Deep in the Heart of Man

This morning, the neighborhood children call me over to a huge, gaping hole in the earth.  Construction workers have dug down so deep, you can see sewage lines exposed.  With this rare vantage point, we peer into the secret inner workings of our town.  Even under the most beautiful lawns and gardens, excrement flows. 

It's not very pretty.

I think about sewage in the human heart as I remember the truth in Ecclesiastes 7:20:  "Indeed, there is no one on earth who is righteous, no one who does what is right and never sins." 

I can't escape the reality of sin today.  On this day, I cry on the bus with others who sit in complete silence as they think about innocent boys abused; as they think about authority figures they mistrust; as they think about a beloved coach who said he wished he'd done more; as they think about their own angered response in rioting.  

I go back and peer inside the hole with my daughter beside me.  This is the truth about our hearts.  This is why we so desperately need a Savior. 

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Thank you for praying for our community today.

Someone is Looking for You

Last night, my youngest asks me to tell her stories of when I was a little girl. 

"What kind of stories?" I ask.

"The ones when you get lost and someone has to find you," she says.   

I've never told her a story like this.  But that's the story she wants to hear:  a little girl lost and then found.  

Sometimes I think we can tap into the one great True Narrative just by asking children the kinds of stories they want to hear.  The story I tell her is the greatest story I know.  A girl was lost--desperately and hopelessly so--but a great God was looking for her and wouldn't let her go.  He searched long and far and wide.  And he left clues and messages and little gifts along the trail to remind her of the way home. 

I was lost but Someone was looking for me. 

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Journal:  Children love stories of lost and found, and they love hide-n-seek.  What other stories do children love that reflect the great story of God seeking after us? 

Higher Than I

This morning, I lean down to look at all the rocks by my apartment. 

I remember the plea of the psalmist in Psalm 61: 

"Hear my cry, O God;
   listen to my prayer.
 From the ends of the earth I call to you,
   I call as my heart grows faint;
   lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
   a strong tower against the foe."

I need a rock that is higher than I.  It's a strange expression.  To me, it's another reminder that God delivers me from myself.  He's higher than self.  I can hardly believe it, but I learn that God refers to himself as our Rock over and over again in Scripture.  He's the rock that is higher than I!  The Lord says in Isaiah: 
 
"Who then is like me? Let him proclaim it.
   Let him declare and lay out before me
what has happened since I established my ancient people,
   and what is yet to come—
   yes, let them foretell what will come.
Do not tremble, do not be afraid.
   Did I not proclaim this and foretell it long ago?
You are my witnesses. Is there any God besides me?
   No, there is no other Rock; I know not one."

I need to remember that today. 

For several days now, I've been complaining.  Nothing's going according to plan out here in Colorado.  As I walk around the apartment this morning, I know I need supernatural power to get out of this funk.  Nothing corrupts living with flair like complaining, and I just can't talk myself out of my bad mood.   And then I feel guilty for my mood because so many other women all over the world would trade their lives any day for the kinds of comforts I enjoy. 

Oh, Lord, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I! 

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Journal:  Do you ever feel like you just need to be free from yourself? 

Things Worth Writing Down

I'm sitting in a lecture hall, listening to a seminary professor teach on the book of Romans.  I bring a journal with me (the one the Italian Mama gave me before I left for Colorado).  I reserve this journal's pages for the most special things--ideas worth keeping--so I can remember my summer experiences.

I think I might record two, maybe three, pearls of wisdom.

I fill eight pages.

I go through the ink of two pens.

It's because it occurs to me once again that this whole life of faith is miraculous.  I'm listening to supernatural, impossibly beautiful things here.  Apart from God, I have no choice but to embrace a self-centered existence, doomed to conflict and despair.  If I did as I pleased, I would have probably destroyed myself long ago.  But when I surrendered at last and bended my will, I found the kind of freedom that doesn't make sense.  It is a miracle how God interacts with us.  I can't figure it out. 

