Ebenezer

At Christmastime, the name “Ebenezer” is a familiar one.  Most associate the name with Ebenezer Scrooge, the villain turned protagonist in Dicken’s “A Christmas Carol.”  Few, however, know the origins of that name, nor have they truly connected its meaning to Christmas.  In the seventh chapter of 1 Samuel in the Bible, we find that once again, the Isrealites had turned away from their God to worship false idols.  Samuel had called the people to turn back to the Lord, and as they were worshipping God, the Philistines, a large, powerful enemy of Isreal’s, drew upon them to attack.  But the Lord was with his people, and granted the Isrealites a victory, against all military odds, over the Philistines.  Samuel raised a stone as a monument and named it “Ebenezer,” saying “even through this, the Lord has helped us.”  It is easy to see how this name, then, is perfect for Scrooge.  When given the chance to look back on his life, he is reminded of all that he has been brought through.  God’s people are most often called to do two things: repent and remember.  Turn back to God, and remember everything he has already done for you.

This year has been our Ebenezer.

Many of you already know the extent of our trials from this year.  Unemployment, financial hardship, and the deaths of some dear friends have all been very hard battles in the recent months.  Yet against all odds, we have been carried through safely.  We can look back upon this year and see the Lord’s hand in our marriage, our home, our families, and through the love poured upon us by our church.  We have wanted for nothing.  We have been reminded throughout the year of His unfailing love and abundant blessings.  Two delightful children, a safe home, and a community of family and friends are among the greatest gifts.  But the promise that we have not been forgotten or forsaken has been the greatest of all.

Hence, Christmas.  A time when we remember that we have not been forgotten or forsaken.  A time to be reminded that He came back for us.  We weren’t left to our own helplessness.  He came back to make all things new.  Or, as one of our favorite books says, “to make all of the sad things untrue.”  Yes, there is still sadness and brokenness, for now at least.  That’s why we raise Ebenezers: to look back and say “hither by thy help I’ve come.”  We are so grateful for each of you for walking through the greatest of joys and the deepest of sorrows with us this year.  So, celebrate with us the coming of our Lord, who came as a baby- as one of us- to be the ultimate monument saying “I’m here with you.  I won’t forget you.  I will not leave you.  See how far I’ve brought you?  Behold, I’m making all things new.”

Most Joyfully,

Andrew, Lindsey, Isaiah, & Evie Murphy

Unlovely

I laid on the bed, crying over the stain on a shirt. 

I had just heaped every feeling of inadequacy on the head of my husband. 
I blamed him for my discontent. 
I brought up every sin he had committed against me in the past year.
I hurled all of my pain at him, and made it his fault. 
I felt unlovely, inside and out.  I blamed him for my ugliness.


So I cried.  Folding laundry, I discovered the damaged garment, and cried bitterly over the unloveliness that pervaded my life.  My heart.  My body.  My home.


He laid down next to me, trying to comfort me.  I only heaped more blame on him. 

Slamming the door behind me, I retreated to a bath.  Time to sit and think.  More like marinating in my ingratitude and spitefulness. 

A gentle knock on the door.  I covered myself in shame. 

With a simple, "I love you," he sat down beside me, and began to wash my hair.

As he poured the warm water over my head and shoulders, working his fingers through my hair, I could feel the hurt and blame wash away. 

He said nothing, just kept at his work, washing away the dirt and the bitterness. 
He took all of my words, all of my blame, all of my bitterness, and returned them with affection.
With each touch, a feeling of gratitude, forgiveness, and repentance filled me.

His love made me lovely once more.

It is I.

One of my favorite moments in Christian literature comes from a personal story of St. Augustine of Hippo.  Prior to his conversion, Augustine had led a life of rebellion and promiscuity.  There was one mistress in particular that he greatly struggled in escaping.  Despite his draw towards Christ, giving her up proved the greatest challenge of his conversion.  Until one day.  (Isn’t that single word the essence of the Gospel?  Until.)  One day he passed his former love on the street.  She called to him.  He kept walking.  She called again, “Augustine, it I!”  Turning, he replied, “But it is not I.” 

Jesus makes all things new.   “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.  The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”

I struggle with this, daily.  Despite the redemption I’ve seen in my circumstances, my family, or the world at large, I doubt.  I can see the big picture sometimes more clearly than I can see recreation applied to my own heart.

