Author Archives: PearlS

I have been sitting on my front porch more than usual. It’s warmer, for one thing, and I’m no longer walking the kids to school. Maybe it is to avoid the dog, who wants to climb up into my lap (she is not a lap dog, nor do I invite or even like lap dogs). She stays off my lap, out of my business, and in the backyard until I’ve had coffee and read or written a bit. Gretty joins me on the porch while two of the boys think about dragging their bodies out of bed and Lu reads upside down on the couch.
It is us two, just girls, and I’ve had a lot of busy-in-the-morning little boys to know to appreciate a little girl doing her little girl thing. Gretty loves worms and roly polies and is often on the hunt for things to add to her orange five gallon bucket. She talks to her little critters like a mother. Oh you precious little guy, don’t you worry. We’ll get you nice and cozy in your bucket. Do you need a pretty flower? You do? Oh, you sweet little thing, we can get you a flower! 

Yesterday, she pressed a tiny ball of a roly poly into my palm and urged me to love it while she prepared its new home. I examined the ball and its neatly plated armor hiding the soft inside secrets that tell it to move. After a moment to decide he was safe, it unrolled itself onto its curved back and squirmed ten or twelve little legs in the air, begging for me to flip it over.

This creature, a walking shell. A miniature military vehicle that cruises my vast concrete driveway and suddenly dries up when death takes over. What makes up its last moments? Does it raise one last leg up into the air, too weak to go on? I bet its wee brain, no more than a spark of instinct, simply shuts down. It halts like a toy whose batteries have run out. You could never convince me that several million years of development separate me from it. Millions of years should have upgraded this life form to its advantage; he shouldn’t just be scooting around on pavement, but rather sitting inside at the kitchen table.

I will never be a person who willingly argues a young earth viewpoint. But I can vouch that for me, only creation makes sense. The miracles expressed in a given day–have you seen how small and frail a dandelion seed is, yet the root of such a weed fixes itself in the dirt like an anchor?–the wonder of creation speaks. Environmentalists, activists, and Greta Thunberg are on the right track, sort of. There is something about this old-young earth worth saving, redeeming, or at least paying some attention. It is profound: For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities–his eternal power and divine nature–have been clearly seen…so that men are without excuse. (Romans 1:20)

Just by marveling at creation we are testifying we see Him. We see God’s handiwork; we hold roly polies in our hands. We’ve seen babies born. We’ve picked vegetables out of our garden, we’ve eaten food from the ground. We’ve climbed mountains and watched sunsets. We’ve swam in the ocean. We are without excuse.

One time I met a rocket scientist during cello lessons. I was sitting on the couch, waiting for Jubal to wrap up his session, a massive textbook spread on my knees. Nerdy draws nerds, I suppose, and the man across the coffee table stopped strumming his guitar and asked me what I was studying. We fell into an easy conversation, pondering the pros and cons of various educational systems. I asked him what he did for a living. He began describing solar flares and how to measure them, and then he told me of a three million dollar machine prototype he would drive next week, strapped in his car like a baby, to Washington DC.

As usual, I felt pretty out of place talking to someone so qualified. Obviously he was important–though I’m not sure I know why solar flares need to be measured. But finally, at the ripe old age of the mid-thirties, I don’t feel threatened and I don’t mind asking foolish questions. Astronomy, rocket science–it’s not in my wheelhouse. I hardly know anything, not about the stars and sun, not about how to measure them, or even why man tries. I have enough faith to believe there is a God who holds it all in balance, who has a plan I’ll never even understand. I’m not curious about how solar flares work, at least not until it applies to me in an existential way.

I will not spend my life questioning how the universe has been put together. Eventually, we will know it–science is simply the mystery of God being distilled in a way humans can comprehend, with our limited tools of comprehension. It’s like the miracle of life itself, how several years ago we couldn’t imagine the secrets of the unborn child within the mother’s womb, yet now we can see the babe by ultrasound, sucking its thumb and dancing, patiently waiting for her day to be revealed. The more we uncover, the more we are without excuse. Science is a marvelous mechanism in the hands of the Father, but speaking for myself–I don’t think I need it. I live with a moral obligation to trust that even in the things I cannot see or understand, God has my best interests in mind. This is the security of every believer. Our eyes are fixed on Him.