Living with flair means I fill journal after journal with wisdom that never gets old.  The miracle is new every morning.

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Journal:  What's the last bit of wisdom you wrote down?

Fling Wide Your Gate

Today in church, the pastor challenges me to "open wide the gate of my heart" to God.   I know that verb.   Open.  It means to remove obstacles and allow the kind of passage that makes an interior fully accessible.

Remove obstacles.  Allow passage.  I ask God to show me any obstacles that keep me from flinging wide the gate.  Whatever fear, whatever doubt, I want to live a life that gives Jesus full access.

A closed gate seems like safety.  It seems like protection and control.  But God awaits as the ultimate Protector--the ultimate Safety--who rushes in when I fling wide the gate. 

People who live with flair demonstrate that kind of vulnerability and that kind of trust.  They've made their lives fully available to the purposes of God--no matter what the obstacle.  They know that's the safest place.  That's the place of protection, peace, and provision.

I'm flinging wide the gate.

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Journal:  What obstacle keeps my gate shut?

Darkness Turned to Light

I don't know much about photography.  I've never taken a class, and I don't use a fancy camera.  All I know is that taking pictures has become a source of joy and flair.  Just yesterday, I realize that what photographers do best is capture the light.   We have a whole day to observe the light. 

Morning Sky and Cherry Blossoms

When I look at the light all day, I see the world differently. 

Purple Flowers in Afternoon

Tiny Spider Web at 3:00 PM

Hello, Late Afternoon Little Bug

Cherry Blossoms as Sun Sets

Twilight

There's a gift to receive because the light shines.  Even when dim and hard to discern, there's a gift.  As I think about the radiance of God today, I remember that a life of faith means I'm a photographer setting out to capture the light.  I open my eyes and see His radiance.  That light reveals truth and guides us to beauty, to hope, and to salvation.   The prophet Isaiah writes: 

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,
   along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;
I will turn the darkness into light before them
   and make the rough places smooth.
These are the things I will do;
   I will not forsake them. 

With camera in hand, living with flair means I set out in faith that God can turn any darkness into light.  I look through that lens and see it today.  We are not forsaken, and any rough places will be smoothed.  The result?  Radiance!  Beauty!  We are not forsaken. 


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Journal:  Is there a darkness today that God will turn to light? 

A Passage Through Thorns

On the way to the vernal pond, I notice how we can't even approach it unless we pass through the thorns.  There's no way around them. 

These thorns tangle and form a crown above us. 

This Easter, I think of the passage Christ paves through that crown of thorns he wore at the crucifixion.  And today, that beautiful resurrection means I enter in, and I'm free. 

A paradise awaits, but I have to pass through the thorns. 

 
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Journal:  He is risen indeed!  Have I walked through that free passage, marked by the crown of thorns?   

My Easter Tantrums

I could chronicle my life in tantrums.

Two years ago, I demanded new Easter dresses and complained that we didn't have reservations at the expensive place where all the neighbors have Easter brunch.  Can you believe it?  We were miserable in those dresses, and we changed into our shorts and t-shirts and ended up having a brunch of juice and popcorn out in the woods together.  Easter rose up in my heart that afternoon.

Last Easter, God reminded me of his grace when I witnessed a flair disaster.  It was a great Easter, and I didn't even think about dresses or brunches or new hats and shoes.  We didn't need any of it.   I actually woke up this morning thinking about how far I've come. 

But just now, I find myself complaining to my husband that he didn't get the Easter Egg Coloring Kit.  I fall apart because we haven't colored our eggs yet.  I actually raise my voice.  I'm throwing a tantrum about coloring eggs.  I thought I had come so far! 

I apologize to my husband and children, and as I stand in the kitchen, worrying that Easter's not going to be good enough because the cookies aren't right and the eggs aren't colored, I let out a huge sigh and cry out, "I need the real Easter!  I need it so badly." 