The other night, we had new friends over for dessert.  Every word that came out of mouth was critical, correcting, or harsh.  I could hear myself screaming inside, “What are you doing?  This isn’t you!”  I was so downcast later by my failure for the evening.  I was an old creation.

I think this is why we dread seeing past friends, and even family.  We fear being remembered for what we were, not seen as who we are.  There are more people than I care to admit that I wish I could whisper, “I’m so sorry.  That’s not me anymore.”  And for them to actually believe it.  And for it to actually be true.    There are so many to whom I want to say, “it is not I.”

But this is the Gospel.  We are daily being recreated.  We are daily being made new.  I cling to this in my greatest moments of weakness and failure.  He promises to make me beautiful.  With each refining fire, my oldness is being burnt away by the passion of his love, and the goodness of his character.  And one day, I will be new.

We’ve been talking a great deal about the new heavens and the new earth:  when Christ returns, and everything is restored.  No going back.  No oldness creeping back in.  No decay, nor danger, nor demise.  One day, I’ll be naked and unashamed.  Vulnerable without fear.  I’ll be more myself than I’ve ever been.
 

And then, when I meet you in that glorious city, I’ll introduce myself, and the words, “It is I,” will be completely true. 

Creating in Chaos

Imagine standing on a hill and looking behind you at the path by which you've come.  The scene you see is desolate, and you can clearly see now the treacherous mines you came so near to stepping on.  This is how I would describe the past year for me and my husband.


This year has been marked by loss, death, unemployment, and struggle.  We feel singed from the bombs that have gone off around us, but not burned.  There are many passages in scripture that refer to a refiner's fire, or a burning purification.  Perhaps that is what this year has been to us.

We have learned to cling to the only constant in this life- and that is the person of God. I was tempted to write "the promises" of God, but his promises flow from who He is.  One such promise, rooted in His person, is the provision of community.  The flock of Faith we worship with has been a tremendous source of comfort and support.  The Church outside of Birmingham, be it our friends or family, have been such a beautiful reminder of the huge story we are mere characters in.  But what a lovely story it is.

This past weekend we attended a conference largely focused on sub-creation.  Sub-creation being the reflection of a creative God in His image-bearers.  If we are all made in the image of God, and he is a Creator, is it not then logical that by human right, we each are all creators, too?  We mostly take it literally in the arts- creating scenes, or stories, or songs- but there is also a creativity in making beauty out of chaos.  And that's what we feel right now. 

Last night we acknowledged that this time of unemployment has been the best thing that ever happened to our marriage.  A trial that sends many into divorce and abandonment, Christ used to infuse beauty into our lives.  We are encouraged to find the glimpses of eternity in the unlovely, and to paint with grace a beautiful scene of redemption and restoration. 

Getting Dirty

A few weeks ago, we had our annual Outreach Conference at church.  The speaker used a great illustration that has really resounded in my heart.  He talked about how, as a boy, when playing team sports, he would try to get his uniform as dirty as possible.  He wanted the sweat, blood, dirt, grass stains- everything on his uniform to show that he had given every effort he had, and that he had really played the game.  He was ashamed at the end of the game if his uniform was clean.

He went on to explain how much we, as the Church, all to often have clean uniforms at the end of the game.  We live in comfort- and not just physical comfort- but spiritual comfort.  We live and worship with those who look and think just like us.  We give minimally, not sacrificially.  We serve when it is convenient for us, and in contexts where we're comfortable.  When we die, we'll stand before the Father with clean uniforms.

But what if we played the game and got dirty?  Gave sacrificially of ourselves and our resources.  Worked, worshiped, and dwelled with those who think and look different than us.  Got out of our comfort zones.  Sweat.  Bled.

We've forgotten who Christ really was.  In doing a study on Mark over the past year and a half, it's been eye opening to see what Christ truly said and did.  Who he prioritized (the outcast and hurting) and who he condemned (the self-sufficient religious).  And he didn't stay in his comfort zone.

He got himself killed.

In reading David Platt's Radical, I've come to realize how much I truly have bought into the American Dream.  The mindset that this life is about my comfort.  I've got my heaven ticket punched (thank you, Jesus, for that), and now it's smooth sailing until I reach heaven.

