Today I decided to recommend a look at this photo gallery of interesting women by Chris Michel. It is fascinating to look at the wide variety of women of different ages, cultures, and stations in life. Each one reflects the image of God in a different way!

The other day I heard a teacher telling a child what it means to repent. It went something like this: the teacher stood up and did an “about face” and then explained that to repent is to turn from doing something bad and turn to doing something good. Sound familiar? I’ve heard it so often it is almost difficult to discern anything wrong with these thoughts. But, with a closer examination, this teaching is far from the truth of the good news Jesus came to make clear. It resembles modern day behaviorism much more closely.

There is a place for behaviorism, I guess. Behaviorism as defined by About.com is “a term referring to the school of psychology founded by John B. Watson based on the belief that behaviors can be measured, trained, and changed.” I am working this summer in a therapeutic preschool. That is a place for behaviorism, at least as a basic tenet for what is expected of these kids. There is a place for behaviorism, but that place is not, not, NOT the church. There is an important message in behaviorism, I guess. You have to act the right way in certain situations. But this message has absolutely nothing to do with the life-changing good news of the scriptures.

Everywhere in Scripture where repentance is talked about, there is the idea of returning to God. The emphasis is not on behavior. The emphasis is on a Person, the person of God. It is relational. “Come back to me,” God says with a broken heart. I want you, child, not your good behavior or acts of penance.

When we reduce repentance to bettering our behaviors, we leave ourselves and those we teach with two possibilities. Either we will succeed and become a smug, self-satisfied person, who doesn’t understand why everyone else doesn’t make good decisions too. Or, if we, or those we teach, are not graced with the natural ability to control impulses or with a compliant, non-questioning personality, it is likely we will fail. This failure often leads to discouragement or even despair. (If that is what God wants, then I quit. I can’t do it anyway.) Personally, I’ve been in both places.

Why do we find ourselves falling back into the “shape up or ship out” mentality over and over again? We do it with ourselves, others, and our children. The only reasonable answer I can come up with, and I’ve thought about it a lot, is that we’re scared the gospel won’t really change us, or our kids. We haven’t experienced in real life that “the gospel is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.” Or we have experienced it but we forget. We don’t really believe the gospel, so it is easier to try to control with behaviorism.

And while it may be easier, it is far less worthwhile. Let us learn to think of the Christian life as a relationship, parent to child. A relationship where one is learning and struggling and messing up a whole lot of the time. But where the Other is so wild about the child and is elated when they come back to him again and again. And again. Maybe with a dirty face, maybe with a skinned knee, maybe even with hands still clasped on the cookie stolen from the cookie jar. But oh, so loved and welcomed home! This picture captures the heart of God for me and for you. It captures the essence of repentance.  Isn’t the kindness of God a beautiful thing?

Okay, I admit it. I really like creepy crawlies, microscopic critters, and all kinds of weird, hands-on science stuff. Having kids gives me a good excuse to do all sorts of fun things (that you might not consider fun at all): bug collections, ant farms, hatching chicken eggs, owning a microscope, feeding flies to a venus fly trap, and watching ladybugs go through their life stages. Mostly, I attribute this love of science to my wonderful, microbiology professor of a father. Who else would grow up with her dad pointing out every type of tree leaf, whistling bird songs, bringing home reptiles and amphibians, and growing mold in our fridge for his classes?

But still, somehow growing up, I missed the fact that ladybugs go through a metamorphisis similar to that of a caterpillar to a butterfly. Incidentally, lightning bugs (or fireflies) also begin life as glow worms in the ground. (Now, that would be a neat one, worms that glow. . .better make a note to order that one.)

The other day, my sweet 5 year old Anna was looking at our ladybug habitat, which was just beginning to be a home for little pupa of ladybugs. She asked me a simple question. “Do those bugs try to turn into pupa, or do they just do it?” And a bit later as I was reflecting on that, it struck me what a fundamentally important question it really was. No, they do not try to turn into pupa. They just do it.

And similarly, those of us who belong to Christ, whom he has sealed with his Holy Spirit, will turn into glorious ones who reflect his image. And we don’t have to try hard to make it happen. Surrender to his process of shaping us? For sure. Lean in and listen to him, cooperate with his ways? Definitely. Try hard to force the change? No way.