The real Easter is Jesus rising to save us from ourselves.  And just when I think I'm finished with these tantrums, I find the old self oozing out.  I'm glad it did.   I won't ever not need Him.  I won't ever be strong enough, mature enough, or wise enough to not need Jesus.  

I need the real Easter!  I need it so badly.


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Journal:  Will I find the real Easter?

The Text Message I'm Waiting For

The text will arrive sometime today.  I don't know when.

All it will ask is, "What do you see?"

Today marks the beginning of the "What Do You See?" campaign on campus.  Students in the graduate student campus ministry receive a random text message from my husband every day for two weeks.  When I receive the text question, I'm challenged to do three things:

1. Look up and see who is around me.

2. Pause and pray for a few moments, asking God to open my eyes and to show me how He sees those who are around me.

3. Think about what God shows me and contemplate how that is different from how I typically see that person/those people.

I'm also challenged to record what happens--who I see and what I do about it--when I get that text.   

The last time I agreed to this challenge, I received the texts at the most inconvenient times.  Every person in my path seemed angry and unapproachable.  But I'd look down at my phone and see the question, "What do you see?" and pray for God to show me what He sees instead.

I found courage to stop my minivan and ask my neighbor how she was doing.  I turned to complete strangers in elevators and perceived them in light of eternity.  I looked up and saw the office assistant as precious to God.

In John's gospel account, I learn that Jesus tells the disciples to "open their eyes" and see the fields are ripe for harvest.  Jesus tells the disciples to "open their eyes" right after His encounter with the Samaritan woman (who everybody saw as an outcast).  Jesus saw her differently.

I pray my eyes are opened today to see people as God sees them.  I don't know where I'll be when that text comes, but I pray I have the courage to love the way God does.  Eventually, I won't need a text message to remind me to see folks in my path differently, but for these two weeks, I'm training my heart to love. 


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Journal:  What do you see as you read this?

Loving by Faith

This morning, I remember the simplest of truths:  I love others by faith.  There's a supernatural, unconditional, pure and deep love that God wants to produce in me for others (and myself).  But I cannot conjure it from my own flesh.  I cannot think or feel my way into loving folks that, for whatever reason, are difficult for me to love. 

And God commands I love others--especially enemies, especially the unlovable--with that pure and deep love.

Impossible!  Yes.  In my own strength, it is impossible. 

I pull a little booklet off of the dusty bookshelves.  It's How You Can Love by Faith, by Bill Bright.  I flip through the pages, hungry for the truth there.  He writes:

"God has an unending supply of His divine, supernatural, agape love for you.  It is for you to claim, to grow on, to spread to others, and thus to reach hundreds and thousands with the love that counts, the love that will bring them to Jesus Christ. In order to experience and share this love, you must claim it by faith; that is, trust His promise that He will give you all that you need to do His will on the basis of His command and promise."

Suddenly, I'm parenting my girls with the pure, deep love of God flowing through me.  I'm overwhelmed with divine love for my husband, my neighbors, my students, myself.

When God gives a command in scripture, He gives the power to fulfill it.  Living with flair means I enter, by faith, into that divine flow of agape love.  I love the unlovable.  I love the ones hardest to love.  I love in a way that counts. 


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Journal:  Bill Bright suggests I make a list of folks in my life that are hard to love.  Then, I choose to love them by faith. I'm to ask the Holy Spirit "to fill [me] with Christ's love for each of them", then pray for them and think of ways to tangibly demonstrate love to them.   Will I love by faith this week?   

Flossing and Jesus

Sometime this year, I fell out of the habit of flossing.  I'm not sure when it happened.  Maybe it was when I ran out and forgot to put it on the grocery shopping list.   Maybe it was when I decided I was too tired one night and just chose not to floss.  It was easier to "forget" the next night and the next. 

This morning, I realize I really need to floss.  I find the floss, saw it down between my teeth, and feel surprisingly good about this activity. 

It feels like I'm living with flair when I floss. 