Nope.

I'm called to sweat.  Bleed.  Cry.  Suffer.

Right now, my uniform is squeaky clean.

Now, an aside:  Scripture doesn't condemn prosperity, happiness, joy, or wealth.  Ecclesiates is clear that there is a time for dancing as well as mourning, for weeping and for laughing.  Even Christ's first miracle was replenishing the wine at a wedding feast.  But that's not the whole picture.  So often we take the weekend without the workday.  We take the joys of the Christian road, but not the responsibilities.

And yet, I'm so encouraged by what I see the Father doing in His Church.  Ministries like Mission Birmingham, and Advance Memphis.  Schools like Restoration Academy.  Homes like the Lovelady Center.  Loving the unlovely, and therefore learning our own unloveliness.  Adopting the orphans and the fatherless out of gratitude for our own adoption into the Kingdom.  Reaching past racial and cultural boundaries.

 And I want in on it. 

 When I meet my Father face to face, I want to have a dirty uniform.
                    I want Him to say, "Well done, my child.  Well done."

Evelyn

     So, this blog has not yet had it's due post on the newest addition to our family:

                                                   Evelyn Christine

"Evelyn" means "life" and " Christine" means "follower of Christ.  Her verse that we've put on her birth announcement and painting is John 10:10-
" I came that they may have life- and have it abundantly."

Already she is such a delight.  She fills our home with such a quiet joy.  Already, at such a tiny age, she has a spirit of peace about her, and an elegance that rivals that of royalty.

Isaiah has adjusted well.  We had a tough week after my mother went home, but since he has become quite fond of her and loves to bring her blankets and play with her dainty little hands.  She adores him and the feeling is quickly becoming mutual.  She'll gaze at him with her big blue eyes, and he has a special gentleness that he seems to reserve only for her.

One golden son, and one silver moon.

One blazing with joy and energy.
One glowing with peace and beauty.

Praise God from whom all blessing flow.

Living again.

Like many bloggers, I hesitate to write because I'm afraid I have nothing worthwhile to say.  Yet I've come to realize that I enjoy writing- and that I should write for that sole reason.  I've tried to divide myself among blogs as well.  One for my family, one for my passion for creativity, and one for my thoughts.  And yet, I'm one person made of many components, so why should my online expression be anything otherwise?

With that brief introduction aside, I'll get to what I'm actually thinking.

So, lately, Andrew and I have become huge fans of the musician, Andrew Peterson.  A few months ago, (my) Andrew expressed the desire for (and I quote), "Christian music that doesn't suck."

 Poetic, yes?

Well, we've found it.  That and so much more, for with Andrew Peterson comes the Rabbit Room- an online forum of Christian artists intent on promoting creativity in the Kingdom.  And not trite, contrived concoctions,  but genuine, soul stirring works of music, art, lyric, stories, etc.  Much like modern day Inklings.

This discovery has catalyzed a small revival in our home- a desire to allow the Holy Spirit to work through us creatively, not in formats or formulas that we find comfortable.  I've found myself being dug out of my "safe" mommy rut- of using my children as an excuse to hide from my fears of being mediocre.  Have I not been listening to my own sermons?  Creativity is about the process, not the result.  And the more genuine the process, the more beautiful the result, yes?

So I'm singing again.

I'm cooking again (this week we're having Doro Wat- an African stew, rather than my safe casseroles).

Hopefully, I'll be teaching music again next year.

I'm reading poetry.

I'm writing.

And most of all, I'm looking away from the mountain of spit-up stained laundry, and trying to see a glimpse of the Kingdom within the four walls of this home.

I have this vivid picture in my mind of who I could be if I stopped hiding- if I looked at this life as an adventure- as a journey home, rather than a waiting room.  I want to love without abandon, reach out without fear.  Live without inhibition- guided by the love of my Abba.  I want to feel the warmth of His pleasure on my face, and bask in His goodness.  I know there will be darkness.  This past year has held much of that for me, yet rather than shying away, I want to press through, holding fast to the promises set before me.

I want to dance along the path.

And to quote Peterson, sing along as well:

"We sang a hymn to the rhythm of the river that flows
Down from the mountain of the Holy Ghost
And into the souls of those
Who know His name."

Care to dance with me?