pulled off dead stuff, I had no expectation of seeing growth–none whatsoever. So imagine my surprise when I saw this.

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Amazing right? I had been lulled to sleep by winter, but these little shoots jolted me awake to the reality that God had done it again. He made life come out of the ground. Spring does not usually catch me by surprise, (at least not since I’ve lived in MN and so desperately longed for it) but this year, it did.

Now comes one of the sermons my front yard provided.Image

Can you see it? It looks kind of watery, but it wasn’t. It was pure ice. There were green shoots growing straight through a block of ice attached to the ground.

Just look at it! Leftover death in the form of the long brown leafy things and present death in the form of the ice. And the small green shoot is the miracle of new birth in Christ amidst it all screaming at me to take notice. That shoot is saying, “LOOK at me! This is what happened to you when God quickened life into your dead and sinful heart!” And that is a true testimony. Out of past death and present darkness my new heart was born through Christ.

And here’s sermon number two, just a foot and half away from sermon number one.

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Yep, that’s a thistle. Oooo, I hate them. I pulled this one out with my bare hand. Because sometimes I need to know what sin feels like to my skin. I can mask what it feels like in my heart, but when it makes my hand bleed, there’s no denying it. And the thistle did its God given job of yelling, “Sin isn’t a soft pet that you keep and coddle. It’s prickly and voracious. It is a living, spreading death.”

Our God, El Roi, The God Who Sees, sees us in every little thing we do, and His creation testifies to greater things than mere shoots and thistles. Do I have eyes to see what the Father has revealed in His spoken world? Lord, give me eyes to see and ears to hear!

“’Listen! Behold, a sower went out to sow.4 And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. 5 Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil.6 And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away. 7 Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. 8 And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” 9 And he said, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.’”   Mark 4:3-9

seven layers of delicious complexity

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday, family, gratitude3 Comments on seven layers of delicious complexity

I salivate over seven layer bars.

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I became enamored with them in college. They were available almost every single day in the DC (dining center) at Bethel. How spoiled I was. And, oh, how I took those days of dining with choices galore and desserts every meal for granted.

One of the best things about seven layer bars at my house is that no one else likes them. I know, right?! It’s a sweet deal.

The other night Tom and I were talking about our kids and how unique they each are. And how with each one entering our family, we are forced have an opportunity to grow and “expand our skill set,” as Rachel Jankovic says in Loving the Little Years.

Children– well, people (which children are, after all), are complex, layered little beings. Not only is every child completely unique, but their uniqueness changes as they grow! The minute you think you have your child pegged as ‘x’ they start to expand and grow into ‘x’ and ‘q’.

This is why parents (um, me) should refrain from pegging their children too strongly in any sense. This will quickly become pigeon-holing. It’s all well and good to say, “John’s the talkative one and Sally’s the shy one and Bill’s the athletic one and June’s the math whiz,” if it’s true and inescapable. But it may be true only for a short while. And it may not be the whole truth.

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It doesn’t serve our children well to give them a permanent assignment of their person. Rather, as a pastor at our church often says, “Commend the commendable in them,” (meaning the things pertaining to godly character). Strengthen their identity in Christ and let the other stuff wax and wane as it will.

Children have this ability to become what we repeatedly say they are. Or to rebel against it. So, if a parent says over and over, “Sally’s the shy one.” Sally will most definitely be the shy one. Perhaps until she goes away to college.

Our children are complex by design. They have been made by their Creator with complexity, layers if you will, and the ability to grow and change . We want to encourage this ability as much as we can. It is training in godliness to give our children the security to go from “the athletic one” to “the athletic book worm.” Someday they will need to go from “the student,” to “the student and teacher.”

Not to mention all the absolute changes that repentance requires. But, that’s starting down a different road.

The bottom line is this: knowing our children means observing when they change and expand, and embracing it with them. Encouraging it in them. Not assigning them who they are at 5 years old, thinking, “Well, I’ve got them figured out,” and repeating it until they’re 15. You may have them figured out at 5–it’s possible and probable in some respects. But don’t assume you do. Keep watching. Keep learning. Keep getting to know the complexity that’s in your child.

It will serve them well. It will make them deeper, richer people. And it will do the same for us parents, as well.

“Make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, 6 and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, 7 and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. 8 For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 2 Peter 1:5-8

alive in Christ

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday5 Comments on alive in Christ

Eliza got me an orchid for Christmas.

I’m notorious for killing houseplants. And outdoor plants. And anything green, growing and beautiful. I am working on my 180 in this regard. My plan is to be a sower, grower, nurturer and harvester. I’ll let you know how I come along.

