I've been spending some time with the Lord today. It's a special day for the two of us. Today is my spiritual birthday - the day I was born again - the day God changed my heart from stone to flesh. It happened November 8, 1988. The scripture He used was Romans 10:9-11. "because if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one concusses and is saved." I usually just say Romans 10:9-10, but verse 11 was a huge help to me. It adds "For the Scripture says, 'Everyone who believes in Him will not be put to shame.'" And shame... well, that was my calling card.
Today though... I'm 23 years old in the Lord. So is my mom... HAPPY BORN-AGAIN DAY, MOM!
I don't usually share this day with anyone. It belongs to God. I try to spend my day in prayer and in the word, but mostly just waiting for God to speak to me. But today was especially lonely for me. Not sure if it's just grief hanging on or what. So I "made my requests known to God" and told him I could at least use a birthday card. He agreed... so He sent me one. I thought I would share it with my friends... maybe you could use a birthday card too.
Dennie (You may insert your own name...) my daughter (or son)...
I remember your birthday well... I chose you and adopted you as my child through Jesus Christ, according to My own perfect will, to the praise of My glorious grace that I've blessed you with in Myself. I redeemed you through My blood, forgave your sins according to the riches of My grace which I lavished on you. As your first birthday gift, I've given you an inheritance (Myself and eternal life) and sealed you with the promised Holy Spirit. Because of My great love for you I made you alive together with Me and raised you up and seated you in the heavenlies with Myself. Why? So I could show the immeasurable riches of My grace in kindness toward you - your salvation is ALL of Me and you are My workmanship created for good works which I prepared in advance for you to walk in. No pining, daughter, over all that could have been. I called you and justified you at just the right time, when I was pleased to reveal Myself to you.
I am your light and your salvation, the stronghold of your life. I am your confidence in times of fear. Come, dwell in the house of the Lord and gaze upon My beauty and inquire of Me. I hide you in My shelter, conceal you under the cover of My tent and lift you high upon a rock. I lift up your head and fill you with joy. I am gracious to you and answer you. I'm found when You seek me. I am Your help and I never forsake you - though others have forsaken you, I have taken you in. I'm teaching you and leading you on a level path. Look upon My goodness, child, and take courage. I'm not done with you. What I have begun I will complete. I will cause your love to abound more and more with knowledge and all discernment so that you may approve what is excellent, and so that you will be pure and blameless, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes straight from Me. I have not stopped setting you free and transforming you into My image. More and more you will know that I'm not limited by any of your frailties - in fact, I bring Myself glory through them. So boast in your weaknesses so that my power will rest on you. My grace toward you will not prove vain. Open your hands, lift up your face and seek Mine. We have only just begun the journey. Happy birthday. Abba Father.
(Loosely based on these verses: Eph. 1:5-14 & 2:4-10; Psalm 27; Php. 1:6-11; 2 Cor 3:17-18 & 12:9)
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
3 Days A Daughter
This last month has felt like one very long day... with little sleep breaks in between. My daddy died on Labor Day (Sept. 5). I'm finally back home. I've heard death-bed stories... none of them were like what I witnessed. And I don't feel up to sharing the specifics - nor does anyone really need to hear the specifics, I guess. Yesterday I ran across a card that my dad sent to me from Korea - 1965 or 66. I was 4 or 5. It said, "To the sweetest little girl of them all = from the proudest dad." I fell in a heap crying. The thing is... those were words I never actually heard when I needed them. I went through our childhood slides the other day. I can't locate any pictures of me doing "dad and daughter" things. I can't locate any memories either - at least not the good ones. My childhood memories of my dad consist of his shined, black shoes and his hands. This tells me that I didn't look at his face much until my adulthood. Mostly, in my dad's presence as a child and as a teen, I felt shame. And I've never really figured that one out. I have some hints... high demands for perfection... little room for childishness... alcoholism... no option to fail... affection/esteem by alcohol (which equaled lies)... I don't say these things to defame my dad - it was what it was.
And I do have a point.
In 1988 God radically changed my heart. And He continued to radically change my heart toward my dad. I don't remember the year it happened, but I remember the day that things actually changed in my relationship with him. He actually said the words "I love you gal" as I was heading out the door of his house. It was revolutionary. That was several years after my regeneration - and I believe it was a response to my intentional offerings of forgiveness to him combined with God's gracious work in his heart. I didn't do anything of huge significance when I was with him. Just being willing to talk to him, to ask advice, to look him in the face, to be with him and treat him kindly. He came around.
In the last 10 years or so... especially in times when I returned to OK to spend time with my parents... I noted an even easier connection with him. We laughed a little. I was able to joke a little with him. We shared books with one another. We shared crosswords with one another. We shared meals. It was more like getting together with an old friend. I was enjoying him without all that old stuff attached to it. Free from the old pain... free to love him as someone dear to me.
Then the three days before he died...
I'm not sure what happened. It was apparent that I didn't have much time left with him. Though I prayed the Hezekiah prayer, God answered "no." Something had morphed in my heart. I could only call him "daddy" - a name, frankly, I had reserved for my heavenly Daddy. It never seemed to fit my dad. But in those 3 days, it rolled off my lips with ease. I held his hand. I can't remember ever doing that - though I'm sure in my early years that probably happened. I kissed his head. We waved at one another as I left and entered the hospital room. I looked at his eyes constantly. I helped him drink. I helped him with his oxygen mask. I worried over his feet - trying to keep them covered and warm. I worried over his pillow, wanting it to be dry and comfortable. I prayed over him. I sang over him. On the last day, I climbed into the bed and put my head on his chest. In those three days I loved him unashamedly and spoke aloud words to him that only my own heart (and God) knew existed. And I said I love you frequently. And I said goodbye.
For 3 days I was a daughter.
I know that there really isn't any room for wishes and regrets in a child of God. I say that because no matter our sin, our failures... God redeems and uses. Regrets are a waste of time because in God's economy, mistakes and failures and the worst of sins are the minor chords in the worship song God is composing of our lives. Nothing is wasted on Him. But as God redeems, He teaches. I think if I had a do-over here, I would have risked being a daughter to my dad even when he wasn't a daddy to me. Maybe if I had loved him rightly in those earlier days of my salvation, instead of withholding my heart in fear, I might have known the man I knew for those three days. He might have felt the freedom to love me well. But... that's still not the main point... redemption is the point...
For 3 days I was a daughter. A real, honest-to-goodness daughter.