I learn that bacteria in the mouth starts to harden into plaque within only 48 hours.  In just 10 days the plaque becomes tartar--rock hard and incredibly difficult to remove.  Tartar leads to gingivitis which leads to periodontal disease (not fun). 

I think about my week and how hardened my heart often feels.  I wake up some days and feel the weight of my own selfishness.  In just 48 hours (or less), I can turn from a spirit-controlled, loving wife and mother into a narcissistic she-devil demanding her own way.  Left unchecked, in less than 10 days, I'm off in the pursuit of false dreams and false gods.  I'm in a rage: complaining, entitled, tearing apart my family.  Who is this woman?

How do these attitudes and behaviors lodge and harden?  What could I have done to break up that bacteria and stay fresh and clean before God? I remember the Psalmist who wrote,

"Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
 See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting."

Living with flair means I floss.   I apply, on a daily basis, the truth of God's word against every surface and root out even tiny--seemingly harmless--bacteria that overtakes and hardens in just hours.  

I ask God to reveal "any offensive way in me."  And when he does, I confess and know that, as 1 John 1:9 claims, "God is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness."

I can't forget this habit, this flossing.  
  




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Journal:  How can I build in the practice of confession on a daily basis? 

What We Most Want

Finally, at 6:00 AM, we agree to open presents.  This is only after the 2:00 AM squeal alert that presents had arrived under the tree.

My living room sparkles with shreds of wrapping paper, bows, and tissue paper.  By now, the little girls play happily with their new dolls, and I drink coffee--lots and lots of coffee.  

Amid the laughter, I hear my husband calling out, "Can you think of any other person's birthday party where you get the presents?"

He turns to me and says, "Isn't that the real meaning of gospel?  We celebrate Jesus, but we end up getting the gifts." 

Bring on the gifts, the shimmering joy, the peace, and the love.   May we unwrap His gifts upon gifts, in obvious and hidden forms, today and all year.  May we have the hope and the faith to see them, despite every circumstance.

May we lift our eyes and be led to what we've been waiting for all our lives.  Can it be that what we most want, we find in that manger?

Merry Christmas from Live with Flair!

Light in the Darkness

In the hustle and bustle of this Christmas Eve day, I pause to think about my electric candles set in every window of our home.  Within the core of these candles, the builder placed a photo sensor that automatically responds when the light grows dim outside.  As soon as it's dark enough, the candles light up.  We never have to turn them on--the darkness does it for us.

The darkness makes the light shine.  As I think about this day, I know that many suffer in unimaginable ways.  Friends and family members have passed on, and this Christmas, we often think about who is missing from our gathering.  Instead of experiencing a joyful holiday, some of us feel the darkness of sorrow.

I love that Psalm 18 says "God turns my darkness to light," and the promise of Christmas, recorded in Isaiah 9, is that "the people walking in darkness have seen a great light. On those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned."

The deep darkness (no matter what kind) doesn't win this Christmas. Sometimes the Builder makes it so that we pass through a bit of darkness in order to discover that light.  My strange little candles remind me that living with flair means that when I sense the darkness coming, I know the light will shine.  I don't have to manufacture it or flip some magic switch.  God dwells within, and in the core of my being, the light shines even in--and especially because of--darkness.  By faith, I embrace the truth of it.  I rest here, let the darkness fall, and let God shine. 

So I Will

Today, I had the privilege of writing a guest blog post for The Seed Company, an organization founded by Wycliffe Bible Translators to accelerate Bible translation all over the world.  The Seed Company blog asked me the question, "How does reading the Bible help you live with flair?"   Here's my answer below, and check out The Seed Company to learn more about this great mission.

When I read God’s word, I learn how to see the world differently.

Suddenly, what’s boring becomes beautiful; what’s mundane becomes marvelous.  When I read the world through the lens of my Bible, I’m filled with wonder.  I’m on a treasure hunt to find the mysteries of God in acorns, injured cats, pancakes, or snowflakes. 

