The Prodigal Journey

This isn't my most recent writing--that one is next, but this is one I never posted and feel the need to post now...

We all know the story of the prodigal son—it is such a beautiful picture of God and of his unyielding love for us. He never stops waiting at the door for us to return. He always welcomes us home. He runs to greet us with open arms.

I cry just about every time I read that story. I love the simple beauty of it all. But as I was reflecting on this story today, I had a thought… What about the journey the prodigal son took to get home to his father? In the parable, recorded in Luke, Jesus doesn't tell us what happened between the pigsty epiphany and the reunion of father and son. It just says that the son got up and went.

So what was this prodigal journey like?

I have quite the imagination, so as I ponder this question, I have a mental image of the son, setting out on this journey, dressed in rags, weak from hunger, and in general, in bad shape. Knowing what I know about Jesus' day, I am fairly certain that there were no sidewalks for him to walk along, and he had to maneuver through roads that today would be called wild terrain. I imagine a "road" that was narrow, filled with rocks and animal manure, and probably with trees with thorns. Again—that could just be my imagination.

As he walked along this "road," (again, I hesitate to call it a road in our sense of the word) I think of him stumbling from weakness, and probably falling flat on his face on more than one occasion. His hair was probably matted with dirt (and who knows what else!) but he didn't care. No matter how many times he fell and no matter how terrible he looked, he kept putting one foot in front of the other out of hope, but probably surrounded by a little fear, too.

And when he finally got close to home, it happened. His father saw him, and ran to greet him. Again, my imagination runs away from me sometimes, but I imagine the son sagging into his father's arms. I see him collapsing, and relying on his father to hold him up. The journey was hard, and now that he is home, he is going to let his father take care of him—clothe him, nourish him, and give him rest.

The son in this story had strayed so far—so far, in fact, that I am sure he never thought he would see his father again. And there he sat in the mire and muck that is a pigsty. (Not that I would know, because let's face it, those of you who know me know that I would never end up in/near/around a pigsty.) And it hit him—the son thought, "I don't HAVE to be here. I have a perfectly good home with a father who loves me. What am I doing here?" So without a second thought, he got up and set out for home.

And here is where it gets hard. The journey for the son could not have been easy. The story doesn't say he saved up some money from his job, or that he went home and got provisions. It says he got up and went. No looking back.

And as I said earlier, I don't imagine the road home was an easy road. Each rock that caused him to stumble was a consequence for his choices. Each time he fell from weakness –that was a consequence. Each thorn that cut his flesh, each rock that cut his foot, and each ghost that whispered failure in his ear were consequences to be endured.

As I am walking my own prodigal journey, I am reminded of the consequences of my actions. Not just my sin, but my actions, too. Everything I do—each of my actions, has an equal and opposite reaction. (Shout out to Mr. Pace—my high school physical science teacher…) The journey that I face as I walk back to my Father is wrought with consequences—the consequences of my choices. Some of them are good—but some of them aren't. And like the prodigal son's journey, my journey will end with open arms.

I read a quote today that struck me. It was by, of all people, Leonardo DiCaprio. He said, "We're all after love, aren't we? Love is what people are hungry for." Love is what people are hungry for… I totally agree with that statement. But the love people are hungry for isn't on this earth—it is in the open arms of the father—waiting for my return from my prodigal journey.

Broken to beautiful:

Growing up in Korea had so many benefits. One was kimchi. For those of you who know what it is, you are in one of two camps. Camp 1: best food ever. Camp 2: who wants to eat fermented cabbage? How disgusting. Love it or hate it, it was a benefit. (Clearly I fall into camp 1!)

In order to make kimchi, you have to get these clay pots, called *drumroll* Kimchi pots. I know. Creative. They come in a variety of sizes, but all the same shape. They are shaped like a vase—narrow opening that bows out to its widest point, and then it comes back to a narrow bottom. Oh yeah, with a lid. They are sturdy—Korean’s make beautiful pottery called celedon. These kimchi pots are not in the same category. These pots are definitely function over form.

Anyhow, back to the point. As I grew up in Korea, kimchi pots were everywhere—from the side of the road, to the local market, to… you name it. But another thing that was prevalent was the broken shards of pottery we would find while playing outside.

One day when I was four or five, my friend Jason McCoy and I were hiking the mountain behind our houses. It was just something we did. We definitely grew up in a different time, different place! So there we were, hiking around, probably playing something like war. But I remember tripping and falling and cutting my hand on a broken piece of kimchi pot. I remember thinking, “Useless broken kimchi pot—get rid of it…” OK, so those might not have been my exact words, but you get the gist.

Fast-forward 25 years. Over the last 2½ years, God has brought me to remarkable highs—closer to Him than ever before. When I lived in Korea the four years previous, I took a little vacation from seeking God. I pretended to seek Him, but for the most part, I sought my own pleasures. (BTW, it didn’t work out for me so well…) When I moved back here, God got my attention—subtly, because that is whom He chose to be at that point. And steadily, over time, God brought me closer to him. And I loved it—every minute of it.

And then, I went and shattered it all. I have been making such unwise choices these last few months. I have broken my life—and my functioning into a million little pieces. Like that kimchi jar from my childhood, I feel useless, broken and disposable. Just throw me away.

You see, I keep thinking that I was created for one purpose—like that kimchi pot. And once broken, it no longer serves a purpose and should be gotten rid of. But my God—creator God, provider God, loving God, has other plans. Thankfully. You see, just because I started out for one purpose doesn’t mean that is my only purpose. I may have started out as a kimchi pot, but that doesn’t mean I will stay one forever. In fact, brokenness comes, no matter how well cared for things are.