God is redeeming all the pain my dad and I invested. I'm about to be a real, honest-to-goodness daughter to Daddy God. When I think about how I loved my dad those three days... I recognize that the love I offer to my heavenly Father is sometimes stilted and labored. Am I memorizing His face... His eyes? Am I holding His hand? Am I kissing His head in worship? Am I purely serving Him and not just serving for service sake? Am I sitting at His feet? Am I curling up next to Him, breathing with Him, setting my life to His heartbeat? Am I speaking boldly what's in my heart? Am I listening quietly for each word from His lips? Am I longing for Him to remain with me? Am I cherishing THIS moment with Him?
January 14th will mark my "Jubilee" year. I'll be 50. There's a deep, compelling urgency in me (I believe by the Holy Spirit) to live out the rest of my days, however many I have left, as an unashamed, unafraid daughter of the Most High God. Fear and self-justification stole my love for dad and his love from me. For 3 days I was a daughter. Yeah, I wish it had been more and in some moments I'm crushed under the weight of the loss of 49 years. And in other moments I'm overwhelmed by waves of gratitude for those 3 days. 3 days that my daddy and my Daddy taught me to be a daughter for the rest of my life. One moment in those three days continues to barge into my thoughts. It was a moment when I knew that I couldn't contain my emotions enough to stay in the room with him. I ran to the bathroom to cry. I cried for a little while and then washed my face. When I lifted my face to the mirror I was shocked to see my dad's eyes. No one ever mentioned the similarity to me, but I had been looking into his eyes for two days at that point. I have my father's eyes. It's an ever-present reminder to me that I belonged to him. I hope as I am transformed into the daughter God wants me to be, when I look into the mirror of His word, that it's an ever-present reminder to me that I belong to Him
All of this (including my grief) compels me to love more fully in all of my relationships. I'm understanding what it means to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. But those three days have given me a template for loving Jon and my children more fully. They have deepened my love for my brothers and sisters in Christ. They have widened my heart for strangers and for enemies. My grief holds both loss and gain - my emotions are getting mostly loss, my head is processing the gain. Maybe they'll balance out eventually. (It's a comfort to me that my dad is at this moment experiencing all gain.) Maybe I'm not "the sweetest little girl of them all", but "He rescued me because He delighted in me." He chose me. He adopted me. I'm His daughter. And maybe more often than not He says "I have no greater joy than to hear that my little girl is walking in the truth." All I know is that for 3 days I was a daughter. I want it to be 3+1+1+1+1.... and for the rest of my days. Jesus, help me. Amen.
And I do have a point.
In 1988 God radically changed my heart. And He continued to radically change my heart toward my dad. I don't remember the year it happened, but I remember the day that things actually changed in my relationship with him. He actually said the words "I love you gal" as I was heading out the door of his house. It was revolutionary. That was several years after my regeneration - and I believe it was a response to my intentional offerings of forgiveness to him combined with God's gracious work in his heart. I didn't do anything of huge significance when I was with him. Just being willing to talk to him, to ask advice, to look him in the face, to be with him and treat him kindly. He came around.
In the last 10 years or so... especially in times when I returned to OK to spend time with my parents... I noted an even easier connection with him. We laughed a little. I was able to joke a little with him. We shared books with one another. We shared crosswords with one another. We shared meals. It was more like getting together with an old friend. I was enjoying him without all that old stuff attached to it. Free from the old pain... free to love him as someone dear to me.
Then the three days before he died...
I'm not sure what happened. It was apparent that I didn't have much time left with him. Though I prayed the Hezekiah prayer, God answered "no." Something had morphed in my heart. I could only call him "daddy" - a name, frankly, I had reserved for my heavenly Daddy. It never seemed to fit my dad. But in those 3 days, it rolled off my lips with ease. I held his hand. I can't remember ever doing that - though I'm sure in my early years that probably happened. I kissed his head. We waved at one another as I left and entered the hospital room. I looked at his eyes constantly. I helped him drink. I helped him with his oxygen mask. I worried over his feet - trying to keep them covered and warm. I worried over his pillow, wanting it to be dry and comfortable. I prayed over him. I sang over him. On the last day, I climbed into the bed and put my head on his chest. In those three days I loved him unashamedly and spoke aloud words to him that only my own heart (and God) knew existed. And I said I love you frequently. And I said goodbye.
For 3 days I was a daughter.
I know that there really isn't any room for wishes and regrets in a child of God. I say that because no matter our sin, our failures... God redeems and uses. Regrets are a waste of time because in God's economy, mistakes and failures and the worst of sins are the minor chords in the worship song God is composing of our lives. Nothing is wasted on Him. But as God redeems, He teaches. I think if I had a do-over here, I would have risked being a daughter to my dad even when he wasn't a daddy to me. Maybe if I had loved him rightly in those earlier days of my salvation, instead of withholding my heart in fear, I might have known the man I knew for those three days. He might have felt the freedom to love me well. But... that's still not the main point... redemption is the point...
For 3 days I was a daughter. A real, honest-to-goodness daughter.
God is redeeming all the pain my dad and I invested. I'm about to be a real, honest-to-goodness daughter to Daddy God. When I think about how I loved my dad those three days... I recognize that the love I offer to my heavenly Father is sometimes stilted and labored. Am I memorizing His face... His eyes? Am I holding His hand? Am I kissing His head in worship? Am I purely serving Him and not just serving for service sake? Am I sitting at His feet? Am I curling up next to Him, breathing with Him, setting my life to His heartbeat? Am I speaking boldly what's in my heart? Am I listening quietly for each word from His lips? Am I longing for Him to remain with me? Am I cherishing THIS moment with Him?
