Tindell Baldwin »

I told a girl in my cabin at our Student Ministry winter weekend that I thought there was a reason God referred to himself as father. I think (in my pea sized intellect) that God looked into what would become of the word “father”, and to the girls whose hearts would be crushed by the word, and he knew many girls  would need another father.

I have sat in many a cabin weeping with girls who just wanted to be loved by their daddy with little mention of their mother (not to say we arent important cause we are). Dads have this role that is irreplaceable in a woman’s life. They set the tone for their daughters and sadly research supports this. Most of us have seen the data. When fathers are absent teenage pregnancy, depression, and drug use goes up. In fact I have yet to watch an episode of 16 and pregnant (Yes I watch the show… read now judge later) where the dad is in the picture. I have yet to see a loving father and what is the number one thing the pregnant teen says on camera, “I want to give my child what I never had, a father, two parents”. So they try to make it work with a pre-pubescent boy who cares more about his brand of deodorant than he does about the mother of his child.

I can’t help but watch and ask God why father? Why call yourself the word that is associated with more pain, more heartache, more aches than any other word in the dictionary? He could have made up a new word. I’m pretty sure God has the power to make up words, I mean he created the heavens, so a new word would probably be pretty easy. I ask and I question and His answer to me is always seems the same, “they need at least one loving father” and I can see it, the heart hole that slowly starts to mend when I tell a little girl that her daddy on earth may have gotten it all wrong but her one in heaven never will. I can see the spark of interest when I refer to God not as a ruler but as a father, and I can see my own walls fall down when I picture God as my own father, laughing with me over one of our famous dates. It’s a big word; it’s a heavy word, with lots of meaning and baggage for lots of girls, and so only one God had enough love and grace to put the word back to its proper strength.  Only a generous God who cared about our sinful hearts could look into us and say, “I want to set this right… For her.”

I don’t know where father’s day lands for you. I don’t know if it’s a painful day with lots of bad memories, or if you will celebrate it with some great men, but no matter where you are the word father says a lot more about God than it does about the guy who screwed it up for you. The word father means He wanted to make it personal, He wanted to make you whole, and He wanted to give you such an absolute understanding of how much he loves you that He used the word with the most weight. Hear him when He says, “I am your father and I have loved you with an everlasting love.”

Stats can be found here http://www.fatherhood.org/media/consequences-of-father-absence-statistics

Remember, it seems like such a simple word, do this in remembrance of me, why was God always asking his people to remember. Remember my covenant, remember my provision, remember my words. But Why? Why do I need to remember? Why does he ask me to remember  his word, his promises, and his continual faithfulness? Because he knew we as humans are a forgetful people. We forget the good when the bad comes close. We forget promises when circumstances threaten to break us and we forget who asked us to remember when we can’t see past our own fingertips.  Jennie Allen said it perfectly in her Chase Study when she said, “he wants to assure us our faith is real through our memories of the times when it was undoubtedly real and through the promises of his word”.

I am asked to remember because when I remember it’s hard to doubt. When I remember I must praise him and when I remember my heart is set in the right place.

We have all had those times, times when we could almost reach out and grab God. Life isn’t always like that though; each day isn’t a church camp high that we can ride for a few days. Real life gets in the way. I have a hard time finding holiness in the laundry and God’s voice when I am singing the chorus of “Skin a ma rink” for the 17^th time. Sure, there are moments when I am rocking my girl and she looks up at me and smiles that I feel Gods favor. Or times when I am having a challenging conversation with my husband that I can see why God picked this man for me, but when I remember I don’t need magical moments each day, I can look back and see his hand so clearly.

I went out to dinner with a friend this week and we both talked about how God rescued us from the pit we were in. We shared stories and at the end we looked at our lives and said “wow, look what God has done in us.” If our lives had continued how we were living we would not have been sitting at that table.  I shudder to think if God had not reached into my mess of a life and grabbed me right out of it. He did though and he still does. I still sin, I still get myself into messes, but at the end of the day he’s still the same God he was 6 years ago reaching into my mess and placing me in his holiness.