So, this orchid was given to me on Christmas Eve Day. And it’s still alive. Full stop.

Just writing that sentence “And it’s still alive,” makes me do a double take. I seriously just glanced up from my chair to the orchid to make sure that it hadn’t, in fact, died in the last 15 minutes. Stranger things have happened.

Sometimes I look at myself and I do the same thing. I see my face and think, “I’m still alive.” I feel like an orchid living on a windowsill in a Minnesota house. This is not my natural habitat, and it is going to take someone who knows something about how to care for me to keep me alive. Thanks be to God, He does!

Life is very full of all kinds of crazy hard things. Some good hard, some bad hard. Some a mix of both. And God, in His wisdom, intends for us to live through them. We stay alive. We weather storms and sadness and joys and triumphs and things we never saw coming.

My Tom is far away in India right now, sharing the Gospel with people who haven’t heard it. And I’m alive here: praying, participating, wondering if he’ll come back, trusting in the One who is trustworthy. I was meant to live through this joyful, hard thing and a million other things that are easy, difficult, fun, painful, everything in between.

I’ve read a number of articles on blooming where you’re planted. They’re good. They hit on elements of contentment amid circumstances that you might wish otherwise. But I confess, sometimes a nagging objection surfaces that I wasn’t meant to be planted here.. in this world. Not in the ground anyway. I’m a potted plant– a visitor, an alien, with a caretaker who created me and knows how to keep me alive until I get transplanted to my true home in heaven– all praise to the Lord Jesus Christ.

Paul says in Phillippians, “But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, 21 who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. Therefore, my brothers, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm thus in the Lord, my beloved.”

And in Ephesians, the Lord gives us this beautiful and costly reality to hold on to:

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.” [emphasis mine]

So, yes, I am alive in Christ in this world, meant to live the life I’ve been given. And I am also seated with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus– my eternal home in the Lord. I am so grateful.

God's love is not a zero sum game

By: Abigail Dodds
everyday1 Comment on God's love is not a zero sum game

The love of God is multiplying kind of love.

I am so very thankful that God’s love for me never runs out. In fact, quite the opposite. The more I experience and know His love the more of it there seems to be. It grows and grows.

Just like the loaves and fishes that the young boy brought to Jesus. He is never limited by our finitude. Our small ability to comprehend his love doesn’t stop him from multiplying it for us and others in ways that are beyond us. What I particularly am grateful for is the steadfastness of his love. It cannot be moved or shaken. An unshakable love that grows: that is solace and comfort, no matter what I face.

Psalm 42:8

“By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,

and at night his song is with me,

a prayer to the God of my life.”

Psalm 59:17

“O my Strength, I will sing praises to you,

for you, O God, are my fortress,

the God who shows me steadfast love.”

the final wait

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday, family, 3 Comments on the final wait
We have entered the last week of advent. We remember the wait for the birth of baby Jesus.

We remember the waiting that has already been consummated. It has been completed: Jesus did come. Yet we remember and reenact it. But we do not wonder what it’s like to really wait, as though it’s a reenacting apart from our present circumstance that we merely remember. We have our own waiting to do.

For ours is the final wait. We wait for the end, the returning, the perfecting, the new heavens and new earth. Or we wait for our own end that will take us to an early glory. Yes, we are familiar with waiting. Perhaps we are less familiar with the arriving. The actual completion of things waited for. So, we practice the completion at Christmas. We remember that the Messiah, long awaited for, finally did come. And so, we take heart in ours, the final wait.

“8 But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 9 The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” 2 Peter 3:8,9

Thank you, Lord, for the waiting.

look back, look out: memory and mission

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ4 Comments on look back, look out: memory and mission

I love history. Biography is one of my favorite things to read. There is something about connecting the dots of the past in the present that brings significance to life.

Right now I’m reading a biography on Bonhoeffer called Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas. How blessed I am to get to look into this man’s life. Here is someone who lived over a generation ago and I can learn the lessons he has to teach. A measly stay-home mom, learning lessons from Detrich Bonhoeffer, a man who stood against darkness in the moment when it mattered, and it cost him his life.

Reading these kinds of books, remembering, or, tapping into the memory of history, reinvigorates me for life and the mission I’m called to. 

And it’s a pointer to all of the Christian life: remembering that moves us to mission.

As a Christian, I have even bigger things to remember than Bonhoeffer’s life (although his points me to the bigger things, which makes it exceedingly worthwhile).

I have the life of Jesus to remember. I have his death and resurrection. I have my sin and my sinful self nailed to a cross through Jesus to remember. I can remember that on the third day He rose again and crushed death forever.