January 14th will mark my "Jubilee" year. I'll be 50. There's a deep, compelling urgency in me (I believe by the Holy Spirit) to live out the rest of my days, however many I have left, as an unashamed, unafraid daughter of the Most High God. Fear and self-justification stole my love for dad and his love from me. For 3 days I was a daughter. Yeah, I wish it had been more and in some moments I'm crushed under the weight of the loss of 49 years. And in other moments I'm overwhelmed by waves of gratitude for those 3 days. 3 days that my daddy and my Daddy taught me to be a daughter for the rest of my life. One moment in those three days continues to barge into my thoughts. It was a moment when I knew that I couldn't contain my emotions enough to stay in the room with him. I ran to the bathroom to cry. I cried for a little while and then washed my face. When I lifted my face to the mirror I was shocked to see my dad's eyes. No one ever mentioned the similarity to me, but I had been looking into his eyes for two days at that point. I have my father's eyes. It's an ever-present reminder to me that I belonged to him. I hope as I am transformed into the daughter God wants me to be, when I look into the mirror of His word, that it's an ever-present reminder to me that I belong to Him
All of this (including my grief) compels me to love more fully in all of my relationships. I'm understanding what it means to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. But those three days have given me a template for loving Jon and my children more fully. They have deepened my love for my brothers and sisters in Christ. They have widened my heart for strangers and for enemies. My grief holds both loss and gain - my emotions are getting mostly loss, my head is processing the gain. Maybe they'll balance out eventually. (It's a comfort to me that my dad is at this moment experiencing all gain.) Maybe I'm not "the sweetest little girl of them all", but "He rescued me because He delighted in me." He chose me. He adopted me. I'm His daughter. And maybe more often than not He says "I have no greater joy than to hear that my little girl is walking in the truth." All I know is that for 3 days I was a daughter. I want it to be 3+1+1+1+1.... and for the rest of my days. Jesus, help me. Amen.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Tribute to my Dads (Shared at my dad's Homegoing)
There’s a command in Scripture that has a promise attached to it. It says this: “Honor your father and mother…that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.” It’s my desire that what is said here today about my dad will be honoring to him. I also want what I say about him to be honest.
(In memory of my dad - D. C. Taff who went home to be with Jesus on September 5, 2011.)
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
At age 33, I sat down with my Bible and wrote my dad’s name in one column on a piece of paper. In the other, I wrote God’s name. I listed their characteristics and compared them. Through my tears I saw the vast disparity between the kind of father my dad was and the kind of Father God is. I had to make a heart shift to believe that my Heavenly Father was all that He claimed to be because my dad’s reflection of Him was so distorted. Of course that’s true of all of us. None of us are sinless… none of us are perfect. I wasn’t the ideal daughter either.
Many of you know my dad from work. You know him to be a man of integrity, a hard worker, one who demanded perfection, skilled, talented, a man with a strong handshake and an unshakeable countenance. Others of you know him from his leisure time. If you’ve golfed with him, you know his love for the game, his determination and his joy. Maybe you even know about his ability to watch the PGA and sleep at the same time.
But as his daughter, I have the ability to fill in some blanks. For instance, dad could be a hard man. He had high standards and the same perfection he demanded in the workplace, he demanded in his home. As a child, if I’m honest, I feared him more than I enjoyed him. He was not an affectionate man. He had some vices that brought turmoil to our home. The fact of the matter is: he was an imperfect man who fought hard to be perfect. And fell far short of the goal – just like the rest of us.
Dad’s faith in Christ was a private matter. He told me that he received Jesus as his Savior in his teens at a church camp. He wasn’t one to elaborate… and he didn’t. I had my doubts about his commitment to Christ back then. We didn’t have the typical father-daughter relationship. It was missing the key ingredients of daily “I love you’s” and trust and hugs and tender moments. That just wasn’t dad’s way. Sadly, I figured he loved me only because he had to. But something happened later. I can pinpoint the day I noticed the difference. I was in my late 30’s. I had gone to my parents for a visit and before I left, dad hugged me and said, “I love you gal.” That was new… and profound… and life-changing. He was different. Because he was so private, he never said what turned him around. But I know. I know that God removed my dad’s heart of stone and gave him a soft heart, one that wanted to believe God and follow Him, and a heart that wanted to make right the mistakes he made. And he made them right.
He attended all of his grandkids graduations and delighted in them. In these last 3 years, my father travelled even with his ill health to all 3 of my kid’s weddings – a sacrifice on his part that I am deeply grateful for. There were countless ways that my dad’s life changed. He was kinder and more patient. His temper was less noticeable. He served people whole- heartedly. He read his Bible faithfully. He gave more. He laughed more. He loved my mom more. He loved us children more. But the greatest gift to me has actually been just recently.
My parents have been married for 55 years. I watched them dance at my son, Luke’s, wedding. It was an anniversary dance. Jon and I, Bryan and Janet, Steven and Christine were the last couples standing with them until they were left on the floor alone. Dad had saved his strength all evening for that one dance with his bride. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. But the tears that Bryan, Steven, and I shared were the most telling. You see, WE know the commitment of those 55 years. We know what God did to keep our parents marriage together. And we know what God has done to keep our own marriages together. My parents’ example is one of perseverance and love that has been through the toughest of the toughest trials and won. This last week I watched my parents love one another. It was supernatural. God’s grace sustained them and I saw the love of God moving in my dad in every coy wave of the hand, in every wrinkle of his nose, in every eyebrow that was lifted, in every raspy word he mouthed. His eyes delighted in my mom and in me and in my brothers. He hugged me with the last of his strength, refusing to let me go. He mouthed “I love yous” without a sound, but I heard them loud and clear. I remembered the comparison between my dad and my Heavenly Father many years ago – those ridiculous columns that I made - and a scripture came to me. It says “And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6) If I were to make those two columns again, there would be a lot more similarities than disparities. My dad’s life proves the faithfulness of God to conform us to His own image in whatever way He sees fit. Dad is finally perfect and is now, right this moment, looking in the face of the fulfillment of his deepest longing and his highest treasure: Jesus Christ. I will be eternally grateful that D.C. Taff is my dad and that I can still feel his arms around me. But I’m even more grateful that my dad is in the arms of my Heavenly Father, experiencing joy unspeakable and glory beyond comprehension. My eternal hope is affirmed in his eternal hope being fulfilled. Thank you, Daddy. Both of you.(In memory of my dad - D. C. Taff who went home to be with Jesus on September 5, 2011.)
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Daughters of the King
I was sitting here thinking about some of the talk shows on tv that showcase diversity in women... you probably know which ones I'm hinting at. They all have a different VIEWpoint and they all TALK as thought the world would perish without their opinions. I struggle with them because the claim is that, because they are women in different seasons and professions, at least one opinion at the table will be one that you can agree with. Their mouths never seem to parrott any of my thoughts. You are free to disagree, but that's how it is for me. I almost always have a different view... and maybe it's because I'm seated in a completely different place.
Tonight I sat with 4 amazing young women. We discussed the biblical roles of men and women in marriage and in ministry. Well, I'm afraid I pontificated more than discussed... but I'm the elder in the group. Oops... sorry men... probably should have used a different term. [grin] I'm older. I probably graduated several years before these women were even born.