When I remember that I see so much that I might have missed. I see the friendships he provided, the family he knew I needed, and a real man to show me the others never really loved me.  I see that on the hard days, the ones filled with doubt and dread, the God is always faithful. Then I see that I don’t need him to prove himself because even though I don’t deserve it he has proven himself, again and again.

I never quite understood how God could love me. I mean I’m human and I screw up… daily. I fail my husband and I get frustrated with my friends. I am not patient when I need to be, I don’t think before I speak, I forget scripture, and I can be harsh. I seem to be all the things God asks me not to be in the bible. I don’t have the quite spirit of a woman with inner beauty, in fact I think quiet would be the last word used in association with my name.

For a long time, and on really bad days, I feel like a failure to God. I can picture him in heaven chatting with the angels about his kids (i’m assuming that he has the same obsession with baby photos as I do) and I can hear him talking about me. The child that won’t stay out of the candy drawer, the one who is always into something messy, the one who doesn’t quite obey, the one with ADD too severe that a shiny object distracts. I never saw myself as the child God looked at with pride.

Then I had my own child.

She drools a lot, she spits up on me, by pediatric standards she has what you’d like to call a inexpensive drugs for potency list of the most 2 “weight problem” (I kid… she is perfectly healthy), but she is mine. She is my flesh and blood and even when her diaper can’t contain her lunch and we’ve had to leave our Memorial Day fun early because she’s fussy, I love her with every fiber of my being. I love her with this completely biased, in awe of her smile kind of love because she is my child. Do I get frustrated? Sure. Do I need a break every now and then? Of course but do I wish she was someone else besides  exactly who God made her? Never.

In becoming a parent I realized that God loves me because he created me, every messy part of me. I’d like to believe he thinks my ability to knock over everything in sight without trying is funny and my love of cotton candy at age 26 is endearing (my husband doesn’t agree).  I can now look at my own child with tears welling up at her goofy little laugh and hear my heavenly father whisper, “I have loved you with an everlasting love”.  I can find peace in knowing he doesn’t wish I was someone else, he doesn’t wish I would be more like his other children because then I wouldn’t be me. It’s freeing. I have permission to be exactly who he created me to be and be confident that he loves me even when I fail, fall short, and am utterly human because at the end of the day….. I’m still his.

Satans tongue is filled with deceit. I am reminded this morning as I read my favorite devotional. I have been warned but some days it feels too much like a Disney movie to fully believe. I hear, I say it to others, but I fail to separate the vicious lies that are being hurled my way on a daily basis. His number one target, my God, his God, yes even Satan believes the in the God he assaults daily. (James 2:19)

Sometimes though on the really hard days, when my sink is filled with flowers for loved ones, and prayers are more of an outcry then any real words, when notes need to be sent, and the news is too gruesome to even watch, on those days I question. On days when I hear of a father waiting for his Son to be found in the ruble of tragedy, yes on those days I start to believe. I believe that God couldn’t possibly care about his people, I believe he is heartless.  I start to believe that I do not matter to him, that he has turned from us.

Until I remember his son, the one who wasn’t found buried under ruble but hanging on the cross. I remember the pleas of his own that asked  Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me” (luke 22:42)  but what Jesus knew, and I what I must be reminded of is the part he says after that, “yet not my will but yours be done”.

That’s hard. I want explanations and more than that I want assurance that I will never send my little girl out one day for her only to never return home. I want to know that God has my best interest at heart. And satan whispers, how can you trust a God like that? I want to scream back “I don’t know”. Then I look at my own life, the times that were filled with more pain than I care to remember, a time that he has turned into a way for me to share his glory. I can read drafted suicide notes and see that God did not forsake me in those moments but not for me, no for him.

I think what I have to remember is I don’t want a world based on my will be done. I don’t want a world I can explain because how can my human mind explain a holy God, only if he becomes human and looses the holy. No. I need the holy, I need the set apart, and I need to know that the same God who sent Jesus to die for me is the same one who is preparing forever.

Children’s tiny footsteps fill the halls at 6am, the joyful pitter patter of anticipation, tiny squeals for the little things to come. Laundry hangs clumsily over the rail, pool toys scarrter the halls, and baby jars sit half eaten in the fridge. My heart almost burst with the fullness of our life, this family that has been building like the waves that crash on the sand.

