It has been 19 years since I first trusted in Jesus. As I sat in that Nazarene church plant trying to figure out what life was about, I wept with the realization that I had finally found what I was looking for. Until that time, I had been grasping for the wind, everything always seeming out of reach.
At that service, my life changed forever. Maybe, like me, you remember when you first came to faith. For me, it was fiery. As I rotated through three jobs, I couldn’t help but tell everyone of the person of Jesus. I shared the gospel at the bakery and at the card shop and at my newspaper.
I distinctly remember one Christmas week at the card shop playing hymns on our little CD player over and over as a way to start conversations with my co-workers. Steven Curtis Chapman’s “More to This Life” became my battle cry.
Once people figured out that this “Jesus” was pretty special to me, they encouraged me to head to grad school to learn more about biblical history and hermeneutics. This is great, I remember thinking, there’s even gender issues addressed in grad school!
And then I sat near the back of my first grad course while several male students told me that I didn’t belong. “Women don’t preach. You should be home with your kids.” Yeah, I didn’t have kids.
It was my first entry into a world I would soon identify as “The world of never being enough.”
I was single. In my mid 20s I wasn’t married yet. And this bizarre Christian subculture told me I should be. Strike one.
I was female. The first church I attended during grad school told me I couldn’t preach. Strike two.
And I was Bible illiterate. Relatively new to the faith, as all the men in the class boasted of their Greek and Hebrew lexicon, I barely knew what the term “interpretation” meant in my Old Testament class. Strike three.
I was out.
From that point forward, I felt like I was always trying to catch up or be something I wasn’t. I studied harder and longer than anyone else in an effort to prove I was an equal. I dutifully fell into line with the theological teaching of my church. And I kept dating a guy for seven years thinking that it would answer the problem of Strike #1.
This was my life for a very long time as I continually wrestled with the sense that I was never good enough. I was never enough.
Missionary Lilias Trotter once said, “I am beginning to see that it is out of a low place that one can best believe.” Yeah, this one is for you, friends—for you as you are in a low place with church. Here, I believe, you “can best believe.”
Trotter was a brilliant artist of the late 19thcentury who, on the rise to fame and under the watch of art critic John Ruskin, decided to instead pursue a path that some might call folly. It is said that Ruskin believed Trotter “would be the greatest living painter and do things that would be Immortal.”
She did. But not in the way others thought she would.
Trotter set aside her career as an artist to pack up her things and serve the people of Algers, showing and sharing the love of Jesus for the next decades. She turned her back on a promising artistic career because she felt a nudge.
Remarkable, right? Absolutely, but not extraordinary. Here’s why—because that’s what Jesus would have done.
It’s a new year and with that comes an overwhelming amount of social media posts and marketing which tells us to “Make this your best year yet!” Motivational speakers hit us with advertisements that make us think that a better us awaits us and that with proper goals, we can do remarkable things—climb mountains, run marathons, build orphanages, answer the problem of climate change, stop the violence bubbling up around us.
For just $19.99, we can read a book that will make us a new—a better—person in 90 days.
Quick fact: Did you know that on average people quit their resolutions by January 12th?
If this is true, then some of us are already feeling like failures.
That’s distressing. But do you know what’s even more distressing? That we even consider that there is a “better us.”
A few months ago on this blog, I wrote about feeling like an outsider. I shared my own story of feeling as though I often don’t belong, saying:
My perceived “outsider” label didn’t stop at the doors of the churches I entered. I always wished I sang better so I could lead worship. Then I’d wish I were a little more extroverted so I could go to the 8pm meetings instead of wanting to just go to bed. Then I wished I were part of the leadership team so I’d feel more a part of the church. At times I wished I was not female, wanting to run from the men who didn’t seem to know what to do with me—a woman with strong opinions on leadership and integrity and honesty.
Do you see the faulty thinking here? Buried in this is the idea that there is something wrong with not being able to sing well or being a morning person or not being on the inner leadership circle or being female.
Similarly, as we start the new year with our goals and resolutions, I wonder how many of us are beginning with a foundation that believes we are broken and not enough as we are. Goals are not bad things; but when built from a faulty foundation, they can indeed be harmful. Our internal compass tells us due north will be found through losing 20 pounds or reading more books or perfecting the latest dance move.
And in our deepest thoughts, perhaps this even moves into our spiritual lives. We believe that reading the Bible every day will make God love us more. We believe that attending church weekly will help us find favor with God.
We believe we are not enough. Because we don’t know Greek. Because we aren’t in a committed small group. Because we wrestle with the church. Because we are unemployed. Because we are divorced. Because we’ve had an abortion. Because we can’t have children. Because we are single. Because we are introverted. Because we wrestle with a physical disability, or a mental disability.
But if I was ever sure of one thing, it’s this: in this world, there is only ONE because that matters.
Because He first loved us.
There is no more beautiful phrase in the history of this world.
Because He first loved us, we are enough. Because He first loved us, it matters not if we know Greek or if we are unemployed or divorced or single. It matters not of our past or even our present. “Nothing in all of creation can separate us from the love of God.” Yeah, Romans 8 is one of the best chapters in the Bible. Read it. Today.
Nothing can separate us, but more so, God doesn’t just settle with for how we are. Rather, He made us to be ENOUGH.
There’s no “better you” this year, friends. Take all your flaws and weaknesses and all you will have is a perfect person no one can relate to.
For you, I claim this year to be “The year of Because.”
Because He first loved us, your lack of Greek can make you more humble and eager to learn. Because He first loved us, your divorce can be a tool He uses to minister to others. Because you had an abortion, you can be a vehicle for hope for those who have experienced trauma or isolation or loss. Because He first loved you, your weight doesn’t define you and your gender isn’t your identity.
This year, and forever, you are enough.
What would it look like for you to start to believe that this year? How can you go deeper into the full meaning of Christ’s love for you, and how that can change everything?
Quick note: I’ve not arrived. Daily I must preach to myself that there is not a better me. There’s just me. And that’s good enough. And I praise God for it.
Much love, Laurie
Ready to go read Romans 8! Thank you for your honesty and insight.
You’re welcome, Martina!