But oftentimes, as I am in the habit of writing, an idea plagues me until I must fiddle with it until I understand it. I don’t need to know why I’m here anymore–I’m solid. What  I need to know is how to answer questions for people I love. It is the question, as Francis Shaeffer put it, How Should We Then Live?
I am desperate to know, determined to put it on paper. Thank goodness we’ve got the Bible, but even the Bible is read through our human lens and often misinterpreted. I grew up sandwiched between scare tactics and midwestern work ethic. Grace rarely figured into the equation. I need better vision. I lack wisdom, I am cynical. I fall into rhythms of hopelessness and doubt.

God, help me, I plead, and He never, ever ignores me.
Most people know the Lord’s prayer, the template Jesus offered when his disciples asked Him how they ought to pray. We all have it memorized, as simple as reciting a nursery rhyme:
Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…

But after Jesus taught them, he gave a little story. He talked about a guy who was at home, asleep in bed, his kids snuggled up around him. All of the sudden, there is a knock at the door. It’s his friend who lives down the road. His buddy yells through the window, “Hey man, sorry to bother you. Can you lend me three loaves of bread?”
The man inside is slightly annoyed. It’s the middle of the night, his kids are asleep, and he doesn’t want to be bothered.
Jesus says, “I tell you, though he will not get up and give him the bread because he is his friend, yet because of the man’s boldness he will get up and give him as much as he needs.”
This, apparently, is what God wants from us. Boldness in asking questions.

“I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.”
(Luke 11)

These words of Jesus are life to me. Lord, I can ask questions. I’m at your door every night and all day long. God, lend me your ear. I am not leaving till you throw me some bread.

As Gretty gently puts the little roly poly back into the flower bed–“he just loves my crazy flowers,” she giggles, referring to the wild flower seeds she’d sown the day before–I stand on the doorstep and knock. I’ve got questions that need answers–for Gretty, my early morning bug hunter, my future teenager, my forever baby girl.

God, how should we then live?

A couple months ago, I shut down my personal Instagram account.

This is not earth-shattering news, nor do I mean to overemphasize it as if I’ve really done something amazing and selfless. My husband doesn’t participate in any form of social media, and to him quitting social media is no bigger deal than turning the TV off when it’s time to go to bed.

I realized, when it wasn’t that simple, that I had given too much time, wrapped myself in the false security of feeling known. I had commented on thoughtful posts, entered some pseudo-community where no one really cares, but opinions and clever quips are appreciated for a nanosecond. You know, before we scroll down to the next picture on the list.

I think we all know this deep down, but it sure feels good to be counted among the folks we admire. We want applause and assurance, and this is what social media offers. We can laugh and joke about it, but it’s more complicated when we try to untangle ourselves from its grip.

When I’ve brought this up to friends, when I’ve come right out and admitted it was my idol, possibly an addiction–something I thought about and looked forward to and plotted how clever I could be, they looked away. When I confessed I had dreams about various people I followed, as if I knew them in real life, they laughed.

They kindly patted me on the back and said I take things too seriously. It’s an outlet, they said, not a problem. You stay at home, no wonder you want a little interaction. We all feel better when we pretend it’s superficial nonsense. It makes us uneasy to admit we have fallen for such a painted-up version of life, that quite possibly we are wasting our lives away, consuming pixels.

Cal Newport raises the red flag on this rarely regarded phenomenon:

…the fact that our humanity was routed by these tools over the past decade should come as no surprise…We’ve been engaging in a lopsided arms race in which the technologies encroaching on our autonomy were preying with increasing precision on deep-seated vulnerabilities in our brains, while we still naively believed that we were just fiddling with fun gifts handed down from the nerd gods.
Digital Minimalism, 2019

I think the obsessiveness is actually what alerted me to the dangers. It occurred to me, after I’d deleted Instagram off my phone, that I’d been even more wrapped up in the app than I’d initially thought. I only followed 60 people or so, but I’d cultivated a nice group of writers, speakers, literary agents; all which spoke deeply into my life, my hopes and dreams. I invested in my heroes and beamed when they noticed me. I thought I had a handle (little instagram pun for ya) on what was going on. I thought I was simply keeping my toes in the water, my poker in the fire, so to speak. These actions would build my platform, these little duties of commenting, liking, subscribing, sharing would help me someday with my own voice. I would hashtag my way into a book deal, and my insta-idols would have seen it coming all along. Because of my loyalty to them, they would, in the future, promote my books and tag me in emotional, spine-tingling insta-stories.