This has been an exceptionally emotional week. I started my week with a chat with my mom. My dad is in the hospital. I won't share details, but I will say this: my mom is in an exceptionally difficult place right now. I bumped into another woman that is visiting for a couple weeks. She and I used to attend the same church. She's this vibrant, sometimes quirky, Spirit-filled-beauty of a woman that absolutely delights my heart. She rides motorcycles and makes me smile and has a heart for broken women. I met with two women over coffee and cookies, two of my closest confidants. Both of them ticked off a list of trials that would make anyone throw up a white flag in surrender. Our conversation spanned the gap of tomatoes to kids leaving to heartbreaks to pony haircuts to sex. Yes... I said the "S" word. I had breakfast with a woman that I meet with weekly. I love her. We catch up on the week's dramas. We try to encourage one another to take the next step... whatever that might be. Just before I left the restaurant to go home, another woman I know popped in. She wears a bandana and cap on her head. I've known alot of women, but I've never characterized too many of them as brave. But she is. Smiling she told me about how blown away she has been by the outpouring of love in our community and from her friends as she faces one of the toughest challenges anyone can face. I came home to find a plea for prayer and advice from my sweet daughter... we won't go into that... but I spent time today weeping and praying over her and then feebly attempted to counsel her. She is beyond precious to me. Moments later a friend of mine called in distress not knowing what to say to another woman that she loves so dearly... a life and death situation. My heart was broken again in prayer and tears for her. Later, I received an email from a woman that was precious to me, but whom I had hurt in some way. She missed me and wants to see me. Forgiveness happens. And then these 4.... it's usually five but one was missing from the fold. Turns out she spent the evening in the ER but didn't want to worry her friends. (She's going to be fine, by the way.) Back to the four...Tonight we talked about the other "S" word: submission. And relationships. And God's desire to see women flourish in ministry. And God's design for order and security and love in marriage.
If I took all these women and put them at one table, their ages would range from 22 to 83. Their spiritual backgrounds vary. They are from all kinds of denominations of faith. They are from all kinds of homes... some dysfunctional, some godly, some somewhere in between. They are from all sorts of vocations. Some are married, some are planning to marry, some wish they could marry, some wouldn't marry again if you paid them, some are trying to hang on to their marriages, some are trying to let go of them. But I think I could sit them all down at one table and ask two questions and get the same answer from all of them.
Ladies... what is your greatest need and what is your treasure? And they would answer in unison:
Jesus.
In engaging these women, I was reminded of my greatest need. How can I answer, counsel, teach, be kind, motivate, encourage, rebuke, rejoice with, weep with, be a friend to, serve or love any of these without Jesus? There is no true word, no comfort, no answer, no action, no joy, no love, nothing of any worth that I can offer apart from Him. Not of any worth anyway. And it is because of Him that I know them. Every perfect gift, including each of these women, comes from Him. They remind me that He is my greatest treasure.
My heart melts when I think of these women and all that they face and the way that they face it. Chins lifted up, faces to the Son... all of them. Gifts from the Father... all of them. Wonders to behold... all of them. I love them so. And oh, how Jesus must also. The daughters of the King are altogether beautiful.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Tonight I sat with 4 amazing young women. We discussed the biblical roles of men and women in marriage and in ministry. Well, I'm afraid I pontificated more than discussed... but I'm the elder in the group. Oops... sorry men... probably should have used a different term. [grin] I'm older. I probably graduated several years before these women were even born.
This has been an exceptionally emotional week. I started my week with a chat with my mom. My dad is in the hospital. I won't share details, but I will say this: my mom is in an exceptionally difficult place right now. I bumped into another woman that is visiting for a couple weeks. She and I used to attend the same church. She's this vibrant, sometimes quirky, Spirit-filled-beauty of a woman that absolutely delights my heart. She rides motorcycles and makes me smile and has a heart for broken women. I met with two women over coffee and cookies, two of my closest confidants. Both of them ticked off a list of trials that would make anyone throw up a white flag in surrender. Our conversation spanned the gap of tomatoes to kids leaving to heartbreaks to pony haircuts to sex. Yes... I said the "S" word. I had breakfast with a woman that I meet with weekly. I love her. We catch up on the week's dramas. We try to encourage one another to take the next step... whatever that might be. Just before I left the restaurant to go home, another woman I know popped in. She wears a bandana and cap on her head. I've known alot of women, but I've never characterized too many of them as brave. But she is. Smiling she told me about how blown away she has been by the outpouring of love in our community and from her friends as she faces one of the toughest challenges anyone can face. I came home to find a plea for prayer and advice from my sweet daughter... we won't go into that... but I spent time today weeping and praying over her and then feebly attempted to counsel her. She is beyond precious to me. Moments later a friend of mine called in distress not knowing what to say to another woman that she loves so dearly... a life and death situation. My heart was broken again in prayer and tears for her. Later, I received an email from a woman that was precious to me, but whom I had hurt in some way. She missed me and wants to see me. Forgiveness happens. And then these 4.... it's usually five but one was missing from the fold. Turns out she spent the evening in the ER but didn't want to worry her friends. (She's going to be fine, by the way.) Back to the four...Tonight we talked about the other "S" word: submission. And relationships. And God's desire to see women flourish in ministry. And God's design for order and security and love in marriage.
If I took all these women and put them at one table, their ages would range from 22 to 83. Their spiritual backgrounds vary. They are from all kinds of denominations of faith. They are from all kinds of homes... some dysfunctional, some godly, some somewhere in between. They are from all sorts of vocations. Some are married, some are planning to marry, some wish they could marry, some wouldn't marry again if you paid them, some are trying to hang on to their marriages, some are trying to let go of them. But I think I could sit them all down at one table and ask two questions and get the same answer from all of them.
Ladies... what is your greatest need and what is your treasure? And they would answer in unison:
Jesus.
In engaging these women, I was reminded of my greatest need. How can I answer, counsel, teach, be kind, motivate, encourage, rebuke, rejoice with, weep with, be a friend to, serve or love any of these without Jesus? There is no true word, no comfort, no answer, no action, no joy, no love, nothing of any worth that I can offer apart from Him. Not of any worth anyway. And it is because of Him that I know them. Every perfect gift, including each of these women, comes from Him. They remind me that He is my greatest treasure.