As time has gone on, and we’ve watched the ladybug process of metamorphisis, I admit I began to be a doubter. Would these pupa who were being so still, hanging there upside down looking almost dead, really emerge into cute little polka dotted ladybugs? Maybe we did something wrong. Maybe they are drying out in there or don’t have enough air. It doesn’t look like anything is happening.

But sure enough, yesterday as I nonchalantly peeked in there after cleaning up lunch, two young oblong-looking ladybugs were crawling around slowly, trying out their new form. By the end of the day, there were many more. And just as surely, I will emerge into the lovely, loving image of Christ. Though sometimes I doubt. Though sometimes I fear I’ve done something to mess it up too much this time, or that I didn’t get enough water or air in my spiritual life. As sure as the ladybug comes about, God will finish his work in me and all of his children. And I’ll be beautiful.

I have always been drawn to Impressionism.  I love the use of paint strokes and the way light is reflected, but the clincher for me is the way these French artists painted the beauty of everyday real life.  Little redhead and I once took a trip to Paris to explore and admire the art and history there.  The apartment we rented had a balcony and a tiny winding black staircase to a rooftop terrace with a view of the city!  We made our own French press coffee, bought fresh bread and cheese, explored the side streets and famous museums, and even did our own performace of Les Miserables late one evening on the Champs Elysees after a bottle of wine.

But, in spite of my history with French art, I didn’t know about a remarkable woman who was one of the leading impressionists.  Berthe Morisot lived from 1841-1895, and was born in  Bourges, France.  Her father was a high-ranking civil servant there.  She began formal art lessons at age 16 and eventually became a student of Corot.  When she married the brother of artist Edward Manet, the two of them built a home in Paris.  This house became the weekly meeting place of many famous French impressionists, including Degas, Monet, Pissaro, and Renoir.  Can you just imagine the creativity flickering and flowing?  Oh, to be a fly on the wall!

Berthe Morisot painted loving, joyful pictures of a contented, happy life at home.  Her impressions are often paintings of family life, including motherhood and the enjoyment of nature with loved ones.

Two of my favorites are On the Balcony and The Cradle.  Applause to you, Berthe, for finding your gift and for painting right along with a group of amazing male painters. 

You know, lately, I’ve had this sense of wonder. Wonder and amazement. . . and a peaceful confidence. Let me tell you right up front that this is nothing I have done. Over the last two years there have been hard things in my marriage, hard things with our children, hard things with friends and our church. There have been plenty of moments where I’ve wondered if I have the strength to keep doing what I’m doing, plugging on faithfully day by day.  Wondered whether we would make it or how in the world we would. 

Sometimes I find it very restful just to lie down in a fetal position and ask God to come close and to hold me, to hold us close.  And as I’ve done that, he has granted this gift, this awareness of being cradled in his hands, in his heart, tenderly and lovingly.

Listen to these wonderful words that he has spoken to me:

To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy - to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power, and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.

I grew up in church.  Heck, we were there every time the doors were open.  So I’ve heard a lot about the Christian life.  I’ve heard a lot about endurance.  But I’ve only recently begun to truly understand the beauty of the mystery of Christ enduring through me.  It is such a relief to cast yourself totally on him.  He is solid.  He is sure.  He is the anchor that holds through the storm.  And endurance is a gift he loves to give to his own.  It is a work he loves to do through us.  It is as real and sure as he is.  And the enduring is his job.  And that is good, good news for weary ones like me.

So, will I make it?  Maybe a little bloodied up and bruised, but without a doubt the answer is yes.  It is a done deal.  And I’m enjoying the wonder and peace and confidence of  knowing that is true..

This is one of my favorite U2 songs ever!  The above video is well worth watching.  By the way, when I was listening to U2 back in high school in 1985, one of the youth workers who volunteered his time with us teens, tried to convice me that U2 could not possibly be “Christians.”  First of all, if that were true, their music would still be wonderful.  But more importantly, no one should try to say whether someone else is a Christian or not, just because they aren’t the same kind of Christian we are.  And, 23 years later, I am more sure than ever that he was wrong, well-intentioned maybe, but wrong.

This song has reminded me of the gospel in so many ways at so many different times over the past year and a half since its release.  It is like a parable, a golden box full of truth if you want to look for it, but stuff you might not notice if you don’t take the time to dig through the rubble in the box a bit.  I have worshiped in rhapsody right along with Bono many times:

The shackles are undone
The bullets quit the gun
The heat that’s in the sun
Will keep us when there’s none
The rule has been disproved
The stone it has been moved
The grave is now a groove
All debts are removed

Oh can’t you see what love has done?
Oh can’t you see what love has done?
Oh can’t you see what love has done?
What it’s done to me?