Yes its different, most nights we head to bed earlier than we used to knowing our kids will be up with the sun. We move schedules, shower last, sleep less, but we also laugh louder, speak sweeter, and reveal in the joy that can’t really be put into words. We do dances when one of the little ones, “poops in the potty”. We celebrate the candy store, batman masks, half painted nails, and we slip away into quiet when we can knowing at any moment we will be greeted by laughter. Yes there are meltdowns and tears and times when the clock ticks too slowly to the seven thirty bedtime but it just makes grow up dinners that much sweeter.

We are all in this new phase of families and parenting and marriage and learning that real life isn’t so much about what you can get but what you can build. I wouldn’t trade the footsteps or the mess for any other life. I see the roads that have led here, sometimes painfully, and I have seen Gods faithful hand whisper to me in the quietest of moments that father is the greatest of words. I have seen the molding of our family, and the painful growth spurts that have caused us to to rally and love a little deeper.

Its a new season yes, but like every season it will usher in the next. Tiny feet will usher into teenage drama and prayers from bended knees of desperation. I am sure life won’t always be this pure but in the days that seem long I can look ahead at my goal. I can see that raising a generation of Jesus lovers starts in my home, behind my doors, and in my marriage. I have come to realize that if influence many for Christ but I don’t give my kids every opportunity to see Jesus in me then I have missed the point. If I manage to write best sellers and speak on big stages but my kids don’t run to me when the tears fall like rain then none of it matters.

I have wrestled with this often, is what I am doing all that important?? I mean who cares if I change diapers, do laundry, keep house, cook dinner? I could be out changing things, saying things, influencing, striving, does the day to day really matter? I believe it does, because memories are made there. Love is formed there, family is formed at dinner tables, and swingsets, in lazy sundays, and sick nights. Family is formed in the mundane and sometimes miserable moments. Because you can’t get here without first being there. You grow into adults and form families of your own and thank the Good lord that your own parents had the audacity to show you the way.

You get to the real relationship. You become a parent yourself and see why it all mattered so much, every lunch note, every spanking, every daddy daughter date because while I fully realize that life isnt a formula I won’t go to the grave with regrets about how much I invested in my family but I might regret how much time I didnt. I wont regret selling less books but I will regret missing preschool graduation and dance recitals. One day I will see that each day meant a lot and maybe one day I will sit in a packed house full of my own kids and praise Jesus for the long days that turned into this.

Today I am speaking to some eighth grade girls from a school down the street from me. Nothing fancy just a little dessert and chat time about the wonderful and terrifying world of high school they are about to enter into. I’ve spent some hours this week wrestling through what I was feeling at their age and I came up with some things I wish I had heard (if I had ever actually listened) then last night like a ton of bricks I felt this small voice telling me, “these girls don’t need to hear this, you’re making this such a bigger deal than it is”. I paused and for a second I started to wonder.

My pride was starting to get in the way of my message. I didn’t really want to go explain to another group of girls about my broken mess of a life because I’m worried they might judge me or think I’m dumb or stare at me like I have a giant booger (which has only happened like once or twice).  I went to bed a little discouraged and somewhat nervous for tonight. I mean maybe I was making too big of deal about being “popular” maybe this world isn’t really as cruel as I thought?

Then this morning I read an article by the CEO of Abercrombie, I remember Abercrombie. Yes, I vaguely remember the half-dressed men and woman on the walls as I tried to fit my pre-pubescent body in their size “6” which I’m pretty sure is equivalent to my daughters 9 month clothing. I remember that my friends and I would go ogle the boys that worked there because they were mostly shirtless (please notice the use of past tense in these sentences). I remember that Abercrombie was the standard, I remember leaving the stores and it taking a good week to get the smell off your clothes. I remember a tank top being close to 50$ and somehow convincing my mom that this was what all the cool kids wore so I had to have it for my birthday. She wasn’t a fan. I haven’t been to Abercrombie in over 10 years but I have a feeling that for a lot of kids it probably still considered “cool”. Boys and girls just trying to be accepted is that so bad?

