A Generous Grace

ideas on practical spirituality and loving each other

Tag: image of God

The God Face-Swap

To the untrained expatriate, swooping into American culture (like yours truly) I gotta say: Face Swap weirds me out a little. My family and I, piled on the sofa, have guffawed at, say, my daughter spontaneously sprouting my husband’s five-o’clock shadow. Or my seven-year-old swapping faces with the dog.

Still. Lately, what I’m realizing about my ideas of God?

He tends to change faces.

Spookier: The faces actually tend to eerily resemble my most influential relationships.

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Love Says No: How Boundaries Express True Care, Part II

Missed the first post? Grab it here.

4. Boundaries esteem the image of God in me and the people I love. They say Hey, both of us were created in God’s image. So that means justice is pursued not just on your behalf, but mine, too. (Check out this post on burnout…and this one on martyrdom.) If I’m not to think more highly of myself than I ought, it means not only am I not lazy—it also means I’m forbidding an unhealthy perspective about how much I’m needed. Continue reading

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Love Says No: How Boundaries Express True Care, Part I

I remember that summer vividly; pivotally. I was on my way into high school, and had finally wrapped my hormone-charged little brain around Jesus’ servanthood, His death to self. I remember leaning over my cafeteria tray, discussing with my camp counselor what that looked like. She looked alarmed, I think, over my fervor (I’m sure my husband can relate): But Jesus doesn’t want us to be doormats, she countered.

At the time, I just couldn’t see it. What did Jesus hold back? The concept of “boundaries” seemed a post-modern reflex against living radical and poured-out. I didn’t see a whole lot about boundaries in the Gospels.

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Cry: The Hidden Art of Christian Grieving, Part II

 

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Missed Part I? Grab it here.

I’ve been grieving some losses lately. The other day on my jog, they seemed to bottleneck inside, trickling out my eyes as my feet kept pounding, step after step. I’m not sure what God’s doing, but as I described in the last post, grief seemed… appropriate.

Though God’s given me glimpses of hope I can’t ignore–it also seems to deny Him access to all of me when I’m ignoring I feel anything, and jumping right to “It’ll be okay.”

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Cry: The Hidden Art of Christian Grieving, Part I

It was one night several years ago when a couple of good friends were helping me sort action figures, Legos, and other kid-detritus into bins in my boys’ room following dinner together while our husbands were out of town. During the meal, they had asked candidly about how I was doing with our adoption—which is to say, the adoption we painfully decided not to complete.

Truthfully, my heart felt raw, as if it were beating outside of my body. My grief felt so vulnerable, so scraped and skinned and gaping, that privacy was all I could fathom to deal with it. I felt oddly embarrassed that we’d taken steps out of obedience to pursue this, and told people about it–and then, also out of obedience, backed out.

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