My heart melts when I think of these women and all that they face and the way that they face it. Chins lifted up, faces to the Son... all of them. Gifts from the Father... all of them. Wonders to behold... all of them. I love them so. And oh, how Jesus must also. The daughters of the King are altogether beautiful.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Gospel University
Last week was apparently the first day of school for many. How do I know this? Not because I still have small people at home... nope... I took a walk through my neighborhood one morning and there they all stood... small people with their big people... waiting... on at least every 3rd block or so. Then in the afternoon, Jon and I took a ride on the "mo-bike"... at first we thought, "wow, we must look like quite a spectacle for all these people to be sitting out on their porches waiting for us to drive by." [grin] Waiting for the exciting return home, moms were perched on porches and curbs and sitting in their cars in strategic spots... and then we got behind a bus dropping kids off with moms greeting them at the door with the "how'd it go?" I remember well.
This got me musing... what if today was my first day of school? Now, in my own mind, this is not a pretty picture. School "day ones" for me were frought with anxiety.
During my walk last week, I saw this one precious teenager. She was waiting for the bus... probably last year of middle school or first year of high school. Gorgeous young lady standing there in her jeans and fashion tees. Perfect hair and makeup. Just standing, relaxed, confident. Not a pen, pencil, notebook, backpack in sight. If I had it to do all over again... I would want to be like that. First day of high school... no biggie. But can I just say... that wasn't me... EVER.
No. Picture "Harry Potter's" Hermione on a severe caffeine and sugar high. That was me. I was the girl with a minimum of four pens (2 black, 2 blue) and 2 #2 pencils + 1 mechanical pencil, a highlighter, a bottle of "white out", a 3-ring notebook divided into 7-8 subject sections with extra loose-leaf paper, a journal, a pack of 3x5 cards, an extra book to read (in case there was "social time"), and my class schedule attached in plain view on the front of the notebook with a copy of the class schedule hidden away in my jeans pocket (right next to the locker combination) in case I lost the first one. My inner motto was "don't stand out, don't embarrass yourself, and don't fail." I was plain. In my own way, camouflaged. I didn't know how to dress cool or act cool. I just knew how to study. So, yes, I was the girl that came home with every book assigned in every class in my hands on the first day of school.
As for the "day one" experience... straight to my first class with my map of the school in hand, pre-marked and color-coded with the fastest routes to each classroom and alternate routes in case the first was too hard to navigate. In every class I took copious notes and made sure the syllabus was safely put away so I would never forget an assignment or a rule. All this came from too many times in elementary school when I forgot the rules or made mistakes and drew attention to myself. If at all possible, I hid at lunch and stayed away from any table that looked "fun" because fun could lead to embarrassment. If I made friends, it was because some wonderful parent taught their child to be kind. Some kind soul inevitably took pity on me and reached out.
So for me, in context, another first day of school is a nightmare.
But let's pretend I'm an enlightened adult... I know it's a leap... okay, so let's say I'm a Spirit-filled, saved by grace adult. Not such a leap. And today is the first day of school... I wonder would a fearless first day look any different? Would I be the girl that didn't see the need for a pencil? Would I throw caution to the wind and forget the copious notes? Would I smile more, look people in the eye more? Would I worry more about relationships and less about A's? Would I still be hyper-punctual or would I slide in at the bell? Would I learn just for the test or would I really learn? Would I seek out the fun table? Would I be the kind soul? Would I stuff my books in the locker at the end of the day and only do what was assigned? Would I be my normal uber-studious self or would I skip class now and then?
I think I know how I would be... because lately every day with God has felt like the first day of school. I'm in Gospel University. I'm taking a few remedial classes. Several subjects are just way over my head. I'm taking some level 4's. The syllabus is a sparse one. It simply says: Be conformed to the image of His Son. Pop quizes and labs abound every day. The dust from Jesus' feet flies up in front of me... sometimes I can barely keep up. Sometimes I just sit at His feet and learn. Sometimes we just walk from class to class together. I'm not learning for the sake of the test anymore... I'm learning for the joy of His company and to glorify His name. It's a stringent pass or fail system... with the exception of endless do-overs. His table is sometimes the fun table, and sometimes set in difficult places, but there's no one I'd rather lunch with. I'm never without pen and paper, always prepared to take copious notes... never without my journal because I don't want to forget one word, one truth, one glance from Him. I'm still not a social butterfly, but those He knows are becoming my friends too. And He doesn't seem to know a stranger. He's showing me how to engage people, to share with others, to be kind, to love. He's encouraging me to live boldly, to learn fearlessly, to teach freely, to fail honestly, to recover gracefully, to preach truthfully.
You know, I had some great teachers back then... but this... this is wholly (and holy) other. And I'm loving my schedule, and my subject, and my Teacher. And I'm looking forward to tomorrow - my first day of school.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
This got me musing... what if today was my first day of school? Now, in my own mind, this is not a pretty picture. School "day ones" for me were frought with anxiety.
During my walk last week, I saw this one precious teenager. She was waiting for the bus... probably last year of middle school or first year of high school. Gorgeous young lady standing there in her jeans and fashion tees. Perfect hair and makeup. Just standing, relaxed, confident. Not a pen, pencil, notebook, backpack in sight. If I had it to do all over again... I would want to be like that. First day of high school... no biggie. But can I just say... that wasn't me... EVER.
No. Picture "Harry Potter's" Hermione on a severe caffeine and sugar high. That was me. I was the girl with a minimum of four pens (2 black, 2 blue) and 2 #2 pencils + 1 mechanical pencil, a highlighter, a bottle of "white out", a 3-ring notebook divided into 7-8 subject sections with extra loose-leaf paper, a journal, a pack of 3x5 cards, an extra book to read (in case there was "social time"), and my class schedule attached in plain view on the front of the notebook with a copy of the class schedule hidden away in my jeans pocket (right next to the locker combination) in case I lost the first one. My inner motto was "don't stand out, don't embarrass yourself, and don't fail." I was plain. In my own way, camouflaged. I didn't know how to dress cool or act cool. I just knew how to study. So, yes, I was the girl that came home with every book assigned in every class in my hands on the first day of school.
As for the "day one" experience... straight to my first class with my map of the school in hand, pre-marked and color-coded with the fastest routes to each classroom and alternate routes in case the first was too hard to navigate. In every class I took copious notes and made sure the syllabus was safely put away so I would never forget an assignment or a rule. All this came from too many times in elementary school when I forgot the rules or made mistakes and drew attention to myself. If at all possible, I hid at lunch and stayed away from any table that looked "fun" because fun could lead to embarrassment. If I made friends, it was because some wonderful parent taught their child to be kind. Some kind soul inevitably took pity on me and reached out.
So for me, in context, another first day of school is a nightmare.