Well here’s a quote from the article about a little change Abercrombie made “He doesn’t want larger people shopping in his store, he wants thin and beautiful people,” Lewis said. “He doesn’t want his core customers to see people who aren’t as hot as them wearing his clothing. People who wear his clothing should feel like they’re one of the ‘cool kids.”  This quote was in response to the fact that Abercrombie will no longer be carrying a womans XL or XXL but just in woman because “ the only reason Abercrombie offers XL and XXL in men’s sizes is to appeal to large athletes.” And again, athletes are cool.

So do middle school girls need someone to tell them that this “cool kid” life isn’t really what it looks like? Do girls need to hear that there is a God who loves them even if they happen to wear a Abercrombie XL?? which by the way wouldn’t fit my arm! Do girls need to know that this lifestyle that Abercrombie is promoting of meaningless sex and size 00 dreams is empty and lonely?  

Yes, I believe that teenagers deserve to hear something besides the world always whispering they are fat. I believed the bible when it said that I would face persecution and heartache because I’m living in a world that isn’t mine. I’m here for one reason, to promote truth. For me today that looks like telling a few girls, that the God who created them loves them and wants to know them no matter what size they wear.  So thank you Mike Jefferies (Abercrombie CEO) for reminding me why my message is so vital.

If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you. John 15:19

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. Psalm 139:13-14

Fear not for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name… you are mine. Isaiah 43:1

Article I am referring to (WARNING picture on article is inappropriate)  http://elitedaily.com/news/world/abercrombie-fitch-ceo-explains-why-he-hates-fat-chicks/

Sometimes I get to do really cool things, OK to some people they aren’t that cool but for a stay at home mom who sometimes writes they feel pretty cool. Sunday my wonderfully talented literary agent was in town and he had a meeting with my dad. The Stanfill’s are kind of like the Christian mafia, if you work with one of us you are going to end up working with the rest of us in some way, shape, or form. So I was basically there to say hi and sit in while they talked business. Well joining us was the CEO of Open Doors.

We started talking and He began telling me about the persecuted church overseas and the great lengths they were going to at great personal risk to spread the gospel.  As he began to tell me story after story of men and woman who risked their lives day after day I realized what he was talking about was far more biblical than the fancy dinner I was sitting at. So I asked him, “Do you believe Americans face persecution” very confidently he said, “No, we face temptation and we face the question that everyone who is persecuted for their faith already knows the answer to.” I was eager at this point, I wanted the answer. I wanted to be on the inside (again stay at home mom so this is the most adult conversation I’ve had in awhile) He said.

“They already know that Jesus is enough but we might never get to the point where we have to truly know that” (I am paraphrasing but this was the gist)

This is a man who has traveled the world, met very influential people and biblical scholars. He knows the gospel and he just summed up my problem in one sentence. Will I ever know that Jesus is enough? In my four bedroom house filled with comfort, will I ever know how much I truly need Jesus?  In my day to day where I love on my daughter, spend precious time with my husband, and am surrounded by family and friends, will I ever know that all that truly matters is Jesus?

I hear about people like Paul and Stephan who were killed for their faith so many years ago and I tell myself but that was so long ago, things were so different. It was an inhumane time. Is it really any better though? Have things really changed? 27 million slaves in the world and I call this a more “humane” time. People dying daily for their faith and I say things have changed. No truth remains truth, when you really fully understand how full and rich a life with Jesus is you will go to any lengths to make others understand. (and I thought giving the passion CD to the lady at Starbucks was doing my due diligence)

Sometimes it feels like I’ve made such a impenetrable comfort bubble that he can’t get through and if I am honest I’m scared to ask him to show me because I fear, no I know, it would involve being uncomfortable and that would disrupt my happiness.

I realized that as much as I hunger for a life filled with him I want it to be a comfortable life filled with him. I want him to come sit on my plush couch have coffee with me while we discuss who we are “praying for”.  I want a Jesus who doesn’t ask me to change, go, or trust. I want Jesus to be the friendly old lady at church who is completely satisfied if I come have tea with her once a week.

This isn’t the God I serve though, this isn’t all he asking of me. He’s asking a lot and I believe I can either stay in my bubble and answers the questions right and say the right things or I can get uncomfortable with people not knowing about Jesus and do something about it. Until I am willing to do whatever, go wherever, and say whatever he asks I am proclaiming that Jesus is not enough.