Anyone with half an eyeball could see this slippery slope, right? Resign yourself to the ways of the world if you want success. No one has ever told me otherwise. No one, that is, except for my dad, the most backwards person of all time. He’s always examined and challenged every tiny bit of the world, down to its cogs and hinges. I’ll admit, this sort of questioning and mild suspicion doesn’t make one an easy person to get along with–but since I am my father’s daughter, it has never left me.

Throughout my day, I am measuring things against a yardstick, Truth. Everything versus Truth. My mind picks it apart into miniscule pieces; I weigh what I hear with what I know, and then I do research for fun. I nail down the proof, then I move on to my next curiosity. I know I’m a nerd, but I’m comfortable with it. It is a bizarre, underrated gift…maybe. Discernment–that’s what I prefer to call it.

There was one little insta-story that bumped its way into my feed at the same moment I happened to be studying the minor prophets. If you know me, you’ll know I’ve been wading through these not-so-popular guys for a couple years now. For some reason, I can’t shake the remarkable similarities between the people of then and our culture today. The ache of sorrow by a God whose people have run into the arms of other lovers. The just and holy God, wooing them back, warning them they are only destroying themselves.

On Instagram, one of my favorite present-day authors posted a stunning photo of a peace monument made of melted firearms and Isaiah 2:4 printed below: They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.

This verse is echoed in Micah 4–a beautiful image that follows repentant worship: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths…” He will judge between many peoples and will settle disputes for strong nations far and wide. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Micah 4:2-3

But my dear author friend was using it as a call to social justice, a jab at the second amendment, a denunciation of school shootings. It was misplaced, a verse taken out of context. Rewind to Joel, and the call is reversed:

Proclaim this among the nations: Prepare for war! Rouse the warriors! Let all the fighting men draw near and attack. Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruning hooks into spears. Let the weakling say, “I am strong!” (Joel 3:9-10)

There is a time for war; there is a time for peace. But there always seems to be a time for misplacing verses on Instagram. It was very clear to me–less screen time would silence the confusion.

Still, I am aware not everyone is consumed by minor prophet study. Most, however, have a cell phone and routinely scroll for entertainment. It feels like my duty to push the red warning button. This is where I love to write, in the median, with my yardstick handy.
So I will begin.

Jen Hatmaker is one of my former faves. She is a master of semantics. Make no mistake, she is a pro when it comes to persuading others and proving her point. I have admired her for years. Clever, funny, smart, she gained a following–a tribe, she calls it–women who eat her words like truth straight to their gut.
I am fascinated by her. Years ago, she was a writer mom like myself, mastering her domain, poking fun at the chores of life, enjoying small moments rich with meaning, and answering the deeper questions that plagued her. From what I can tell, her first book was a lucky break, but each successive book propelled her into a bigger spotlight. I was introduced to her book, 7, and so enjoyed the model of a year-long, month-by-month challenge that I laid out my own book in the same fashion.
Hatmaker’s career evolved from writing into speaking and eventually what she called “bridge building”, riding the waves of a public paid-ministry in the era of social media boom. I watched as her convictions changed and as she shifted her feet, looking for her people. I’m not sure if it was fame, fortune, or plain old people-pleasing that instigated it, but subtle things skewed her perspective. She tentatively lowered a flag that stood for Jesus and replaced it with a swinging door of modern philosophy, raising questions on what exactly dictates a spiritual compromise.

She gave interviews that snuck in concessions. Her journey had led her to doubt, and she labeled it a refinement of faith. Meanwhile, her popularity was growing and her cool factor was through the roof. She apologized to people she viewed as marginalized and poorly treated, particularly the LGBTQ community. Everyone is safe and welcome, she assured them. She tucked them under their wing and promised there was a place at God’s table for them. They were her tribe, she declared, and she wouldn’t ever again settle for such a stingy view on God.

My jaw dropped. A flashing red warning signal began spinning in my head.
I had to sit for a while with my yardstick before I understood for myself where it all went off the tracks. It wasn’t the issue of welcoming the unwelcome. I’m all for it; I’ve always felt like an outsider myself. There is a big table set, and I think someday our minds will be blown by the people we meet in Heaven. The deeper, graver matter was how Jen Hatmaker no longer stood as a conduit for Jesus, but rather a new philosophy on grace. And Jesus was no longer a part of it.

Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let him be under God’s curse!
Galatians 1:7-8

Jen Hatmaker hasn’t been the only one. A whole list of beautiful people I’ve had my eye on have disappointed me with their words and choices. Hatmaker seems to have the thickest skin among them all–and I don’t mean to tear anyone apart–but I’ve seen these leaders, once solid and grounded, change their tune. Their initial, unique voice grew louder and morphed into political activism or social justice, or hints of a pseudo-freedom apart from Christ. It baffles me, but it isn’t unheard of.

It is well-documented: people are easily swayed. We move to the beat of our convictions, feelings, upbringing, circumstances, and better judgment. If you desire something, you’ll look for ways to enable your lust. If you hate someone or something, you will find ways to justify your hate. It is what sin is all about; it is the fruit of human nature. Think of Hitler, think of Stalin, Mussolini, North Korea, Communist China. Think of Republicans and Democrats, CNN and Fox News. Think on how they all reached or reach just far enough to scratch the ears of the people around them, how they stoke a fire that was already burning in the hearts of those who agree with them. Think on how they eschewed a sound mind and truth in favor of power and propaganda. Think how they established their own tribes, people who rise and fall at their whim. History is full of leaders leading and followers, following. We trace it back even to the time of Jesus–important-looking people swaying weak-minded individuals and convincing them to follow along. Blind men leading blind men, Jesus called the Pharisees, “both headed for the pit.” (Matthew 15) In one breath, Jesus dismissed these phonies and didn’t make any apologies about it. He was never afraid of offending the greater religious community, even though they actively sought to catch him in lies, to destroy him. He called a spade a spade.

In our culture today, we wonder how to approach hurting people with the love of Jesus, but there is confusion on who to approach and how to do it. We often err on the side of being sensitive, and we come off as wimps or half-hearted, already defeated door-knockers. But there are two clear sides. Ephesians 5 is an astounding, word by word recipe for saints. Unmarked by impurity, immorality, idolatry, idiocy–we are to light the world up and “expose the unfruitful deeds of darkness.” The chapter says, “do not let anyone deceive you with empty words–have nothing to do with them!” (Ephesians 5:6-7). These empty-worded ones are the folks on the other side of the tracks, people who “did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, so God gave them over to a depraved mind so they do what ought not to be done (Romans 1).
I’ve realized that this is the offense in following Jesus today. It is intolerance to sneaky, empty words and a depraved mind. It is exposing darkness. It’s the forsaking of the white-washed tomb people. The ones who look admirable and dress up Christianity as model living, using power, prestige, and beauty–to influence babies in the faith.

See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ. Colossians 2:8

We are thumping on watermelons, trying to spot the bad ones. Pointing them out is going to cost us big time.

Our same Jesus peeled back the exterior of our heart. He exposed our real intentions when it comes to relationships. It was disarming for Jesus to say, “if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them…But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return…” (Luke 6:32,35)

It is natural to love those we love, gain the admiration of folks like us, and think we must have a good thing going. It is upside down, however (not to mention unprofitable), to seek the good of our enemies, to invest in things that do not profit us. If we bend so naturally to our own inclinations, how then can we do the unnatural? How can we inhabit the perfect spirit of Christ and love our enemies? How do we abide in truth so we won’t be swayed by what isn’t true? How can we become genuine leaders and faithful disciples rather than puppet celebrities and gawking audience members?

This is what I so long to ask my brothers and sisters who fall for the quick wit and false humility typical of our modern teachers. What credit is it to us to love what is easy to love, that which costs us nothing more than mindlessly scrolling social media? We let our “influencers” lead us astray, one tiny step at a time, and meanwhile we have no idea how we lost our way. We don’t know why it is we believe a certain flavor or half-truth. We don’t know how to defend our faith that has been watered down by rote human arguments.

How quickly our faith falls apart when we rely on our own wisdom and the Jen Hatmakers of today! If we do not know what is true, if we don’t ask God to reveal to us what is Truth, how in the world can we refute what is false? How can Jen Hatmaker or news media outlet or any voice in your earbuds not sway you to whatever version of truth they prefer? You have, by default, willingly made yourself vulnerable to the arrows of the enemy. And if you don’t believe there is an enemy, you likewise deny there is purpose in some higher Truth, say, that life itself has meaning. You deny there is any holy work yet to be done in your life. Believe me, this lie is uglier and more dangerous than we give credit. I can’t even wrap my mind around how this works. In 2 Thessalonians there is a perplexing description of God sending people who don’t love the Truth “a deluding influence so they will believe what is false.”
Simply put, we have got to cling to Truth. We’ve got to crave the pure milk of the Word.