All of my life is a rehearsing of the past in order to shape the present. Memory gives mission legs and meaning.

I remember that Jesus bore the wrath of God and defeated death forever. I remember that all authority in heaven and earth belongs to Him.

Thus my mission, “Go therefore into all the world and make disciples of all nations..”

I remember that Christ is my righteousness and that no one can snatch me out of the Father’s hand.

Thus my mission, “Be holy, as I am holy.”

Resting in what’s been done makes me able to do all He’s called me to. And I would argue that those who are immersed in the history of the Christian story, those who spend their lives remembering what God has done for them through the ages, will also be heavenly-minded, future-oriented people.

Their mission will be clear and dear to them. And they will set about their lives with an eye toward God’s Kingdom come.

Let me be that kind of Christian, Lord. Help me to look back with an eye for what’s ahead.

the twilight of fall

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday, 4 Comments on the twilight of fall

C.S. Lewis has famously called spring the waiting room of the world.

And how much longing there is in those months of March, April and May when every glance toward a tree is straining to see a centimeter of green budding on the tips. Every morning is hopeful for white turned to brown, turned to growth. We wait and wait and wait in spring.

But fall is another matter entirely. Fall is that rare wonder of blessing that is granted practically upon our first inclination to want it.

Our eyes are suddenly catching glimpses of orange, red and yellow. Everything is crisp and crunchy. And how we love it. We love it so much we can hardly imagine that we ever  wished it to be any other way. Summer is scorned in the long shadow of autumn’s glory.

Yet as soon as it is at its very prime–the peak has come–it is already hinting at its departure. The air is too crisp, it freezes in our nose. The leaves are all crunch and no color.

The blessing of fall comes while we yet enjoy the lingering warmth of summer and it slips away long before we’re ready. If spring is the waiting room, fall is the final arrival and last goodbye. It is the sweet hymn that carries us to death. It is the twilight before all the lights go out.

Was ever dying so beautiful as it is in fall? Fall shows us the beauty that dying ought to be. Dying may be the most beautiful, painful part of living. Jesus died on a cross. All pain and horror, yet beautiful forgiveness was won.

Then three days of darkest winter and spring came again.

So, yes, fall is the twilight that leads to death. And death is that stingless, victory-less gateway to life. So white and cold it will have no taste in my mouth. It is the blink that brings us to eternity.

thoughts on the humblebrag

By: Abigail Dodds
blogging, body of Christ, culture, 3 Comments on thoughts on the humblebrag

I was intrigued by this post by Justin Taylor, explaining the concept of the humblebrag. Here’s an interview with the originator of the term.

A humble brag, as I understand it, is when you brag about yourself in a way that masquerades as humility or is coupled with self-deprecation. Here are some examples:

‘Ugh. I just pocket dialed spokesperson for Pentagon.’ —Greta Van Susteren

‘If you think getting your house ready for guests is a hassle, try preparing it for HGTV cameras. I am the worst florist ever.’ —Tony Hawk

Here’s the example Justin Taylor gives:

“I remember my first months in Harvard classrooms, gob-smacked by how my contributions, however lame, were invariably treated with respect because my accent framed them.” -Andrew Sullivan

When I read the concept and the examples, my first thoughts went somewhere other than the ugliness of the humblebrag. Instead I thought of the ugliness of envy and how hard it is for us to be happy for someone else’s successes.

So what if Andrew Sullivan mentions that his school was Harvard? I often say what school I went to, it just so happens that it isn’t prestigous. Why shouldn’t Harvard attendees be able to talk about their life just like the rest of us? The fact that it bothers us that he mentions the name of his school is a reflection of insecurity in the listener, not the speaker.

When good things happen to someone else, like winning an award, or having a great job, or writing a book, or [fill in the blank], it’s better for my soul to rejoice in their success, rather than nitpick their statements looking for a hidden braggart.

Being a humble brag is a bad deal. I don’t want to be one; I don’t want my kids to be one. But, I can’t help but feel that the real issue is our inability to be happy for others. Without being able to see into people’s hearts, it’s hard to judge whether they’re bragging or simply stating what’s happening in their life at that moment. After all, I assume that Greta Van Susteran really did accidently pocket dial the Pentagon. How’s that any different than me saying, “Ugh, I just pocket-dialed the babysitter.”

I think having a problem with Greta saying that she pocket-dialed the Pentagon (which is actually pretty funny) is more about being unable to bear anyone who does better than we do. (I could go on here to relate how I think that this envy culture is a result of liberal ideology and the concept of equality of outcome, or how it flows out of our depraved and wicked hearts, but I wouldn’t want to sound too confident or self-important or controversial.)