But let's pretend I'm an enlightened adult... I know it's a leap... okay, so let's say I'm a Spirit-filled, saved by grace adult. Not such a leap. And today is the first day of school... I wonder would a fearless first day look any different? Would I be the girl that didn't see the need for a pencil? Would I throw caution to the wind and forget the copious notes? Would I smile more, look people in the eye more? Would I worry more about relationships and less about A's? Would I still be hyper-punctual or would I slide in at the bell? Would I learn just for the test or would I really learn? Would I seek out the fun table? Would I be the kind soul? Would I stuff my books in the locker at the end of the day and only do what was assigned? Would I be my normal uber-studious self or would I skip class now and then?
I think I know how I would be... because lately every day with God has felt like the first day of school. I'm in Gospel University. I'm taking a few remedial classes. Several subjects are just way over my head. I'm taking some level 4's. The syllabus is a sparse one. It simply says: Be conformed to the image of His Son. Pop quizes and labs abound every day. The dust from Jesus' feet flies up in front of me... sometimes I can barely keep up. Sometimes I just sit at His feet and learn. Sometimes we just walk from class to class together. I'm not learning for the sake of the test anymore... I'm learning for the joy of His company and to glorify His name. It's a stringent pass or fail system... with the exception of endless do-overs. His table is sometimes the fun table, and sometimes set in difficult places, but there's no one I'd rather lunch with. I'm never without pen and paper, always prepared to take copious notes... never without my journal because I don't want to forget one word, one truth, one glance from Him. I'm still not a social butterfly, but those He knows are becoming my friends too. And He doesn't seem to know a stranger. He's showing me how to engage people, to share with others, to be kind, to love. He's encouraging me to live boldly, to learn fearlessly, to teach freely, to fail honestly, to recover gracefully, to preach truthfully.
You know, I had some great teachers back then... but this... this is wholly (and holy) other. And I'm loving my schedule, and my subject, and my Teacher. And I'm looking forward to tomorrow - my first day of school.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
No More Empty Nest...
Today I saw a little boy sitting with his mom having lunch. His mom was easily delighted with his non-stop chatter about their day. He was waiting as patiently as a 5-year old can wait while mom finished her salad. Apparently salad takes longer than nuggets. What intrigued me was this mom's steady reveling in the moment, nodding and "yesing" and smiling and laughing. I'm sure she had somewhere else to be, something else to do... but it would wait. Her nest is considered full and she is loving it.
It made me think about my "empty" nest. Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave. To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband. But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty. Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.
First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family. I thanked God today for the ability to remember. Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay. Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school.
Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules. Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible. Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens. Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies. Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh. Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.
My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.
Secondly, Jon is still here. Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!" Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage. But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture. But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building. Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches. We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together.
My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.
And finally, I'm never alone. I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart. Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me. For a few moments, I switched places with my children. Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us. Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us. Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace. I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory. Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty. It is full because God doesn't really do empty. In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled. No empty nest here...
My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
It made me think about my "empty" nest. Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave. To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband. But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty. Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.
First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family. I thanked God today for the ability to remember. Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay. Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school.
Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules. Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible. Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens. Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies. Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh. Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.
My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.
Secondly, Jon is still here. Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!" Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage. But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture. But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building. Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches. We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together.
My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.
And finally, I'm never alone. I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart. Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me. For a few moments, I switched places with my children. Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us. Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us. Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace. I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory. Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty. It is full because God doesn't really do empty. In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled. No empty nest here...
My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Thursday, August 11, 2011
A Burning Day
There’s a scene in one of the J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" books where Harry is alone in Professor Dumbledore’s office. He meets Fawkes, a Phoenix, for the first time. While he is admiring him, Fawkes bursts into flame and becomes an ash heap. Harry freaks a bit, and Dumbledore comes in. Dumbledore tells Harry that Phoenix’s go through seasons… they burst into flames and then they are reborn from the ashes. He says to Harry, “Pity you had to see him on a burning day.”
A burning day. I've been thinking Christian's are Phoenix-like. The first "burning day" is our salvation. By God's magnificent grace we are moved to the place of faith. In a moment, we die and are regenerated, a new creation from the ashes of sin and death. Witnesses of such a transformation are dumbfounded. Some appalled. But we rise. And we begin again.
But I think I continually experience "burning days". And I often want to say to those around me - "Pity you had to see me on a burning day." I don't appear to be at my best. So, for the most part... I withhold my burning experiences. I dodge witnesses. This has been my recent modus operandi. I actually set apart today as a "burning day." In my mind, it's a needful, yet painful thing. The meter on my heart and head registers full. There's no space left for another emotion, another "to do", another should, must, want, or would. It's almost paradoxical for it's not the right kind of fullness. It's a fullness that is empty. Just stuff. A hodgepodge of pent up emotions unprocessed, of to-do lists left undone, of duty piled upon grief. It requires a good emptying. Or a burning.
Romans 12:1 says, "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship." Recently I've had my attention drawn to the command to keep the Sabbath holy. My pastor has earnestly taught on what he has termed "Gospel Rest" - sabbathing.
I think my Sabbaths are burning days. For me, a burning day is Gospel rest. It is my spiritual act of worship. It's a burning sacrifice followed by a resurrection. It means throwing my hands up in repentance and surrender, wetting the wood of the cross with my tears, falling on the altar of God's grace, and trusting as God burns up my "flesh" in the truth of the Gospel... the truth that says "Come to Me... and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you - not the world's yoke, not your own, but Mine - and learn from Me." It's the truth that bears a cross and births a disciple; the truth that His grace is sufficient; the truth that Jesus is My highest joy and my deepest satisfaction; the truth that there is no rest for My soul apart from Him and that apart from Him I can do absolutely nothing of eternal significance.
Like Fawkes on his burning day, rising from the ashes follows. In wonder I will be able to get to my feet... smaller... more clumsy... more fragile... and more dependent. But I will be at rest in Him, having "calmed and quieted my soul" (Psalm 131:2a) in the certainty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and growing toward the next burning day.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Friday, June 17, 2011
Happy Anniversary... More Than Happy!
27 years today. I've been thinking about marriage all week. And if there is anything I'm more and more sure of, it is marriage really is about sanctification. Jon and I weren't Christians when we first married. We're the first to admit we got off to a rocky start. But here's the thing... every year that passes is one more reminder that we aren't the same people who got married in 1984. God has used countless circumstances ranging from the births of our children to job moves and job losses to friendships to the baggage we each brought to our relationship - all used to conform us to the image of His Son.