Love makes strange enemies
Makes love where love may please
The soul and its striptease
Hate brought to its knees
The sky over our head
We can reach it from our bed
You let me in your heart
And out of my head, head…

Oh can’t you see what love has done?
Oh can’t you see what love has done?
Oh can’t you see what love has done?
What it’s done to me?

Oh, oh, oh, oh…
Oh, oh, oh, oh…
Please don’t ever let me out of you

I’ve got no shame, oh no, oh no

Oh can’t you see what love has done?
Oh can’t you see?
Oh can’t you see what love has done?
What it’s doing to me?

I know I hurt you and I made you cry
Did everything but murder you and I
But love left a window in the skies
And to love I rhapsodize
To every broken heart
For every heart that cries
Love left a window in the skies
And to love I rhapsodize

Here’s one more YouTube video entitled Bono : A Conversation About Christianity, if you are still unsure. 

In my book, any and every woman who was a slave is a woman of wow. It would take incredible patience and longsuffering to endure that position in life. . . and to work endlessly. I don’t even understand all they went through and am just so incredibly thankful it is a thing of the past in our country. Here is one of the only letters we have from a slave during this period, written by a young woman named Vilet Lester. Most were not given the opportunity to become literate. Her positive outlook and her love for those for whom she worked and for her family is an inspiration to me.

Bullock County, Georgia. Vilet Lester to Patsey Patterson, August 29, 1857. Vilet Lester writes to her former mistress, Patsey Patterson, briefly describing her chain of owners since she left the Patterson’s. She inquires about others she has left behind, in particular her daughter, whom Lester’s new owner has agreed to buy in order to reunite them. (from the Joseph Allred Papers, Special Collections Library, Duke University). Note: This is a literal transcription. Some punctuation has been added for ease of reading and understanding.

Georgia Bullock Co August 29th 1857

My Loving Miss Patsy

I hav long bin wishing to imbrace this presant and pleasant opertunity of unfolding my Seans and fealings Since I was constrained to leav my Long Loved home and friends which I cannot never gave my Self the Least promis of returning to. I am well and this is Injoying good hlth and has ever Since I Left Randolph. whend I left Randolf I went to Rockingham and Stad there five weaks and then I left there and went to Richmon virgina to be Sold and I Stade there three days and was bought by a man by the name of Groover and braught to Georgia and he kept me about Nine months and he being a trader Sold me to a man by the name of Rimes and he Sold me to a man by the name of Lester and he has owned me four years and Says that he will keep me til death Siperates us without Some of my old north Caroliner friends wants to buy me again. my Dear Mistress I cannot tell my fealings nor how bad I wish to See youand old Boss and Mss Rahol and Mother. I do not [k]now which I want to See the worst Miss Rahol or mother I have thaugh[t] that I wanted to See mother but never befour did I [k]no[w] what it was to want to See a parent and could not. I wish you to gave my love to old Boss Miss Rahol and bailum and gave my manafold love to mother brothers and sister and pleas to tell them to Right to me So I may here

There never was a woman like her. She was gentle as a dove and brave as a lioness. The memory of my mother and her teachings were, after all, the only capital I had to start life with, and on that capital I have made my way.
– Andrew Jackson (1767-1845), seventh president of the United States of America

Okay, yesterday I was sitting in my little counseling room, where I meet with high school kids who need to talk, when a strange sound began to ring. My first thought was a fire drill, but where I was situated far from everyone, it wasn’t loud enough and it seemed too rattly. After a couple of minutes of continued ringing, I stuck my head out the door to find NO ONE anywhere to be seen. So, I made my way to the front of the school and out the door to find the entire rest of the school population already exited from the building. Not a minute later, we all began to hear sirens for severe weather. So, what the heck were we supposed to do? Go in or go out? Not safe in there because someone had caught two rolls of toilet paper on fire in the bathroom, trying to burn the place down. Not safe outside where the sirens warned of possible tornadoes. The school got the fire and smoke under control pretty quickly, then had everyone hang out in the safest parts of the school. Crazy day. Yeah. Bet you’ve never experienced a fire warning and a tornado warning within a minute of each other!