For the past 10 months, I’ve been blogging at “Live with Flair.”  It began with a challenge to find beauty, wonder, and spiritual truth every day.  Even in the most common thing, I could find God’s truth and reflect upon it. 

God’s word says I can, so I will. 

I have to take seriously the argument in Psalm 19 that the heavens “declare the glory of God,” and that the skies “proclaim the work of his hands.”  The psalmist claims that creation “pours forth speech” and can “reveal knowledge.” 

What speech?  What knowledge? 

Just this morning, I read a quote from E. Stanley Jones that “all things have the stamp of Christ upon them,” and that His will is “wrought into their very structure.”  As I turn to consider the book of Romans, I learn that “since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made. . .” 

Might I consider this pencil and think about the divine nature of the Creator?  Might I make a cheese sandwich and understand the invisible qualities of an Almighty God? 

Colossians tells me that “Christ is before all things and in Him all things hold together.”  All things: pencils, cheese sandwiches, injured cats, snowflakes.  I challenge myself to let God’s word interpret my environment.  I’m on a mission to see into the structure of common objects and find the glory of God. 

This process comes about through mystery.  I find an object and ask a question about it.  Why is it this way?  How did it become this way?  Soon, I’m in the presence of mystery, one step away from worship.  As I uncover the wonder, I then turn and praise the Living God—Jesus—who created all things, even cheese sandwiches. 

And that’s how I live with flair. 

The Danger of Inviting God In

Last night, my youngest daughter and I read together from a book, and it occurs to me that she's actually reading.  She's actually reading words.

She'll never be the same.  Once you learn to read, you can't undo it.  You see a word, and you must read it.  You can't refuse.  The effects of learning to read are irreversible.

And involuntary.  Try it.  Look at a word and try not to read it.  You just can't help yourself.  You've cracked a code; you've escaped from a labyrinth and nothing will ever look the same.

It reminds me of a life of faith.  The Teacher shows you how to crack the code; you're out of the maze. 

A life of faith irreversibly alters the way a mind sees the world.  It shimmers with the radiance of God's glory, and you interpret everything through the lexicon of God's love, goodness, and power.  At first, like for a young reader, the process is slow and basic.  You recognize God in obvious ways, perhaps recounting answers to prayer, emotions felt in worship, or wisdom gained through Bible reading.  But then, you find you're really reading.  You can't help it.  You read God in the tiniest moment and see into the life of things.

You'll discern the truth about this world.  Your heart will break, and you'll want to hug strangers in grocery stores. You'll start worshiping God when you see an acorn, a seashell, or a cat's missing eye.  You'll see a spiritual narrative behind even the garbage in the parking lot.  You'll write a blog every single day because you can't contain the worship and keep it all to yourself.

You'll want to proclaim things. 

That's the danger of inviting God in.  You will learn to read, and you won't be able to undo it.

A Glorious Death

Autumn Leaves

I'm looking up into the autumn leaves, and I realize I'm watching a glorious death.  These colors--this vibrant display of glory--come at the point of death (technically the disintegration of chlorophyll).   This beautiful moment represents the end of life for these leaves.  I don't name it as tragic.  I revel in this autumn landscape.  I take a picture and marvel.

What forms of death are glorious?  When, like these leaves, is death a moment of glory?

A Glorious Death

I think of when the will bends to God in a moment of surrender.  I think of what it means to become absorbed in divine purposes--letting my right to my own life, my own plans, and my own demands disintegrate like chlorophyll.  Like autumn leaves, I am most beautiful when I'm at the end of myself.  The Christian life might be seen as a glorious dying--a surrender of self--to become a child of the one whose Glorious Death wasn't tragic but victorious and radiant.

Decaying Tree

Later, I hike through a forest and come upon a massive decaying tree.  I think of this as a glorious death as I imagine the refuge and nourishment such a dying tree provides for the ecosystem.  Might I see my own life as a fallen tree, bowed down, dead to self, so that I might find the life that's truly life?

A life surrendered might feel tragic and painful.  But not for long.  It's nourishing, radiant, glorious.  We see and marvel.

Why Bother with Christianity?

If you can be happy without Jesus, why bother?  I've been thinking about this lately.  I've been thinking about all the happiness blogs people have sent my way.  It seems that all over the world, folks find legitimate forms of happiness apart from knowing God.  I know what this feels like.  I know that when I exercise, eat right, blog about my flair, and do any other host of mood-modifying activities, I can be happy.

I used to think that people went to church and read their Bible because they were unhappy.  They become Christians because of the promise of happiness.  While I do think that going to church and reading the Bible dramatically increase the likelihood of happiness, I don't think that Christianity is a religion that promises happiness.  Happy Christians tend to do other things that boost their mood like, for example, engaging in vibrant church communities.  But happiness, in this case, is a byproduct of lifestyle.  Jesus doesn't promise happiness. 

However, Jesus does promise one very important thing.

He promises. . . peace. 

Jesus said this:  "In me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world."  Jesus says that he leaves us "peace."  I thought back to the blessing God commanded to be spoken over the nation of Israel.  Simply this:  that God would turn his face towards them and give them peace.  Later, Jesus is prophetically described in the book of Isaiah as our "Prince of Peace." 

This morning I skimmed my Bible for passages that describe the peace of Jesus.  Romans 5, it turns out, defines the peace of a believer.  Here, the writer tells us 3 reasons Christians have peace:

1.  They find favor with God by faith alone, not by anything they do or fail to do.  They are completely reconciled to a Holy God because of faith in Jesus.  This point alone astounds me.  I can talk to the God of the Universe, and He loves me.  Unbelievable! 
2.  Because of Jesus, they have hope in the glory of God (his power and presence) in every situation.
3.  They can rejoice in suffering because of what it produces in them (perseverance, character, hope).  When God directs a person's life, suffering has meaning and will produce good. 

Curiously, New Testament writers claim that Jesus himself is our peace.  Paul writes:   "He himself is our peace" since in his very body he reconciles sinful mankind with the holiness of God.  By his very body, he grants access to God.  Christianity, after all, is a religion about God's body:   the incarnation--that little baby come to earth as a God-man-- the crucifixion--God hanging on a cross to die, and the resurrection--the literal body of Jesus conquering death.  And in the ascension, Jesus returns to the Father but leaves the promised Holy Spirit who indwells believers at the moment they believe.

Is peace better than happiness?  Absolutely.  The assurance of God's peace which, according to scripture, transcends understanding, is deeper and more profound than mere mood.  So while happiness is something I can moderate, my peace comes from Jesus alone.

Living with flair means I depend upon the sure peace of God even when flair fluctuates.

How to Relax in Church

I walk into the sanctuary today, and, like a wave coming over me, I'm hit with the reality of my own frail self.  I'm not good, I'm not peaceful, and I'm not close to God.  He's somewhere over there, and I'm struggling against the current to reach Him.  I'm flailing my arms and legs.  I'm taking in water.  I'm choking. 

But then I remember what it was like to teach my daughter to float on her back.  "Just rest your head on the water, like it's a great pillow, and relax."  She couldn't do it.  Her little neck strained, and her arms and legs thrashed about.  I need to train her, day by day, to relax into the water.  Her instinct is to somehow contribute to this process, but really, she just needs to be still. 

So I'm standing there, listening to the worship music, and I'm frantic with what to do.

I'm my daughter, flailing when I need to be still.  For once I lay my head back and relax into what I know.  God is with me; God sees me; God knows and loves me.   And then, I'm just worshiping, pure and simple.

Later, I'm with friends at a state park, and I'm invited to ride on a waverunner.  I put on my life jacket, hold on to the handles, and I'm off to see the most amazing sights: the expanse of water bordered by mountains and sky and banks with baby geese just testing the water.  I'm nearly crying I'm so happy to ride these waves in this sun and with this wind on my face.


I tilt my head back against the sky, like it's a great pillow.  God's training me to relax.


He's right here, and I pause, floating on the waves with flair.

7 Dreams for Your Future

Today I had an unusual writing task:  I was to write a blessing of sorts for the doctoral and master's students that were leaving our Christian graduate student community to launch their careers.  I imagined what I would tell my own children as they started careers.  I imagined all the things I would want for them.  Mostly, though, I remembered what seven dreams God shaped in my own heart that sustained me through graduate school, marriage, parenting, teaching, writing, and just. . . living.  Here's what came to mind (and what I will speak to them tonight). 

1. May you be a blessing to all those you encounter, living a life of love and service with the strength God provides.  Colossians 1:28 tells us that we labor with Christ’s energy.  May that energy enable you to do extraordinary work in the lives of people and in your daily tasks.  May you advance knowledge in your field in ways that build, help, and bring healing in various broad forms.

2.  May you depend on the unfailing love of God, described in Psalm 90, that gives you joy and gladness for all the days of your life. 

3.  May you be filled with wonder in your career as you discover the treasures of Christ as mentioned in Colossians 2 where we read that the mystery of God is Christ “in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.”  May you find the wonder of God in each endeavor whether science, literature, social work, law, business, engineering, social sciences, education, architecture, medicine, or the arts.  May that wonder sustain you through difficult days.

4.  May you live a life of enormous faith—trusting God for immeasurably more than you could ask or imagine as noted in Ephesians 3:20.  May you have no fear as you move into the adventure God has for you, but only a joyful expectation of God's power, provision, and purpose for your life. 

5.  May you be an agent of peace, love, and the presence of the Living God in your workplace and in your city. May you remember 2 Corinthians 5—that God loves and cares for others through you. 

6.  May you build authentic community wherever you go—loving deeply as noted in 1 Thessalonians 2:8—being delighted to share your life with others because they are so dear to you. 

7.  May you remember Psalm 16 and the truth that God sets the boundaries of your life—they are good and right.  Also, the psalmist tells us that when you trust in the Lord, you will not be shaken. 

With these 7 promises in scripture, I'm confident that those new professionals will live rich, satisfying lives.  It's my prayer for them and for myself, and, in the words of this blog, they represent 7 dreams for a future of flair.  

A Short Rant (I Never Thought I'd Be Ranty)

A popular blog I read this morning suggested that one pathway to happiness is to "imitate" a spiritual master--someone like Jesus.  I cringed.  The not-flair bells rang.  I frowned and felt the same way I do when somebody tells me to just "try harder" and I'll find holiness.  It's just not true.  Telling a person to imitate a spiritual master to find real life and joy is like telling a cardboard box to act more like a computer in order to come alive.

Imitation doesn't change the inherent problem I have.  I need an infusion of grace, not an imitation of one.    

Imitating a master is also like telling two people to stare at each other and imitate a relationship.  I don't want to imitate love.  I want to be in love.  Imitation isn't the trick.

A relationship with God is a romance.  It's an infusion of power, of love, of joy, of deeply knowing.  It's not imitating a master or doing what Jesus would do.  That kind of life doesn't work.  It never has.

That's why the gospel is good news.  I want to know Jesus and have him give me the power to live the life I'm supposed to.

Christianity isn't a religion of imitation--of acting more like Jesus.  It's exchanging our weaknesses for his strength, for inviting his presence into our lives, and for depending on his love and peace on a daily basis.

It's not imitation.  It's infusion.

I'm off to the pool.  My children have been in their bathing suits since 8:30 AM.  The towels and sunscreen are all in a row.  The snacks are ready.  The goggles are tightened.  We could sit on the couch and imitate swimming, or we could dive into that delicious water.  I think I know what we'll choose.   Living with flair means I'm experiencing a life of joy, not imitating one.