But this morning I'm thinking that of all the tools the Holy Spirit has wielded in my life for my good... Jon has been the most effective one. Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father and he is certainly the perfect choice for me. Because of our vast differences, we both have been forced to change... to move toward one another on things that we would otherwise handle in completely different ways. Our love for Christ and our love for one another has demanded that we relinquish our own "rights".
I recently had an epiphany. I've not been able to articulate it in a way that means anything to anyone but me. I only share it here because it becomes part of my (our) story and I think it's an example of the way God works in marriage. He uses time to blow us away. Our family was faced with some major changes a couple years ago. Without going into details, one of the events shut me down emotionally. And then, like life often does, events piled up on one another and I read my life through the lens of self-loathing. Because of that, I started frantically looking for things to prove I wasn't as worthless as I felt. I was writing - my manuscript mysteriously disappeared from the planet. Jon suggested that I get a job. At one point, I had 15 resumes out and not one bite. Ministry had been completely haulted. I could go on... In the middle of it, I had determined that God had given me "one talent" and had taken it away because I messed up somewhere. The elusive mistake was the problem - the whole mess had started because I did something that I truly believed God had asked me to do - it just didn't turn out the way I expected it to turn out. In the end, I found myself with LOTS of solitude and LOTS of anonymity - which I interpreted this way: God has rightfully shelved a useless tool.
And then there is this epiphany...
I recently read an excerpt from a puritan dude named William Law. It's flowery and lengthy, but the paraphrase is something like this: "Those who have no particular employment, that have time on their hands and greater liberty to live for themselves are under a greater obligation to live wholly unto God in all things. Their freedom lays them under a greater necessity to choose and do the best things. They are the ones of whom much will be required because much is given to them. Their duty is to make wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves to God, aspire to holiness, endeavor to do good works, and to please God. God has given them the "5 talents" since He has given them time and freedom, has enriched them with financial stability, leaving them with seemingly "nothing to do" but to make the best use of their giftings, blessings, and their short lives. He has given them liberty to serve Him and their neighbors, to imitate the great servants of God, to study, to be sanctified, and to set no bounds on their love and gratitude to the bountiful Author of all these blessings."
My husband's care of me has become to me the sweetest gift of sanctification. God has used Jon\'s faithful stewardship of his own gifts and callings, to put me in a position of "no particular employment" - to now have the liberty to follow hard after the God who created me and serve Him with a fuller obligation, a 5-talent responsibility. Because Jon loves me and has taken our roles seriously these 27 years, because he has granted me the gift of staying home with my children, because he has faithfully loved me in my feeble attempts of submission, God has led us to this place, this time. He has moved me from "worthless servant with no talent" to a servant at liberty to serve her God, her husband, her family, and her church/community with 5 talents. He has set in my heart an urgency as I approach my "Jubilee" birthday - to make use of the time left to glorify God and to submit my "talents" for the gospel. All good gifts come from God, but God has soveriegnly ordained for me that many of them were to come through my husband. I recognize that more today than ever.
When I look back on the last 27 years, Jon's constant care of me is God's grace to me. If my life were a movie, it would be titled, "The Many Faces of Denise". Every five years my husband wakes up to a new woman. And not always a well-adjusted one. :) And there are times that he has been downright infuriating, but I've always trusted Christ in him. Though I've experienced waves of insecurity, Jon is a covenant keeper. Though we've faced financial uncertainty, Jon is a trustworthy, faithful provider. Though I physically have morphed to something other than what he married, he still wants me. When I've been emotionally crippled, he has not run out on me in frustration or confusion. When I've been judgmental and self-righteous, he has forgiven me and received me back. When I've been too afraid to choose, he has chosen with me. When I've finally found courage, he has stood with me.
Today, if someone were to ask me, "What is the greatest gift God has ever given you?" I would first say "He rescued me at the cross because He delighted in me." And I would add, "And then He gave me Jon Dorminy." I'm a better lover of God because God loves me. And because Jon loves me. 27 years of sanctifying love. God-ordained, grace-filled, incomprehensible saving, sanctifying love.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
But this morning I'm thinking that of all the tools the Holy Spirit has wielded in my life for my good... Jon has been the most effective one. Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father and he is certainly the perfect choice for me. Because of our vast differences, we both have been forced to change... to move toward one another on things that we would otherwise handle in completely different ways. Our love for Christ and our love for one another has demanded that we relinquish our own "rights".
I recently had an epiphany. I've not been able to articulate it in a way that means anything to anyone but me. I only share it here because it becomes part of my (our) story and I think it's an example of the way God works in marriage. He uses time to blow us away. Our family was faced with some major changes a couple years ago. Without going into details, one of the events shut me down emotionally. And then, like life often does, events piled up on one another and I read my life through the lens of self-loathing. Because of that, I started frantically looking for things to prove I wasn't as worthless as I felt. I was writing - my manuscript mysteriously disappeared from the planet. Jon suggested that I get a job. At one point, I had 15 resumes out and not one bite. Ministry had been completely haulted. I could go on... In the middle of it, I had determined that God had given me "one talent" and had taken it away because I messed up somewhere. The elusive mistake was the problem - the whole mess had started because I did something that I truly believed God had asked me to do - it just didn't turn out the way I expected it to turn out. In the end, I found myself with LOTS of solitude and LOTS of anonymity - which I interpreted this way: God has rightfully shelved a useless tool.
And then there is this epiphany...
I recently read an excerpt from a puritan dude named William Law. It's flowery and lengthy, but the paraphrase is something like this: "Those who have no particular employment, that have time on their hands and greater liberty to live for themselves are under a greater obligation to live wholly unto God in all things. Their freedom lays them under a greater necessity to choose and do the best things. They are the ones of whom much will be required because much is given to them. Their duty is to make wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves to God, aspire to holiness, endeavor to do good works, and to please God. God has given them the "5 talents" since He has given them time and freedom, has enriched them with financial stability, leaving them with seemingly "nothing to do" but to make the best use of their giftings, blessings, and their short lives. He has given them liberty to serve Him and their neighbors, to imitate the great servants of God, to study, to be sanctified, and to set no bounds on their love and gratitude to the bountiful Author of all these blessings."
