Of Late Fees and Beatitudes

We bought a stove after eight months of cooking with two burners and having no oven. It was a good deal: half price, discounted, discontinued, last one in stock. We could not have done better! And then the clerk offered us an even steeper discount if we signed up for the credit card. We are fiscally conservative and owe no credit card debt. So we did it. And promptly paid the balance when the payment came due.

And then came the perfect storm.

The payment, while made on time, was just late enough in the day that it went through the following business day, accruing a slight penalty, which we did not know we had because we had mistakenly signed up for paperless billing.  But we paid in full. No bill, no worries, right?

Except for the automated phone calls. “Sorry we missed you. Please call us about your Sears card” every time I picked up the phone. You didn’t miss me! Here I am! Talk to me! Since nobody would talk, I assumed it was another offer. More credit. Lower rates. We didn’t need either. I didn’t call.

No e-mails either. I pay the bills in our house and everything goes to my e-mail account. No e-mails, no worries, right?

Except when Matt finally called to please ask that we no longer receive the annoying daily phone calls we found out the slight penalty had snowballed three months worth of interest. Frustrated, he used his “ma’am” voice to explain clearly and without a doubt that we had NO idea of the penalty, that we had NO idea what the phone calls were about and that we would have paid the bill right away IF we had known about it. They waved the fee and gave us the benefit of the doubt. 

Problem solved, right?

Except it was still the perfect storm.

A month later we found out our bank would start charging $5 a month for the use of the debit card unless you had multiple types of accounts with them. We’d been wanting to re-finance so it was the right time to switch mortgages and avoid silly monthly fees.

So Matt went to the bank confident in our great credit and little debt to be told we had a small blemish that kept us from the best possible rates. No guesses here: the Sears card small late fee on a very expensive stove.

We called Sears, we raged and ranted, we reminded them of what we’d bought, that this was ludicrous over such a small amount, that we did not know about the fee, and on and on. They politely explained they would send it to their referral department and let us know.  “By the way,” they said, “it probably won’t get changed because it is not the bank’s error. But you can try…” Hopes dashed. This blemish would stay on our credit for seven years. So much for good rates for a while…

So what do Christians do when in trouble? We asked our church to pray. And they did. But I didn’t hold much hope because, after all, we had made a mistake and well, when you don’t pay your bill you get stuck with the bill collectors. Is God able to take care of such silliness? Sure, but He would take care of our needs either way, so why not let life take its course? Anyway, that’s theology for another day.

In any case, I happened to mention to Matt while we waited for the dreaded results that Sears should have at least sent us an e-mail reminder that we had a paperless bill. Every other company does and…that’s when he said: “Maybe they did…” Oh. No. Please. No. They did. To his e-mail. Not mine. Because he set up the account. Not me, as usually happens. 

This, of course, ensued a fight. “Why would you give them your e-mail?” “Why would not you NOT open messages from Sears?” “Why…why…why…” I walked away angry and in my room the Lord spoke to me: Are you perfect? Do you not make mistakes? Has he not forgiven you much?

Convicted I came back and hugged him: “We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out. I’m sorry I acted like that.” We talked, we forgave each other, and we discussed the next step on our plan without the re-financing. No need. Sears called on Friday: blemish cleared against all odds! Praise Jesus for his faithfulness.

Sunday I was sitting in church listening to my sweet husband preach on the text of the week: Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy (Matthew 5: 7) and a light went on in my soul. God will not be manipulated by us. Nothing we do will change his mind if his mind is made. But like any loving father, He is true to his word.

There was no earthly chance of us getting that mark off of our credit. Sears did everything right and we did everything wrong, however innocently. It was divine intervention, of that I’m sure, because even the manager said it would never happen. And most often than not, God does not explain himself to me. I don’t know why at times He intervenes and why at times He does not.

But He explained this one:

We were shown mercy. Pure, simple mercy. And I understood exactly why.

We made the choice to stand together as a team against this problem rather than let it divide us, we quit fighting and forgave each other’s part of the blame.

We showed mercy to each other that afternoon.

We didn’t know at the time that the way we approached this hurdle would define its outcome, and had we known, it would have defiled the purity of the intentions, but I am convinced that had we reacted in a way less pleasing to the Lord we would still be stuck with the blemish. For seven more years.

Blessed are the merciful for they will be shown mercy. Those are not empty words but one of the many promises He has made to us that we can trust and live by. 

A Fair Exchange

I had been slighted, forgotten, ignored. Their words had left me feeling unimportant and invisible; their actions had left me feeling rejected and inconsequential. I had been overlooked and it hurt. It broke my heart because I thought I could trust them. I thought they loved me and I knew I loved them. We were friends, after all. Close friends.

I sat in my bathroom, tears pouring down my face, wondering if it was worth bringing it up to them. Did they even notice? Would they think I was being oversensitive and dramatic? Would they apologize in true surprise or would they dismiss me as exaggerating? I was afraid of the confrontation because I was feeling raw and insecure about our friendship as it was.

So I let liquid disappointment pour out from my soul and my first attempt at reaching up to the Lord was a tirade of accusations towards my offenders. I ranted about their insensitivity and their lack of understanding. I raged about the unfairness of the situation and I bemoaned my own thin skin and my sensitive nature. I was angry and I was broken-hearted and I wanted his audience and his sympathy.

I wanted to hear God say that I should approach them to let them know in no uncertain terms how they had made me feel. I wanted to hear that I was right, that I deserved an apology, and that I was justified in demanding one. That He would be my avenger and my shield bearer.

But He didn’t. And I should have known. 

The One who had been slighted, rejected, and broken in worse ways than I could even imagine, who did not defend himself, who was quiet and gentle like a lamb led to the slaughter had these words for me:

Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light (Matthew 11:28-29).

And slowly, very slowly, as my soul began to settle, I began to understand. He wanted me to leave on the altar of that bathroom the heavy burdens under which I was collapsing: my pain and my disappointment, my injured pride and my self-righteousness, my unforgiving spirit and my need for restitution, my insecurity and my need for recognition, my self-pity and my indignation, my frustration and my anger, my requirement for fairness and even my desire for an apology.

He was asking me to let it go for the sake of the relationship.

In exchange for the sacrifice He was offering another yoke. A much lighter yoke. A yoke I would not carry alone and that would not bend my heart over with its weight: forgiveness and compassion, peace and joy, service and a worth found in Christ, understanding and mercy, hope and trust, and love.

I unloaded my heart that day before Jesus and I walked away from the pain. I let it go. And the next time I saw them, I hugged them, and laughed with them, and I joyfully prayed for their needs.

And, as He promised, my soul truly did find rest.


 * Joining today with Emily at Imperfect Prose *

Even the words that are left unsaid...

The room was packed. It was the mid-morning step class with a popular instructor at the gym. I got there early to get a good spot and not be relegated to the back where it is impossible to see what the teacher is doing. She had gotten there even earlier and, as usual, was waiting in the front row for the class to start.

You know the type: full-on 80’s make-up, big, teased hair, very tight top, and incredibly short shorts neither one of which are very flattering with her pear-shaped body type, but that she wears as proudly as a runway model would. The kind of girl that would make good southerners say: “oh, honey” and “bless her heart.”

I had seen her often around the gym because, while I’m not the most consistent of members, she is always there. Always. And for some reason I cannot explain, I just did not like her. She rubbed me the wrong way and I had never even spoken a word to the girl. I don’t know her name, I don’t know her story, and she had never even acknowledged my presence so I had no real reason to dislike her. Other than the shorts. And the make-up. And the hair. Irrationally her appearance annoyed me.

So this particular morning as we began to step to the music, following the instructor’s directions, I started  watching her from behind and thinking about her lack of rhythm and those shorts riding up. And then there was a gentle voice, like a whisper at the top of a mountain, that simply asked in my ear:

-          Why are you being so catty? You don’t even know this girl.

There was no condemnation in that gentle voice, only deep sadness. But my heart was convicted right away. I had no answer so I just listened, ashamed, and willing to hear the rest of the rebuke.

-    How would you feel if someone was saying these ugly things about your daughter?

This gripped my soul with pain for the little girl with the sensitive heart that breaks when a friend is mean to her or when someone laughs in her face. I thought about the times I have held her while she shed tears of embarrassment or hurt over another little girl’s nasty comment. And then came the most difficult words of the whole conversation:

-          That, right there, is my daughter.

And I was found guilty.

And in response to the gentle voice that does not accuse but definitely convicts, with tender tones and loving reminders, all I could do was repent. And express deep regret and apology. I had been ugly and I had been hurtful.

That the girl never heard my words is irrelevant.

Just as hate is like murder and lust is like adultery, so is judging like insulting.

What is hidden in our heart is to God the fountain out of which our thoughts, our words, and our actions flow. My nastiness towards that girl came out of a bitter heart, so the work would begin right there, at the core.  I thanked God for his faithful guidance and for the Holy Spirit’s convicting work and went back to the prayer of David, with whom I always identify:

“May the words of my mouth AND the meditation of my heart, be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” Psalm 19:14 (emphasis mine)

When I pray for you...

A few days ago I received an urgent prayer request for a friend in need. Immediately I began to pray. As I was asking God to move in that situation and be with my friend the thought hit me:

Does God really need me to remind him of a situation of which He was aware even before I was?

This got me thinking about the purpose of praying for other people.

Do I pray to call God’s attention to someone’s problem?

He knows the situation in even greater detail than I ever will.

Do I pray to tell God what He should do about someone’s problem?

He certainly does not need my advice on running the universe.

Do I pray to move God to action?

He is behind us, with us, and before us, always in constant motion.

But as I was lifting my friend in prayer, I felt the anguish of her situation in my own soul. And then I understood…

We pray for others to change our own hearts.

When I pray for you for a few minutes my heart is not focused on my own little world but it is connected to yours, hurting with you, rejoicing with you as we were commanded to do (Romans 12:15).

When I pray for you we become community, you and I and everyone else who is lifting you up and He is there because we join in before the Lord in petition, as were commanded to do (Matthew 18:20).

When I pray for you God reminds me of your need, He tells me what to do about it and moves me to action as we were commanded to do (Galatians 6:2).

In that moment of discovery Christ changed my focus a bit. I started to pray less for God to move in my friend’s situation, trusting He knows what to do, and more for him to keep her heavy on my heart so I would not forget her suffering.

I began to ask not for God to move but for God to move through me and to show me how to help her in practical ways, how to do my part to ease her pain and support her through this, how to be his hands and feet.

We throw the phrase around: “I’ll pray for you” without understanding the magnitude of the promise we are making. It is not a small thing to lift someone in prayer for it will change your heart and fuse it to that of the person in need as you help them shoulder the weight of their pain by your love and concern.

But prayer is powerful and much more than words sent up to the ceiling.

When I say “I’ll pray for you” I don’t want to mean I will sit in my quiet corner and remember you as I talk to my Savior, unless I am willing to move when He prompts and touch your life as He requires.

And if you pray for someone, He will require it.

Prayer must not be a passive act but rather one full of action. The type of act that prompts a phone call, a card, a meal, a check, a hug, a sacrifice.

This, I think, is the purpose of intercession: to bear each other’s burdens heart, soul, hands and feet.

Linking with Michelle @ Graceful for Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday.
and with Jen @ Finding Heaven for Soli Deo Gloria.

When He goes before you.

Last week I wrote about waking up to the new life God had dreamt for me more than a decade ago. Here is the other side of the story...

Quit your job, he said.

Lord, I hear you but…the budget does not add up.

Quit your job, he repeated.

You know best, Lord but…we would have to have private health insurance and that is expensive and no dental insurance and that is scary.

The time has come to stay home with your babies, he prodded.

I want to, Lord…but in this economy?

It took another year of praying, discussing, adding, subtracting, saving, finding faith, and getting courage for us to realize that yes, the budget would not add up; yes, we would have to get personal health insurance and lose our dental one; yes, this is scary but yes, the Lord spoke and we must obey.

So I quit.

After six years of teaching high school, the only grown-up job I’ve ever known, I walked away. I was near the top of my pay scale, I had a position of leadership, I had great benefits.

But I quit.

At a time when other people were desperately looking for work, I purposefully resigned. It was not easy and it was terrifying and many friends were puzzled and many others were frustrated with our seemingly illogical timing.

Still, I quit.

It seems to me that after walking with God for so many years, having experience after experience with his faithfulness and his provision I had finally learned to trust that He has a plan, that his ways are truly higher than my ways and that, when He requires we have faith and obey, He has begun working on what the future will hold.

I just quit.

But this God, this God will not be explained, this God will not be controlled, this God will not be fully known. While I sat comfortable in my knowledge of him, He had yet another lesson to teach me about his Holy character, his incredibly organized mind, his deep understanding of our journeys, and his perfect, oh so perfect, timing.

I entered my freshman year in college with the idea of becoming a journalist. After taking my first journalism class I dropped the major. It simply was not for me.

With not many ideas and little direction, having a love of theatre, public speaking, and teaching, I decided to major in Communication Education. It was a prayerful decision and I felt comfortable declaring the major.

I knew I wanted to teach but I had the opportunity to further my education before entering the workforce. With a student visa about to expire, with the threat of having to return to Ecuador before I was ready, and with an offer to earn my master’s degree for free by teaching undergraduate communication courses, I enrolled in a master’s in Communication Studies program at a large state university.  My elective courses were spent taking Spanish-related classes to enhance my teaching license.

Two and a half years later, with two diplomas in hand, and a state license to teach both communication courses and Spanish courses, I left for South Carolina with my newly acquired husband.

I never found a teaching job that required my communication knowledge. I was quickly hired as a Spanish teacher and, while my master’s did help me to climb the pay scale, my two diplomas were put away in a box in the attic, never to be brought out again. When people would ask what one does with a master’s in communication studies I would shrug and say: “beats me.” For years I taught Spanish, loving every minute of it.

Quit your job, God said six years and two kids later. 

I closed my classroom door for the last time in May of 2009. In faith, we began the journey of living with one income, of making ends meet, of re-arranging our priorities.

In June we took a trip to Ecuador and we spent time praying about how our lives would be different when we returned to the States.

In July I received an e-mail from an accredited, well-known online university. They required someone with a master’s in Communication Studies, with two years of experience teaching at the college level, who spoke Spanish, to teach from home. This job was made for me. Perfect. The pay is equal to what I was making before, the work is less demanding.

In September I was hired. God spoke again.

I’m glad you quit your job; I had better plans for you.

As He always had.

He knew what I would need right when I needed it. All the things He guided me to do all those years ago that I could not understand were part of a plan I could not see coming.

When I quit my job I knew He would be faithful, I knew He would provide, I knew He would come through.

I didn’t know He had already been faithful, He had already provided, He had already come through for this very moment, years ago.

This is the dependable God, the Creator of the Universe who still has enough time to worry about where I have been, where I am, and where I will be all at once; He understands my every need and orchestrates it all just as it needs to unfold. All I have to do is trust and obey.

I have been home for almost two years now and this is right where I need to be. As I think about how God’s handprint shows up even a decade ago to make my today what it is, I start to understand what Moses was trying to teach Joshua in the 31^st chapter and the 8^th verse of Deuteronomy:

"The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you" (emphasis mine).


**Linking up with Jen and the Soli Deo Gloria sisters this week. Visit to see what other wonders God is doing in their lives**

God, my God.

I sat on my recliner, tears pouring down my face. I held my Bible between my hands and prayed:

I don’t want to open this book. I am terrified to read it from cover to cover and find not one word to comfort me or guide me or encourage me. Such is how I feel right now. There are no words, no hope, you are simply not around. It’s too dark for me to find you.

I was at a crossroad. Decisions before me, unknown all around me and I didn’t know where the path was and how to walk it.

Are you still there, God? Are you listening? Why are you so clear some days and some you are as murky as muddy water? I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know where the road is that you are carving before me.

There was no comfort in prayer, there was no comfort anywhere. I was confused. I thought I knew God's will and now this…

I want to follow you wholeheartedly but I just don’t understand where you are going.

I held the book some more, feeling the soft leather between my fingers, turning it from side to side, trembling with the certainty that I would not hear from God from within its pages.

Not so bravely, with a sigh, I slowly opened the front cover to a place towards the beginning, without thinking. Had I thought I would not have. My comfort comes from David, from Jeremiah, from Paul, from the disciples. Never from Moses. Moses, so removed from my own life. Moses, who had spent time with God and knew the sound of His voice.

But my fingers touched the name Deuteronomy on the top of the page and I despaired.

What good can come out of Deuteronomy, the book of wanderers? How are they like me? I'm not wandering away from you, God; I'm seeking you. Oh, God, you are not listening still.

Then my foolish eyes landed on a phrase, straight up, first words. And I began to read and I did not stop:

“I tried to relieve your fears: ‘Don’t be terrified of them. God, your God, is leading the way; he is fighting for you. You saw what he did in the wilderness, how God, your God, carried you as a father carries his child, carried you the whole way until you arrived here. But now that you are here, you won’t trust God, your God- this same God who goes ahead of you in your travels to scout out a place to pitch camp, a fire by night and a cloud by day to show you the way to go.”    (Deuteronomy 1:29-33. The Message)

Oh, God, my God, you hear, you comfort, you speak still. God, my God, you are still leading me, you go before me, you fight for me. I remember, God, my God. I remember what you have done through all the many wilderness of my life. You carried me, you did. You carried me lovingly as a father until we were safely on the other side. I live with two remembrances of how you, God, my God, carried me safely through a wilderness once. They kissed me this morning, they called me "mami," and I remembered your goodness.

I want to trust you for you are the same God you were then, and you are still before me showing me the way to go. Carry me now even still until we stand together on the mountain top again, away from this valley of dry bones, and we sing a hymn of worship to God, our God, the never-forsaker, the promise-keeper. In you alone, I place my trust.