I am offering up to God my brokenness right now. I don’t see any value in the shards of my life—my most recent purpose is broken, too. But God doesn’t see brokenness when he looks at me. He sees the potential for my next stage in life. He is taking the broken bits of pottery that I am crawling on my hands and knees to offer him—and it is all I have to offer him, and he is beginning to rearrange those bits.

No—I don’t look like a kimchi pot any more. I don’t know what I AM going to look like when He is done. But this much I know is true—whatever it is, I will be a new creation—just with a lot more character.

Standing in the Shadow...

Monday night I went with some of my girlfriends to a place called Sips-n-Strokes. It is a cool place—you go and take a bottle of wine (if you want) and learn how to paint a picture. We went, sans wine, and painted a picture. I will post it sometime soon. Mine was not nearly as good as Lindsey’s, but that is beside the point. When we were done, we took a picture—all six of us holding our paintings in front of us. As we said “Cheese!” Christy Drake said, “We’re standing behind the cross!”

Standing behind the cross… What does it mean to stand behind the cross?

Monday night, I had the privilege (really?!) of disposing of my first mouse. I got home from work today to find a little mouse waiting for me. I screamed. Like a little girl. Then I did what any other 32 year old woman would do… I called my dad. Fortunately for me, not so much for the mouse, the pest control guy was coming over that afternoon.

I called Corie to make sure that he really was coming over, and he was. So when Corie got here, he found the little sucker, and set lots and lots of traps for him. Every time I saw the mouse, to set the record straight, I screamed… Yeah. Just call me Jenny the Brave. ☺

So I went out to paint with my sweet friends, all the while wondering if my glue traps with peanut butter had done their jobs. On the way home, I was talking to Ramsi, and made her stay on the phone with me until I could see if the traps had done their jobs. Unfortunately for her ears and hearing, they had. But it was strange—the traps with the peanut butter were empty. One of the traps far away from where I left him had this poor little mouse stuck on it.

The mouse—I never thought I would say this—but I felt sorry for the mouse—once I was done squealing. He was stuck to this glue paper. The more he moved, the more stuck he got. The more he thrashed about, the more he was mired in the glue. And he couldn’t get out. No matter how hard he tried.

Being the girl that I am, I used tongs to pick the glue paper up and took him to the outside garbage can and tossed him. I was feeling sort of sorry for him, but really, I was glad he was gone. But as I tossed him, I thought—I feel like I am that mouse some times…

The glue trap, very obviously, is like sin… The more I thrash about in it, the more mired in it I get. I get stuck, and start to thrash, trying to get out. And rather than allowing the blood of Christ—and the cross to speak for me and get me out of my messes, I continue to thrash about, trying to get out with my own strength. Spoiler Alert—it doesn’t work…

So what does this have to do with standing behind the cross?

Well, everything in life has to do with standing behind the cross. God’s love is so overwhelming, so all encompassing, so complete, that standing behind the cross should be so easy. Any yet it isn’t.

Standing behind the cross means that I am not seen—that Christ is seen instead of me. I like to think that I am OK with that, but I must not be since I spend so much time in front of the cross… mired in sin and the muck that is my life when I strike out on my own.

Standing behind the cross isn’t as easy as it seems. Total and complete submission is hard—and it is even harder when you think you are submitting, but aren’t. I am so completely in that category. I think that I have been submissive and have really followed God’s will… but I haven’t! And realizing that is a kick in the pants.

So tomorrow morning when I wake up (more than likely in a panic because I don’t have anything ironed and I have overslept… like usual!) I will decide to stand behind the cross… and I will decide again 20 minutes later. Well, if I make it that long before needing to make that decision. And I will continue to decide all day long to live in the shadow of the cross. And sometimes I will succeed. And other times… Well, other times I won’t. And I will ask for God’s forgiveness. And God—the I AM, the creator of all created, lover of my (imperfect) soul, WILL forgive me.

God loves me, and will restore me. No matter how many times I wander out of the safety of the shadow of the cross.

The Inventors Curse

Inventors curse...

I know—it is a phrase you probably have never heard before. It came from a blog I read regularly—www.prodigaljohn.com. Jon Acuff is a friend of mine from college. I remember meeting him my first week at Samford. I think it was even at orientation. Jon was this loud kid from Boston wearing a US Postal Service uniform shirt. Everything was “wicked,” and Jon was cool. And even more baffling, Jon was friends with me. Who knew?

Anyhow, back to this idea of “inventors curse.” Jon defines it as “that little voice inside us that says, ‘No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this.’"

For those of you who know me, you know that I am usually stuck between the need to control and the need to be perfect. Not a good place to be. I feel like the little ball in that old Atari game—Pong. Control is on one side, and perfection is on the other side. I bounce back and forth… back and forth… Now, I don’t demand perfection from anyone else but myself. But honestly, that adds enough stress to my life that expecting others to be perfect might just put me completely over the edge.

The other day, I was reading Jon’s blog, and he was posting about what do to with a prodigal son or daughter. Jon was talking about things that parents can do to help their children who have gone astray, or to keep them from going astray. The first two were good—excellent, in fact. The first was that your life has currency. He basically said that your life experiences have weight and value when it comes to your own prodigal. The second is that you close the gap by creating firm boundaries. And the third was removing the “inventors curse.”

I began to really think about the inventors curse. I think it is Satan’s most effective tool in pulling me away from God. You see, when I sin, Satan starts to creep in and say to me “You are the only one—no one understands what you are going through…” And when I buy into it, I buy into this scam of the inventors curse. Satan isolates me—because I honestly believe that I am the first or the worst. And rather than finding strength from my friends or others who have struggled with these same things, I try to do it on my own. