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Taken from The Furious Longing of God by Brennan Manning.

Once or twice in a lifetime you hear a story that leaves an indelible mark on your heart and mind. Such is this story. I first heard it in 1967. It is Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.

"Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy." And so begins the story of a tree being happy because she is able to make the boy happy. At first the boy desires nothing but to climb on her branches, eat her apples and lie in her shade.

But as the boy grows, so do his desires. But because of the tree's love, she gives her apples for him to sell for money to have real fun; her branches that he might build a house for a wife and family; and her trunk so he could build a boat and sail away from the boredom of life.

And then one day, the prodigal returns to the tree that loves him. By now, she has given him everything; all that remains of her is an old stump. The boy, now an old man, needs only a quiet place to sit and rest. And the Giving Tree gives once more.

Ever since hearing that story many years ago, I've loved Silverstein's parable. It reminds me of Jesus, of whom Paul wrote in Philippians, "He emptied Himself." He cried from His heart, nails in His hands, and poured out His blood that we might believe His love for us. Significantly, Jesus chose the giving tree, His cross, as the demonstrative sign of His absolutely furious love for men and women. In the words of one early church father: "the mightiest act of love ever to arise from a human soul."

How is it then that we've come to imagine that Christianity consists primarily in what we do for God? How has this come to be the good news of Jesus? Is the kingdom that He proclaimed to be nothing more than a community of men and women who go to church on Sunday, take an annual spiritual retreat, read their Bibles every now and then, vigorously oppose abortion, don't watch x-rated movies, never use vulgar language, smile a lot, hold doors open for people, root for the favourite team, and get along with everybody? Is that why Jesus went through the bleak and bloody horror of Calvary? Is that why He emerged in shattering glory from the tomb? Is that why He poured out His Holy Spirit on the church? To make nicer men and women with better morals?

The gospel is absurd and the life of Jesus is meaningless unless we believe that He lived, died, and rose again with but one purpose in mind: to make brand-new creations. Not to make people with better morals, but to create a community of prophets and professional lovers, men and women who would surrender to the mystery of the fire of the Spirit that burns within, who would live in ever greater fidelity to the omnipresent Word of God, who would enter into the center of it all, the very heart and mystery of Christ, into the center of the flame that consumes, purifies and sets everything aglow with peace, joy, boldness, and extravagant, furious love. This, my friends, is what it really means to be a Christian. Our religion never begins with what we do for God. It always starts with what God has done for us, the great and wondrous things that God dreamed of and achieved for us in Jesus Christ.

Further reading: The Ragged King

Further listening: The Love of God, Rich Mullins

I can't remember my very first golden opportunity. In fact, I'm sure there have been many that came and went which I can longer recall. But however good my memory of them are, there has been a string of such moments that shaped my life into what it is now, and I owe much of it to my parents: the facilitators of said opportunities.

I have never been confident talking with people. Regardless of this fact, my Mum frequently pushed me outside of my comfort zone to talk to people: her friends, the cashier, strangers, clerks, anyone with a face. It was difficult. I would sit in the car nervously fingering the cheque deposit envelope whilst Mum ran me through the instructions of going into the bank, approaching the counter, smiling and saying hello, then handing the envelope to the teller. Six-year-old me would almost run toward the building, furtively tip-toe across the dark, plush carpet to the desk, smile quickly and thrust the envelope across the counter to the chuckling lady before retreating with as much self-control not to sprint as possible, before getting outside the building. Then I would pelt to the car, slip into my seat and heave a sigh of relief whilst Mum told me well done... but you didn't need to run.

It was this prodding encouragement which brooked no argument that prepared me with courage I needed to reach out and grab golden opportunities as I grew older. Despite my innate people-pleasing desires that didn't want to cause bother, my parents had the clarity of vision to recognize opportunities in my life that I should seize. With every opportunity, I realized, came a certain amount of daring, and a certain level of risk I didn't always wish to take. While in some cases I probably missed out because I stubbornly refused to step out, in other cases my parents wouldn't take no for an answer, and with shaky legs and a pounding heart, I would have to make the leap.

One such occasion was sitting in a room full of musicians who were attending a Tommy Emmanuel masterclass in the city's renown music store. It was Q&A time, and I had a question I was aching to ask. It was a simple question really, and I had I bothered to go online and look it up, I could've worked it out by that time already. However my Dad kept prodding me, "ask your question! Go on, put your hand up and ask!" I ummed and ahhed for about two minutes before he poked me in the arm, and I raised a shaky hand.

"Yes! A question from the young lady down the back!" Tommy immediately said.

In a halting voice, I phrased my question, awkwardly holding my guitar and gesturing to my problem with playing higher harmonic notes.

"Come up here," he beckoned.

I froze in place, and with a nudge and a "go on!" from Dad, I squeezed past the people on my row and scurried down the front. Bending down from the stage box he was standing on he said, "show me." I fumbled with a chord and plucked at the dead harmonic. There was a moment's pause, after which he stated simply, "that's because you're playing it here. Play it there," he pointed. I played it and the harmonic rang out. "Ohhhh...!" I let out as I had the lightbulb moment. Everyone laughed, and Tommy smiled at me before leaning forward again, running his fingers lightly over the strings to show me a waterfall of harmonics. I stared, watching with delight before everyone clapped and I went back to my seat, flushed and elated: the only person called to the front for a moment with Tommy during the whole session. A golden opportunity that so easily could've slipped away if it weren't for my Dad's prodding.

Another occasion was after we finished reading the Ranger's Apprentice series and my Mum told me I should email the author, John Flanagan and invite him to come visit our library for an author talk (my library held many of these kinds of events). It sounded so audacious and demanding to me, but Mum kept mentioning it and reminding me of the idea whenever the topic came up until one day I sat down and did it. I told John how much our family enjoyed his books, and how my brothers had even designed daggers to his books' specifications. Amazingly, he emailed back, and not only that, inside of a few months, I found out he was visiting our town's library. We smuggled the boys daggers into the library, and they were able to show them off to John who was duly impressed; to the point of using them in his talk to demonstrate the books' weapons to a room full of school kids. As a library volunteer at the time, I got to stay on for the extra sessions that he spoke at, and was invited by the librarian to join both her and John for lunch. I can vividly remember sitting there, nibbling on an egg and lettuce triangle sandwich across from John Flanagan, and all but pinching myself. I'm having lunch with my favourite author!

I wish I had a dollar for every time I'd been in a crowded place where something exciting was happening, and I saw my Mum and Dad's face as they yelled, "Go! Do it! Go and ask! Walk up there! Say something! It's a golden opportunity!" Even now, that phrase rings in my mind with the exuberance and conviction of my parents' voices. Whilst to this day I still have an inner struggle when it comes to talking to people or stepping outside of my comfort zone, I've learned that courage is a habit, and daring is like a muscle: the more you practise it, the easier it comes. If it weren't for this fundamental coaching from my Mum and Dad, I doubt I would have had half the life-changing and inspiring experiences that I've been privileged to have had. I certainly wouldn't have had the courage to walk up to Tommy Emmanuel a few years later at a guitar camp whilst he was in the middle of his breakfast and ask if he would sing a duet with me at the student concert (he did), I wouldn't have flown cross country (or internationally, even) to meet friends I'd never met before, and I wouldn't have designed lyric posters for one of my favourite artists because I never would've put my art on display to be found in the first place.

In Scripture, James says that we have not because we ask not. He preempts this statement by saying, "you lust but do not have" (Js 4:2-3). The truth is, opportunity is available to everyone, but most people would rather envy those who have seized those opportunities then take the risk for themselves. I think the problem is golden opportunities often challenge our comfort. The way Edison put it, "opportunity is missed by most people because it comes dressed in overalls looking like hard work". Good things don't just happen. Being told—or simply telling yourself—that, "I could never do that," "I'm not good enough," or "there's no way that could happen" creates the mentality that good things can never happen to you because of who you are. But I'm learning that often, good things are brought to life by people who don't look at the odds. They don't take account of history. Their mentality is more, "wouldn't it be awesome if..." and then dare to reach, work, and fight for it. Sometimes all it takes is raising a shaky hand and asking a stupid question.

There is a whole world outside of our comfort zones, and if that doesn't sound like a golden opportunity, I don't know what does.

There’s so much freedom / waiting for me / why would I waste my time / thinking darkness is a part of me / when it’s just the absence of the light. / — Citizen Way

One of the biggest lies we can believe in Christian culture is the belief that we are sinners. Specifically that we have a “flesh”, or an inherent “sin nature”. Before the Calvinists jump on me and beat me to death with the letter “T” from TULIP, let me first say: you’re right. The sinful state is a real thing. As descendants of Adam, humanity inherited a sin nature, a propensity for evil and an inability to connect with God on our own. Sin is mankind’s heritage, and the incapacity for righteousness is the blood that runs in our veins. Thank God for Christ, because without His perfect, atoning sacrifice we could never have restored our relationship with God. His perfection covered our imperfection. His righteousness became our own. Crazy grace made an even crazier exchange for us because we are crazy loved by the God who is Love itself; a Love that did for us what we could never do for ourselves.

So note that I say that it’s the biggest lie in Christian culture.

How is it a lie, then? The lie I speak of is that even though you are saved; though the blood of Christ has redeemed you and you are new creation, you still retain that very same sin nature to some extent. Whether it’s called total depravity, sin nature, the flesh, or what have you, it’s something that is inescapable in this life and it is what causes you to err from the straight and narrow. When you sin, when you fall, when you fail, it’s because you have this sin nature within you that is striving against your spirit. It will remain a constant struggle until you die, and part of the bliss of heaven is that you no longer have to wrestle with temptation or sin anymore.

Part of this is true; we will only ever be completely free of corruption once we reach the shores of heaven. Having said that, this mindset—a life of constantly fighting against something we cannot help—I have a problem with, because this is not taught in Scripture.

To begin, the Bible makes it very clear that once we are born again, we are given the Spirit of God and we become new creations. Our identities change. No longer are we slaves to fear and to our sin nature, we are children of God; heirs with Christ. For, where the Spirit of God is, there is life and liberty. In Him we have victory. In Him we are overcomers. In Him we have everything that pertains to life and godliness. We are now dead to sin, and alive to righteousness.

“Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. For he that is dead is freed from sin.” — Romans 6:6-7

“And if Christ be in you, the body is dead because of sin; but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” — Romans 8:10

“For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” — Romans 8:15-16

“Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” — 2 Cor. 3:17

“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” — 2 Cor. 5:17

/ They say always have a plan B / they say leave yourself an out / better know your exit strategy / don’t burn the bridges down / well, I’ve separated from the old me. / — Citizen Way

Through my reading of Scripture, I find the message to be very black and white. We are either dead to sin, or alive to Christ. We are either slaves to sin or servants of righteousness. Either orphans or children of God. Either sinful or holy. Of the world or of His Kingdom. Of darkness or light. Old or new. As far as I can see, there is no in between. There is no Biblical pattern for living with a foot in both camps. There is no Scriptural precedence for a life of constant strife between the flesh and the Spirit.

“Yes there is!” You say. “Paul said in—”

Romans 7:15-24? One step ahead of you. It never fails to amaze me how this passage gets taken completely out of context by people who want to prove this point. And on its own, I can understand why it’s so popular. It reads:

“For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I. If then I do that which I would not, I consent unto the law that it is good. Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” — Romans 7:15-24

Convincing on its own, yet it was never meant to stand alone. Consider what it is prefaced by in Romans 6. Opening with the famous statement, “shall we continue in sin that grace may abound?” Paul goes on to state in no uncertain terms that as Christians who are born again, we are dead to sin. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but dead things don’t do a whole lot (newsflash). Dead flies don’t buzz, dead dogs don’t dig holes, and you can’t ride a dead horse and get anywhere. Likewise, a dead body cannot sin. This is the comparison Paul is drawing. If we were baptized into Christ’s death and have been raised in the newness of His life, how can we sin anymore? Notice that the righteous life being described here is not one obtained by striving, but by yielding (surrendering) ourselves to God (Rom. 6:13). Chapter six is surprisingly free of a spirit-versus-flesh complex.

Bracketing the passage in question, Paul introduces chapter seven with a direct statement that he is speaking to those who know the law (Jews). As is detailed in the earlier chapters of Romans, the Jews were still trying to keep the laws as a means of attaining salvation, and claiming that the law must still be upheld in light of the cross. Paul makes it very clear in this chapter that as a wife whose husband has died is free to marry another, so we are dead to the law and alive (married) unto Christ (Rom. 8:4). Without the Spirit, all men are carnal beings, “for when we were in the flesh, the motions of sins, which were by the law, did work in our members to bring forth fruit unto death” (Rom. 7:5). He then goes on to explain that though the law is good, its purpose was to bring forth sin (Rom. 7:7-13) because without the Spirit, we are incapable of fulfilling the law. Carnal, mortal, human beings cannot obey a spiritual law. It is in this context, that Paul speaks in verses fifteen and onwards.

I think we can all safely agree that Paul has been born again by the time he wrote this letter, yes? If that is so, then this statement in verse fourteen would be incorrect: “For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin”. Someone who has received salvation is no longer sold under sin. This proves Paul is speaking in past tense. In conjunction with exposing to the Jews the folly of believing they are able to keep the law, he is showing that, without Christ, “what I would, that I do not; but what I hate, that do I” (Rom. 7:15). The triumphant conclusion to this exposition of hopelessness—being that of a man trying to please God in the flesh—is one of great exultation:

“Who shall deliver me from the body of this death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” — Romans 7:24b-25

Continuing in that vein in chapter eight, Paul exhorts us that since we are now in the Spirit, we are not to walk after the flesh (because the flesh is dead). “If Christ be in you, the body is dead because of sin; but the Spirit is life because of righteousness” (Rom. 8:10). He goes on to say that only those who are led by the Spirit are called children of God, and he refers to living carnally as bondage to fear (Rom. 8:15). Elsewhere we are told that perfect love casts out all fear (1 Jn. 4:18) and that as redeemed saints, we have not been given the spirit of fear (2 Tim. 1:7). No longer are we slaves to our behaviour. No longer are we fighting a losing battle. No longer are we to be victims of sin, of fear, and of death, but we are victorious, righteous, holy saints of Christ by the Spirit and the new nature He has given to us. Hallelujah! This is glorious news.

/ I’m never going back / to the chains that were broken / never going back to the grave / I’m never going back / my eyes have been opened. / — Citizen Way

"A righteous life [made righteous by Christ] produces righteous living. However righteous living does not produce a righteous life." — Lawson Perdue

“So, you’re saying that the Christian life should not be marked by temptation or sin? Are you saying that we should never struggle with anything in this lifetime? Are you kidding me?! That’s impossible!”

I do understand your confusion, truly. I can understand how preposterous this sounds when we live in a world so corrupted by sin and evil, and we see so many of our brethren living in much the same lifestyles. Yet there is something that strikes me as funny about this sentiment. It’s the fact you say it’s impossible. How readily we are to believe that God can do anything in our lives… except help us live holy. It kind of makes you want to forget those verses we so often quote in difficult times—

“The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.” — Luke 18:27

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” — Philippians 4:13

I shouldn’t tease, but here is the point that I so desperately wish to drive home: if we don’t believe holiness is possible, sin will always be excusable. We will always be able to use our flesh as a scapegoat, and our sin nature as a copout. We will always be able to point to the future, “then,” we can say, “in heaven, is when we will be free of this carnality”. It’s not that those with this mindset will celebrate sin as a good thing. Please understand me. I’m not saying that people who believe in a Christian’s dual personality as saint and sinner are excusing sin. Most people I know who believe this are staunchly against sin. However there is no freedom in this philosophy. Sin will always be a ball and chain around our feet if we continue to think this way. There is no doubt in my mind that if we always consider sin to be part of our innate nature, it will always be ready to seize the opportunity to govern our spirit. Do we have a choice in this? Absolutely! But that choice will always be easier made from a place of victory before the battle even begins. This is why we are not fighting, but standing.

“Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.” — Galatians 5:1

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.” — Ephesiahs 6:13

I’m going to acknowledge your statement before you make it: Christians still sin, yes. “Aha!” You say. “That is because of the flesh!” Actually, no. It’s not. Remember, if we are new creations, children of God, heirs in Christ, walking in the Spirit, dead to sin, alive to righteousness, holy and redeemed saints, we do not have a flesh. It died. So what then?

“Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?” — Galatians 3:3

Breakdown: before salvation, sinners sin because they are sinners. During salvation, sinners become saints. After salvation, saints sin for one reason—an un-renewed mind. Scriptural evidence for this theory is as follows:

“For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.” — Romans 8:6

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” — Romans 12:2

“But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned. But he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man. For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ.” — 1 Corinthians 2:14-16

“But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.” — 2 Corinthians 11:3

“That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” — Ephesians 4:22-24

“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 2:5

“The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:7

“For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord; I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God.” — Hebrews 8:10

“Wherefore gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” — 1 Peter 1:13

Like an orphaned lost heir to the throne who doesn’t know his true identity, our minds must catch up to the fact that we have been saved and set free. Not only does Scripture testify to this, but so does history. Emancipated slaves had freedom, they just didn’t all know it. All of us have been born into this world as orphans. After we are redeemed, we spend the rest of our lives renewing our minds to the fact we are dearly beloved children. Thus, when a Christian sins, it isn’t an innate sinful nature that pulls us towards evil deeds, but rather the habits of our mind that retraces our steps back into dead works. This is different to the belief that we have two opposing forces within our souls. James speaks of this dual nature quite harshly:

“A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.” — James 1:8

The way that we experience this life is still through human eyes. I believe however that there is a difference between the human experience and sinful nature. The way we break, the way the world’s corruption hurts us and we respond with raw, real emotions; these are not always sinful. After all, Scripture also repeatedly tells us that God makes Himself strong on behalf of the weak, that He is the defender of the powerless and His strength is made perfect in the places we are the most broken. This is not to excuse failure, and not to redress sin, but to embrace the glorious grace that Christ bought for us and extends to us continually.

/ This is the heart reset / this is the 2.0 / this is the wave goodbye / or is it hello? / this is the new me / redeemed, set free. / — Citizen Way

The grace of God shown to us through the perfect life and death of Christ goes so far beyond our imaginations allow us. If we live believing that Christ redeemed our souls from hell, yet left us victims to our own natures, we are selling Him short. Understanding that holiness is not of our own work, but is possible by the indwelling Spirit of God in us allows us to live a life free of the stranglehold of sin. When we are called out on behaviours that are ungodly—be that gluttony, lust, pride, envy, or any other listed sin—we don’t have to lean back into the cushion of the flesh, and say “it’s a war I will always be fighting”. There is no excuse. There is nothing we can use as a copout or a scapegoat.

Holiness is possible. Righteous is who we are. Christ in us, the hope of glory. Jesus said “be ye perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). He is the perfector of our faith. We are able to live righteous lives by the righteous Spirit within us.

Let us not waste our lives on anything less.

“But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.” — 1 Peter 5:10

“Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy.” — Jude 1:24

“Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.” — Hebrews 13:20-21

"You're either one hundred percent the child of God or you're one hundred percent a child of the devil. And if you're one hundred percent the child of God, it's not because of what you did, it's because of Who you believed. But because of Who you believed and who you became when you believed, the life that you live is a result of who you are, the things that I do are a result of who I am. I'm not doing them to try and become something, I do them because of who I am. I am a new creation in Christ. The Spirit of God lives in me." — Lawson Perdue

Further Reading:
My True Name

So before I love someone else, I’ve got to love myself. - Ed Sheeran

There is a practical and simple principle that is featured in both aeroplane safety and swimming. On a plane, flight attendants will tell you that in the event of an emergency where the oxygen masks are dispensed, you must first put your own mask on before assisting others. The philosophy being, you are only in the position to help somebody if you are secure yourself.

Similarly with swimming and lifesaving, unless you know how to swim well and understand the dangers of panic, you will not be able to save a drowning person. They will grab you in a frenzy of fear to save themselves and pull you under, drowning you both. You are only able to assist a drowning person from a secure position, else you risk your own demise.

This is a concept that could well be adopted into the way we relate to helping one another.

I was recently asked by a friend of mine my thoughts on this whole ideology of "saving ourselves first". On face value, it looks sketchily self-serving. To withhold help from someone in dire need goes against every grain of a compassionate heart. How can we stand by and do nothing for them? We must do something. Especially in the case of Christians, this need to do in order to save comes laced with a heavy dose of guilt. "We're Christians, we're strong, we know the truth, and we have Christ—in Whom we can do all things!—how can we stand by?"

It's a valid point, one I have often experienced myself. The hurt and suffering of our fellow man causes our heart to ache so that we must give. Compassion flows as we pour ourselves out on behalf of others, bringing comforting words, a hug, hours of listening, and carefully phrased advice so as not to break the trust given to us. We give, and give, and give; seemingly limitlessly. Until...

...you feel completely done. Empty. Now the thought of spending time with that person is a dread, and you despair that there has been no change, and you beat yourself up for being such a failure of a friend; seemingly unable to transmit the strength and hope they so desperately need. Inadequacy weighs on you and sadness is strangling you before you even realize you've been pulled beneath the surface of the troubled water. How did you get here?

Here are three things I have learned through hard experiences and wise counsel that have helped me identify the difference between selfish self-preservation, unhealthy generosity, and loving in wisdom and truth.

Identify emotionally healthy people and unhealthy people.

Let's face it: we all need help. At some points in all of our lives, no matter what kind of person we are, we're going to need help. It's a fact. Having said that, there are some people who want help, and others who don't (regardless of how badly they need it). A common phrase my Mum has reiterated to me many times is full of wisdom: you cannot help someone who does not want help. It's true. All the time and effort you can give is wasted on a person who has chosen—intentionally or not!—to suffer. An emotionally unhealthy person wants your sympathy, not your assistance. They want to be the victim, not an overcomer. They will shy away from being challenged to do new things, and will reject any encouragement to make changes. They may entertain a fresh perspective for a while, but you will eventually see a pattern of attempting to rise, before settling back into the comfort of the doldrums—whatever they may be. These kinds of people are unteachable because they don't want help, and they will suck you dry quicker than a kid with a Slurpee.

Emotionally healthy people are teachable. They can get just as low as those who are emotionally unhealthy, yet they desperately do not wish to stay there. They are willing to see where they could be wrong, and open to new ideas. They still want to be heard, and feel compassion, however they don't wish to exploit the person giving it. Even when they are weak, there is a strength to them that does not wish to remain as they are. Emotionally healthy people have willing spirits even if "their flesh is weak" (Matt. 26:41). Though tough love may hurt them, they will not walk away from you licking their wounds. They may flinch, but they will dare to look at themselves and face what they see. They truly desire help, and you can see over the course of time that the wisdom they receive, they begin to practise. These are the people we should invest our energies in. These souls are good soil that will yield a harvest if we take the time to plant.

"But what of the others?" You may say. "Don't we owe them our compassion too, regardless of whether they heed our counsel?"

Interestingly enough, the Prodigal Son in Jesus' parable was deserving of compassion as soon as he left home. He had broken with his Father, stolen away his inheritance early, and was in desperate need of tough love in the midst of his fancy spendthrift lifestyle. Yet the Father only ran towards him once he "came to himself" (Lk. 15:17). It was only when the son woke up in the morning, looked at himself in the mirror and said, "what on earth am I doing? I need help!" that help came. Not even Jesus went after those who were to be pitied, but were too proud or too comfortable in their squalor to receive help. Only to those who had the humility to ask did He give to freely. If this is Jesus' example, we should do no different.
Identify your own need.

My Mum has often wisely said to me, you cannot give what you don't have. It's true at the most fundamental level, yet one we often fail to recognize. When we are floundering in our own griefs and troubles, we simply are not in a position to pour out on behalf of others. I have often fallen prey to the idea that investing in others whilst I myself was not doing well is the best way to get your mind off yourself. There is some truth to that, however if it is a consistent habit to deny your own needs by putting the needs of others first, you are setting yourself up for a fall. It can become a form of escapism: becoming so focused on serving others you deny your own struggles even exist. This hinders you from the soul work God would long to do in you, and limits His strength and wisdom from flowing in your life. You are essentially making yourself emotionally unhealthy by repressing your own feelings and focusing on the feelings of others.

Newsflash: only you can live your life. We are called to love God before we love others. We are also called to love others only as we first love ourselves (Gal. 5:14). It is not loving yourself to cut your soul off from its source of life. It is not loving yourself to stuff all of your struggles and bury your hurts in an effort to somehow be strong enough to help someone else. It's only as you bring your heartache to the Lord, and face your own troubles that you can be in any sort of place to offer comfort to another in theirs. It is only as we receive from God that we have anything at all to give (Matt. 10:8). Unless you have the security of knowing your heart is safe in the hands of your heavenly Father, and you are not running from your circumstances but are found confident that your identity and worth is in Christ alone, your feet will not be on firm and secure ground to pull someone else from the water.
Identify the difference between sympathy and compassion.

Sympathy is a feeling invoked by witnessing the suffering of another. It is a feeling of sadness and helplessness, of wanting better for someone, and the expression of that sentiment. Sympathy requires very little effort to feel, yet it also requires zero action to be sympathetic.

Compassion however, is not merely the feeling of sympathy, but the drive and the will to do something about it. Compassion motivates a person to action: to help, to do, to bring about change in another's life for the better. Where sympathy is not a boat-rocker and desires not to make waves, compassion will do whatever it takes to better the circumstances of another, often at a cost.

It is important to recognize the difference because it will determine the way you approach investing in a person. Sympathy has the potential for keeping a person locked in their circumstance. Sympathy feels good! It's nice to have someone crooning over you, and stroking your hurt (and your ego). Yet it does a person very little good in the end. If you are truly desirous of investing something worthwhile in a loved one, you must be compassionate. Compassion won't shy away from speaking the truth, even if it's hard. Compassion will lance a boil, not kiss it better. Compassion will see the best in a person and call them out on it, or call them up to it. Sympathy would rather sit and mope along with their friends in an effort to make them feel less alone. Compassion will say "get up! Keep going! You can do this!" rather than, "there there, poor you, it's so sad". Whilst compassion can and often does listen, comfort, and share a silent presence, it cannot stay there. It loves too much. Compassion is love with boots on and a 'get 'er done' attitude. It desires to empower, not deprive.

Not everyone likes compassion. However if you spend the majority of your time investing in emotionally healthy people (or perhaps I should say 'humble people'), you will be planting in fertile soil. If someone rejects your compassion, it's a good indication that that individual is not ready to receive help in the first place.

"Isn't that how it works? We take turns in saving one another. I think they call it fellowship." — Dorcas Lane, Lark Rise to Candleford

There is one more crucially important point I have left out of all this, and that is: you cannot save people in the way Christ does. For the longest time, I would lie awake at night thinking of so many friends going through trying times, and attempting to figure out just what I could say or do to help them; to offer them salvation. It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't my job to save them in that way. I couldn't. I still can't! And when it comes to the idea of saving ourselves, that too is a fallacy. In fact, it was because we couldn't save ourselves that Jesus came. Jesus is the One that saves both us, and others. What is more, He doesn't expect us to save another. We may rescue someone from the fire (Jude 1:23) or save a willing person from drowning, however we cannot save someone's soul. We may share His love and show His compassion for others, but ultimately, their salvation is between them and their Saviour. It has nothing to do with you. The humble do indeed take in turns at saving one another in life, but salvation from death belongs solely to Christ.

I understand the idea Ed Sheeran is trying to convey in the song I quoted at the beginning. If God were to answer it, I think it'd probably sound something like this:

See, I have come to save you. Trust in Me, and not be afraid. I am your strength and your song; I have given you victory. (Is. 12:2)

I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved. (Jn. 10:9)

Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you. (Lk. 6:38).

By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for living a godly life. We have received all of this by coming to know him, the one who called us to himself by means of his marvelous glory and excellence. (2 Pet. 1:3)

“As you are shifting you will begin to realize you are not the same person you used to be. The things you used to tolerate have now become intolerable. Where you once remained quiet you are now speaking your truth. Where you once battled and argued you are now choosing to remain silent. You are beginning to understand the value of your voice and there are some situations that no longer deserve your time energy and focus.” —lessonslearnedinlife.com

I typed the keywords "roots, wings" into the search bar. I shouldn't have been surprised that the graphic stock website did not return any results. No one talks about roots and wings in the same breath. They talk about them separately though.

People will often use wings as a metaphor for new things: a new job, a new season of life, a new relationship. Or they use it in a way that describes throwing off all restraints and inhibitions to run after your passion or dream; to soar into one's calling or destiny. It's a very freeing and exhilarating word. I understand its appeal, and love everything it embodies.

But I also love the word "roots". They are often talked about in a solid, foundational way; as a tree that exemplifies it well—whilst the storms and tempests may come, the roots that are dug deep into the earth hold the tree fast and strong. It denotes stability and depth, that a person who is rooted in something of value will never fall. I love and believe in the concept that those who invest the time and energy into sending roots down into wisdom will be secure through all life may throw at them.

So I find it strange that whenever the two words meet, it will oft be said that "you cannot have both roots and wings". Literally speaking, I get it. I do know that something rooted to the ground physically cannot fly (kites are close, but no cigar). However I have noticed that opposites tend to attract, and in my experience, I’ve found that roots and wings are closer to one another than they first seem.

I was raised in a conservative Christian home. Whilst my family did not attend church during my childhood, I spent a lot of time around conservative Christians in homeschool groups, and was taught a lot of conservative values and principles. Whilst much of what I learned about fringe issues from my own reading or from the influence of friends at the time erred on the side of legalism—especially in the quarters of things like courtship, homemaking, and acceptable ladylike hobbies—my faith found some deep roots in the Word of God, solid character values, and reverent holy awe for who God is. I learned to value community and the fellowship of the body in cultivating relationships, and sharpening one another with the truth; either by loving correction or in the heat of a good-natured doctrinal debate. These are all roots I deeply love and cherish about my formative years.

In my later teens and in more recent years, I embraced more fully the pentecostal theology passed down to me by my Mum and Grandma, both beautiful, strong women of God who have personally seen His hand move in powerful ways. I was baptized in water, and later baptized in the Holy Spirit which was accompanied by the ability to speak in tongues. I did intensive study of the doctrine of healing, and joined a Bible study group that taught and encouraged prophecy. I’ve been studying via correspondence for the last three years through Andrew Wommack’s Charis Bible college and learning more about the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and after attending a pentacostal church for several years, found freedom in worship to praise God through raising my hands. I’ve seen spiritual manifestations and miracles with my own eyes, and knowing there is so much more to this world and the incredible goodness of God we serve than just man’s tradition makes my heart sing. Understanding how much more I can hope for in this life gives me wings that I want to fly away on.

“Yeah, so?” You may say. “You can have roots and wings. What’s the problem?” Well, there is a slight catch. Because in case you haven’t noticed, there is quite a big gap between the conservative/reformed camp, and the pentacostal/charismatic camp and I happen to have a foot in both of them. I am the result of a curious hybrid that neither fits, nor doesn’t fit in either camp. And it gets complicated.

Because I can debate Calvinism with the best of them, and I love the wealth of Biblical knowledge often in common that can spark discussion at any point. I can also find plenty of pentacostal issues to rag on. Most of my family values are conservative, I love me some old authors (A.W. Tozer), and I love me some old hymns (How Deep the Father’s Love). I love potluck dinners, and uncomplicated fellowship. I love the reverent faith and worship that is without fanfare or embellishment. These are just some of the many things I miss from the pentacostal realm. Yet if I bring up tongues, healing, gifts of the Spirit, Joyce Meyer or contemporary Christian music, suddenly things get a little awkward. The glances are thrown around, and the gap inexplicably widens between both camps. I’m reminded I don’t fit in there.

Likewise, when it comes to the other side, I love the freedom to praise in tongues, sing, even dance in worship. I love being able to dream and hope for the impossible and the supernatural with fellow believers, and join in daring prayers that take confident authority against the devil. I love the sharpening of having the boxes I try to keep God in broken, and having my eyes opened to new ways of seeing and receiving from a God who loves to speak to each of His children personally and uniquely. Yet if point out the shallow lyrics, bring up Scriptures about men and women’s roles, mention that the church building or institution has too much focus, or gaining numbers in any given ministry is not the goal, if I speak out about how we’ve drifted from valuing family or the dangers of over-structuralization… I fear the looks and judgment I would receive if I did.

My greatest weakness is my desire not to cause controversy or offense. My greatest love, is my desire for truth. However frequently—and unfortunately—fear trumps truth. So instead of owning these two sides of me as a whole, I censor who I am and tailor my beliefs for whatever crowd I find myself in. Conservative baptist crowd? Don’t raise your hand during question time in church, banter over Calvinism and wear a skirt. Pentacostal crowd? Say nothing about the music’s volume, congratulate the kids on what they did at youth group and feign excitement for the next event. I've built false foundations in relationships because they were based on only part of me. I wanted to be taken seriously by conservatives and not laughed at for my pentacostal beliefs, so I proved myself a worthy contestant in debates by my knowledge of Scripture. I wanted to be taken seriously by pentacostals and not thought a stiff so I conformed my outward actions to the image expected of me as a worship leader.

You know the problem with only being true to people’s expectations of you?

It’s not really true. And truth is what sets you free (John 8:32).

“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything. It liberates us from pretense, humbles us out of our self-righteousness, and fortified us for any difficulty life can throw at us.” — Tim Keller

It’s been a slow dawn, but I’m beginning to realize I cannot live alternatively between both halves of myself anymore. It’s dishonest, and not true to who God created me to be. I’ve mourned plenty that I had to be a square peg in a world of round holes, and have wished fervently that I could permanently dwell in one or the other camp.

But I’m not. I never will be. This is how God created me, and these are the truths He has instilled in my heart. I don’t have to make excuses for them.

Who I am is not a fight.

I don’t have to fight to prove myself to conservatives or pentacostals.

I don’t have to defend the person I am or answer to people who choose not to understand.

It’s okay—healthy even—to have both roots and wings.

If I had only roots, I would never have had the inspiration or revelation to see beyond, but instead been consumed with traditionalism.

If I had only wings, I would fly beyond the reaches of reality and lose sight of foundational truths in an emotional quest.

And the truth is what matters most.

Jesus said many things that were the truth that offended and divided people. As I read His answer, I recognize my own fear.

His disciples came and said to Him, “Do You know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard this saying?” But He answered and said, “Every plant which My heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted.” — Matthew 15:12-13

Whilst my flesh quails at the thought of having things that are comfortable, predictable or safe in my life uprooted, the fact is deep down, I have no desire for anything to take up room in my life if it hasn’t been planted there by the Lord. After all, don't only the things God plants bear fruit? Speaking the truth of who I am will cause some things and some people to be uprooted out of my life. That frightens me, but I am learning to have the courage not to divide myself anymore, for “if a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand” (Mark 3:25).

I want my love to be without hypocrisy (Romans 12:9). I want to live unashamed of the Gospel, and unafraid of public opinion—regardless which public. I cannot love without being honest, and my love is not true if I am not being true to myself.

How can I expect honest love from others if I am not willing to first be honest myself? How can I expect true vulnerability from someone else if I am too busy censoring my own heart?

I am not complete. I am still learning and still eager to discover further truth God will enlighten me to in His Word, but I want to go from here with the acknowledgement of where I’ve come from. No more hiding. No more disguising or doctoring who I am to suit people I will never satisfy.

God is satisfied with me. That is enough.

In Him, learning to stand (Gal. 5:1). Learning to fly (Is. 40:31). Learning to love (1 Cor. 16:14).

So here’s to embracing my roots as I spread my wings. It's not easy, I will fail, but I'm choosing courage. This is who I am. Sinking my roots deep into the richness of His living Word as I soar into the shadow of His wings.

“we can only love each other / when we're brave enough to be known / so don't be scared now / to confess what you're afraid we won't understand.” — Jason Gray

Hold on tight a little longer / What don't kill ya makes you stronger / Get back up, 'cause it's a hard love / You can't change without a fallout / It's gonna hurt, but don't you slow down / Get back up, 'cause it's a hard love. / — NEEDTOBREATHE

Confession: I don't love very well.

Oh yes, I can blog about love quite spectacularly. I can eloquently write about love, and can even speak quite freely about living a life of love. But alas, when it comes to the doing...

...I'm not very good at loving.

Such hypocrisy is really hard for me to swallow, because I honestly believe the things I blog and say. A life of holding grudges, harbouring hurts, and allowing bitterness to rule is not one you'll ever hear me endorse. I recognize clearly just how refining it is to allow the love of Christ flow through pain, and what freedom there is in forgiving those who hurt you. Turn the other cheek, bless those who curse you, pray for those who use you, freely you have been forgiven, freely forgive; you will be known by your love, etc. It all rings in my ears. I know it so well, I can recite it without even thinking. It's easy to do when everything is sailing along smoothly. Love comes so freely when everyone and everything is lovable. But as soon as life strikes:

A close friend lets you down and betrays your trust.

A family member says something they know will cut you deeply.

You are misunderstood by a loved one but they don't seem interested in trying to understand.

Children get so rowdy that it pushes your patience to breaking point.

Loneliness strikes when you are feeling down, and selfishness wants to take over.

The past keeps knocking and you begin to see the future through the eyes of fear.

Bitterness threatens to keep you from prayer.

Seeing people praised openly for their accomplishments when you were ignored for yours.

Confiding in someone vulnerably only to have them treat you differently afterwards.

As soon as anything difficult hits me, the love in my heart seems to evaporate into thin air. Suddenly that warm, encompassing feeling of God's presence leaves, and instead I feel frustrated, hurting, and shockingly spiteful. I don't want to love you anymore. You hurt me. I want to run a hundred miles from you and hide. Take my bruised heart and lock it away so that you can't touch it again. But only on the inside. On the outside, I pull out my mask and smile pleasantly. I say I forgive you. I let it go and go on like normal; wearing that face like armour—Aha, you will believe I am happy because I want you to believe it, but never will you get past my smile to my heart again.

Not long ago, in the midst of one of these charades I was quite busily performing, a friend texted me a quote out of the blue that I knew very well, which was both the best—and the last—thing I wanted to hear.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” — C.S. Lewis

Eesh. Vulnerability. Though I truly do want to be forgiving, and I earnestly desire to let things go, sometimes the ugly vulnerable truth is you hurt me, and I'm still hurting. We think for the most part that letting things go is our problem to deal with, and so we try to swallow it down without realizing that sometimes the path to true forgiveness and real Love is not pretty. You see, what we Christians have done is instead of taking the raw, messy, ugly road of God's Love, we opt for the clean, shiny, cover-it-up version of what we think love is.

This latter one, I am very good at. We tell ourselves that it is loving to let things go. To be peacekeepers and not rock the boat. We smile when we're dying on the inside, and listen quietly when our hearts are screaming at us. We hold back, we stuff our feelings down, we let ourselves be trampled on by our brothers and sisters in Christ, and they have no idea what they are doing to us. We sit down, shut up, and call it turning the other cheek. We tell ourselves not to be sensitive. We beat our souls into unoffendability, taking no thought for the fact that maybe God created us that way; you know: with feelings. We put on our brave Christian front and tell everyone we're "good", and by "we", I really mean "me". As tiresome as this version of love is, it's easier to do because it's safer. It holds people away from me. I can control the situation. I don't have to let people in.

But this kind of love is not love. It is pride. Pride to pretend that pretending to love is as good as loving. Pretending to be okay is as good as being okay. This is not love. It's more like holding poison in your mouth and trying not to swallow without spitting it out. It either has to get messy, or it won't end well.

Hear me right: this isn't to say that we just blab everything we feel whenever we feel like it to whoever will listen. You can't just freely express everything within you at the expense of others. True honesty is selfless, not selfish. And this also isn't to say that there aren't very legitimate times when forgiveness must be a choice over a feeling, and that letting something go without getting closure isn't exactly what God wants. Quite the opposite. However oftentimes I believe we forget one little verse in Scripture when it comes to dealing with conflict and loving well:

If your fellow believer sins against you, go and tell him in private what he did wrong. If he listens to you, you have helped that person to be your brother or sister again. — Matt. 18:15 NCV

Love, God's love, does not ignore problems, it addresses them. We are called to go talk to those brothers and sisters who have wronged us, and be vulnerable. Just as God didn't turn a blind eye to our sin and pretend everything was okay, but entered into it, looked it fully in the eye and then dealt with it at the cross, so ought we handle our grievances with one another. This is loving well. Because often, loving well is loving ugly, and this is the kind of Love my flesh hates. You see, if I had my choice, my kind of love would be pretty safe. It wouldn't get ugly. If you hurt me, I'd just push it down, keep it wrapped up, maybe in a little box with a nice neat bow and smile politely at you next time I saw you (I'd probably pull it out in the meantime and stroke it and coddle it till it became a box of bitterness). But God's kind of Love... Ha, I've really got to laugh at it.

Because God's kind of love looked down at our mess and our sin, and my pride in my shiny self-image and entered into it. He didn't see my ugliness and say "dude, no way! I might get some of it on me." No, He took it on. He became that ugly on my behalf when He went and died an ugly messy death on that hideous cross. So now that He has done the ugliest thing for me, in order for Him to give me His beauty, I need to admit to my ugly. Which means I have to be honest. Which also means that in order for His perfect Love to have free reign in my life -

I need to show you my ugly too.

This is hard Love, and though I suck at it, God is teaching me that His Love is sooo much better than my love.

These past few months have had some of the most stretching, trying, heart-tearing, gut-wrenching conversations I've ever had where, instead of hiding my heart away and fake-loving, God challenged me to a hard, ugly love: exposing the scars of my soul to those who put the scars there and saying those bare-brave words, "you hurt me". Where I approached people with the truth and honesty of what my heart was really saying, even though it came out sounding ugly and awful. I let my heart be sensitive to painful words, and let myself feel them and bring them to God, open to the possible truth of them, though they left me feeling torn apart. Right now, if I'm honest, it's hard to see the good in it. My insides feel like they've been dismantled; a finished puzzle that has been broken apart into a thousand uncontrollable pieces. It's almost as though I'm losing control of me—in the best way—and letting God take control of what people know of me... that they might truly know why God is good, and see His goodness through the true and honest me—weaknesses, hurts and all.

The hardest thing is knowing this is not a lesson once learnt. Vulnerability is not my natural state, and it takes constant wisdom from God to know when, where, who and how I should brave it up, and do this tough love gig with people. It's the beginning of my undoing, and yet in the distance, I can also taste that it is the beginning of my renewing; this constant discovery of who God intended me to be. It comforts my heart to know that I don't walk this road alone. Christ Himself walked the road of hardest Love: up the hill of Calvary.

I am comforted by the fact that, though my flesh is incapable of this Love, Christ in me is.

Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. — Col 3:12-14

We never think of perfection being messy, do we? Yet this is the way we are to love: with tender mercies, kindness, humility, longsuffering and bearing; all of this in truth and honesty. The humble are those who kneel, and if one kneels, there will be dirt. But Christ loves me in spite of my dirt, knowing that as I allow His Love to perfect me, I will see the dirt in others less and less, and at the same time be less and less afraid to speak the vulnerable truth with them.

Will I still have my hypocritical days? My word, yes! I'll still have plenty of times I wear my old signature smile and you won't see my soul shine truthfully in my eyes. Though I may be a hypocrite, Jesus loves me and died for my hypocrisy, and I love Him so much for it. Hard Love isn't easy, but by faith in Christ, it is doable. So I ask you, please bear with me as I learn slowly the art of hard-loving.

And I promise—with Christ's help—to bear with you too.

Innocence, your history of silence / Won't do you any good / Did you think it would? / Let your words be anything but empty / Why don't you tell them the truth? / Honestly I wanna see you be brave. / — Sara Bareilles

Further Listening: Love is a Good Thing, Andrew Peterson

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