Has Jen Hatmaker forgotten who we are as men and women, professed believers in Jesus and “co-laborers in Christ”? Has she forgotten we are to be leading people to this real Life, the one true shepherd of their souls, not stamping unrighteousness with a good housekeeping seal of approval? We are to kneel, broken over our sin, filled with love and hope for our fellow broken humans.
We are to live transparent before God: “Seek me, know my anxious heart, try my thoughts and lead me in the path of everlasting”–a cry that rallies all of us unworthy sinners longing for redemption.

When a doctrine is created only to uphold a man’s logic, a springboard for launching one’s own self-promoting opinions, we should see this as a red flag. Such a platform ultimately (and publicly) denying there is a God in Heaven whose ways are “higher than ours” and “too wonderful for me to understand”. You see, there is only one Creed worth holding to, and it didn’t bubble up and out of the heart of man. It is Love that led Jesus, a perfect man, God-in-flesh, to the cross to die, a perfect sacrifice on our behalf. It is what will lead us to our own deaths as well, a death that will finally lead to real, victorious life.

An oracle is within my heart concerning the sinfulness of the wicked:
There is no fear of God before his eyes.
For in his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin.
The words of his mouth are wicked and deceitful;
He has ceased to be wise and to do good.
Even on his bed he plots evil;

He commits himself to a sinful course
And does not reject what is wrong.
Psalm 36:1-4

Proud. Not God-fearing. Flatters himself and doesn’t even think there’s a thing wrong with it. Lying. No longer wise, no longer does good. Committed to his own cause because he can no longer decipher between good and evil.

What rattles me is our response to such false teachers. We are supposed to recognize these tomb people for who they truly are, but it is complicated. They look awfully clean on the outside. They easily convince us–they toss out ideas like unity, acceptance, peace, generosity– and it is a simple matter to fall in line. It hardly requires anything of us, only that we agree. Anybody can quote a Bible verse here and there. Taylor Swift could spin a proverb into a catchy ditty that everyone will sing along to, but to know God, to wrap yourself around the entire story, to plunge the depths of wisdom in the Word, to be absolutely wrecked, changed, and be conformed to the likeness of Jesus Christ–this is a whole other story. This is what God intends to do with us when we are drawn to Him.

It serves us well to poke holes in the wisdom of the world, to flat out refuse to fall in line with the modern prophets, to dissect their words under a high-powered microscope lens. It isn’t, as influencers would like to sway us, unkind. No. Pull out your measuring stick and see if what they are saying sizes up.
The most difficult next move is calling them out. It’s the matter of dragging the dark things into the light. People with power hate to be exposed. For the whistleblower, the consequences of exposing lies for what they are leads to persecution. Nothing is more hurtful than being ostracized, the physical distancing of your old friends from you.

“Blessed are you when people persecute you and say all sorts of false things against you,” Jesus said. He told us this was coming, and he said our reward was waiting for us in Heaven. Imagine that! Our persecution is our very assurance that He will make it all right one day.

Can I say, fellow laborers, listen closely. Pray for wisdom and clarity in this day, because confusion reigns and there are many who want you to follow them. Don’t be a person who blindly follows when the truth is displayed clearly in your Bible. Pick it up, read for yourself. Hide His Word in your heart, tattoo it to your soul.  Ask God to help you understand, to be able to distinguish what He says as opposed to what popular leaders say. The true believer is broken by his sin, not emboldened by his own voice.

And then, my friends, when you realize this is your battle: speak up. Clear your throats and speak louder, be a sign spinner and neon-light your way to leading people to Jesus. You don’t have to have a snazzy podcast of your own or charisma that slaps people over the head. Elevate the lowly. Shake the dust off your feet. Position yourself in such a way that is efficient and productive. Live as honest and humble as you can. Use your gifts, even the nerdy, Bible-studying ones, to bring the Kingdom right here, right now. It won’t hurt to get the heck off Instagram.
You were made for this.

 

Knowledge is proud it knows so much; wisdom is humble that it knows no more.

William Kowper