Here are my take-home lessons: 1)Don’t brag. 2)Don’t envy. 3) Don’t be paralyzingly self-aware. Enough.

hospitality and small children

By: Abigail Dodds
body of Christ, everyday, family, kiddos, 15 Comments on hospitality and small children

I’ve been thinking about the joys and challenges of being hospitable with small children at home.

Having toddlers afoot amid home and meal preparations, while expecting a large or small gathering of people, can be a challenge. So much so that many people just don’t do it much at all. But it can also be a great joy and delight.

I have certainly experienced both the difficulties and delights of parenting kids while trying to keep everything picked up and in its place and keep enough gas in my tank so that I’ve got a truly warm welcome for the people walking through the door. The reality is, often I don’t have enough gas in my tank at the arrival of guests. But one thing I’ve always found to be true: God’s grace covers me over and over as friends and family and neighbors and guests enter our home. In my weakness, He is strong and He glorifies His greatness even more because of my tired, broken down reliance on him.

Here are some things to keep in mind as you pursue hospitality with small children at home:

1) Hospitality is a family affair. 2 and 3-year-olds can get a vision for it if you communicate it to them. So, be excited about serving others in your home and they will be too.

2) When you communicate the vision of hospitality to your little kids, make sure you let them know that it is an honor to receive guests, be it family, friends or strangers. Therefore, we seek to treat anyone who enters our home with special honor.

3) Start preparing early with the help of your children. If I know that we’re having a big group over, I begin preparations days in advance and engage the children as much as I possibly can. I let them know why we’re working on getting things in order, or getting food ready, etc. Often this brings on a plethora of teaching opportunities as your children may give you resistance, but it also gives them a wonderful sense of ownership in loving the people who come over.

4) Don’t let parenting and hospitality compete, let them complement. In other words, don’t sacrifice parenting for hospitality or vice versa. If you’re consumed with making your home perfect to the detriment and neglect of your children, that’s a failure all around. Hospitality is an opportunity to teach and better parent your children. Use hospitality to your children’s great benefit.

Or, if you abandon hospitality because it’s just too much work to do it alongside parenting, again, you’re missing the boat. If you’re not hospitable while children are afoot, you cannot bequeath that characteristic to them. And chances are you won’t magically start being hospitable when they turn 8 or 9 or 14 or 15. The pattern will be set.

5) While you can engage your children to help with many things, they can’t help with everything and that’s right and good. They learn by watching. Also, while you do the grown-up jobs, it is another time to teach them to play together peacefully (we aim high and fail often here!).

I often tell the kids they can each pick one toy or book to play with while I set about the grown-up jobs. This is good discipline for them. It helps them to explore all the fun ways you can play with ONE toy. And they often play together, because then they have access to the toys their siblings picked. This keeps messes to a minimum and creativity to the maximum.

6) Expect everything to go wrong. Because it will. You might think the children are playing quietly with their one-toy-a-piece when really they’ve just made a disaster area out of the basement. You may have the bathrooms polished a day in advance, only to have the three-year-old smear toothpaste on the hand towel, wall and floor, while the baby unrolls the toilet paper, again.

You may lay out the best, most inspiring vision for hospitality, only to have your child respond selfishly, with, “but I don’t want anyone else to sit in my chair!” All I can say is, persevere. It’s worth it. They’ll get it eventually. Not perfectly, not all the time, but in bits and pieces, they’ll start to love hospitality, they’ll love loving others, and hopefully they’ll love our hospitable God who inspires and commands it for His people.

7) Remember that it’s more important to do it wrong than not to do it. Say what?! Yes. Have people over, have everything go wrong with the kids not helping and the house not ready and the coffee unmade. Let people in. Turn down the voice in your head that can’t let go of all the things that are screaming at you as you walk through the house. The spot of who-knows-what under the kitchen chair; the smudges and handprints on the sliding door; the messy bed in your son’s room. Turn that voice OFF!

People have entered your home, you owe all your care and attention to the souls under your roof, not the dish left in the sink. It’s time to be Mary, not Martha.

8) Finally, make sure that even as you teach your children to be hospitable in your and their home, also be hospitable to them. While your children are not guests, they also are not going to be there forever. Take time to serve them and treat them with special honor, just as you want them to do to others. Children who’ve tasted what it’s like to be served and honored selflessly will have a better idea of how to do it for others. And more than that, they are worth it.

I hope you’re encouraged to be hospitable through the years of young children and messy parenting. Let the welcoming and tender care of your loving Father inspire you. He welcomes us because of His great love for us, love that comes at great and unthinkable cost to Himself. What a God we serve.