My husband's care of me has become to me the sweetest gift of sanctification. God has used Jon\'s faithful stewardship of his own gifts and callings, to put me in a position of "no particular employment" - to now have the liberty to follow hard after the God who created me and serve Him with a fuller obligation, a 5-talent responsibility. Because Jon loves me and has taken our roles seriously these 27 years, because he has granted me the gift of staying home with my children, because he has faithfully loved me in my feeble attempts of submission, God has led us to this place, this time. He has moved me from "worthless servant with no talent" to a servant at liberty to serve her God, her husband, her family, and her church/community with 5 talents. He has set in my heart an urgency as I approach my "Jubilee" birthday - to make use of the time left to glorify God and to submit my "talents" for the gospel. All good gifts come from God, but God has soveriegnly ordained for me that many of them were to come through my husband. I recognize that more today than ever.
When I look back on the last 27 years, Jon's constant care of me is God's grace to me. If my life were a movie, it would be titled, "The Many Faces of Denise". Every five years my husband wakes up to a new woman. And not always a well-adjusted one. :) And there are times that he has been downright infuriating, but I've always trusted Christ in him. Though I've experienced waves of insecurity, Jon is a covenant keeper. Though we've faced financial uncertainty, Jon is a trustworthy, faithful provider. Though I physically have morphed to something other than what he married, he still wants me. When I've been emotionally crippled, he has not run out on me in frustration or confusion. When I've been judgmental and self-righteous, he has forgiven me and received me back. When I've been too afraid to choose, he has chosen with me. When I've finally found courage, he has stood with me.
Today, if someone were to ask me, "What is the greatest gift God has ever given you?" I would first say "He rescued me at the cross because He delighted in me." And I would add, "And then He gave me Jon Dorminy." I'm a better lover of God because God loves me. And because Jon loves me. 27 years of sanctifying love. God-ordained, grace-filled, incomprehensible saving, sanctifying love.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Thursday, March 10, 2011
When Theology Becomes Doxology
I love musicals. I recently savored “Les Miserables” via DVR. The music builds along with the plot. At one point, the lives of all the characters collide and the music seems to do the same. Part after part is added until there is this culmination of voices and music, crescendos and cymbals… if you’re like me… it’s the moment you anticipate and your inner core resonates and exults in the moment. It’s the portion of the musical where you join in, where your own heart has met with the story and the story becomes real. I love that!
Our church has been studying through the book of Romans together for about a year. After 11 chapters of Paul building doctrine on doctrine, truth on truth, we reached 11:33-36. Those four little verses burst off the page – the culminating musical moment, crescendos and cymbals – the point where truth breaks into praise, the point where theology becomes doxology. One verse away from the “therefore” that takes us from precept to praise to practicum.
And really, that’s the way discipleship probably ought to work. We discover what God wants us to know and believe and at some point we have a Luke 10:21 moment. The point where Jesus says [and this is a very loose paraphrase] “YES! She gets it!” My “aha” moments when the Spirit blows away the dark clouds of ignorance and my eyes see truth as something I really can lay hold of. But I think I’ve been skipping a step. Jesus rejoiced when the disciples “got it.” I tend to want to get truth and run straight to the doing. But Paul doesn’t do that. He expounds and then is overwhelmed by the person of God, the heights and depths of His wisdom and grace and mercy and power. He breathes in the wonder of it and exhales compulsory praise. Where is THAT moment in our discipleship? The moment right before we obey. The “aha” moments where Jesus says to us (like he did to Peter) over and over again: “Blessed are you… for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.” Ever had one of those times where you thought, “You MUST be the Christ, the Son of the Living God… because I’m way to thick skulled to have come to this on my own.” Well… maybe I’m alone in that. But when I do have those moments… I shouldn’t just rush to the practicum. I should take some time to wonder at Him, to be blown away by His willingness to condescend to speak to me, to explain to me, to have mercy on me; to behold God who alone knows and understands, creates and works through all things.
Yes, the practicum must come. But obedience isn’t obedience if it isn’t based upon truth. And truth is best obeyed when our heart is in an attitude of awe and dependence upon the One who revealed it to us in the first place. If I skip the doxology, the practicum might be more performance/works based than true theology lived out by the Spirit. When God reveals Himself and His salvation and His ways to our finite little hearts, it is a mercy to us. And sometimes He does that precept upon precept, her e a little, there a little. And each truth builds on another and then one day the AHA comes, the culminating musical moment of the crescendos of truth and cymbals of Spirit-power pound within us. Inner applause should erupt and melt into awe inspired obedience. I’m thinking to be a faithful disciple… I really shouldn’t skip the beat of praise.
Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy
Our church has been studying through the book of Romans together for about a year. After 11 chapters of Paul building doctrine on doctrine, truth on truth, we reached 11:33-36. Those four little verses burst off the page – the culminating musical moment, crescendos and cymbals – the point where truth breaks into praise, the point where theology becomes doxology. One verse away from the “therefore” that takes us from precept to praise to practicum.
And really, that’s the way discipleship probably ought to work. We discover what God wants us to know and believe and at some point we have a Luke 10:21 moment. The point where Jesus says [and this is a very loose paraphrase] “YES! She gets it!” My “aha” moments when the Spirit blows away the dark clouds of ignorance and my eyes see truth as something I really can lay hold of. But I think I’ve been skipping a step. Jesus rejoiced when the disciples “got it.” I tend to want to get truth and run straight to the doing. But Paul doesn’t do that. He expounds and then is overwhelmed by the person of God, the heights and depths of His wisdom and grace and mercy and power. He breathes in the wonder of it and exhales compulsory praise. Where is THAT moment in our discipleship? The moment right before we obey. The “aha” moments where Jesus says to us (like he did to Peter) over and over again: “Blessed are you… for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.” Ever had one of those times where you thought, “You MUST be the Christ, the Son of the Living God… because I’m way to thick skulled to have come to this on my own.” Well… maybe I’m alone in that. But when I do have those moments… I shouldn’t just rush to the practicum. I should take some time to wonder at Him, to be blown away by His willingness to condescend to speak to me, to explain to me, to have mercy on me; to behold God who alone knows and understands, creates and works through all things.
Yes, the practicum must come. But obedience isn’t obedience if it isn’t based upon truth. And truth is best obeyed when our heart is in an attitude of awe and dependence upon the One who revealed it to us in the first place. If I skip the doxology, the practicum might be more performance/works based than true theology lived out by the Spirit. When God reveals Himself and His salvation and His ways to our finite little hearts, it is a mercy to us. And sometimes He does that precept upon precept, her e a little, there a little. And each truth builds on another and then one day the AHA comes, the culminating musical moment of the crescendos of truth and cymbals of Spirit-power pound within us. Inner applause should erupt and melt into awe inspired obedience. I’m thinking to be a faithful disciple… I really shouldn’t skip the beat of praise.
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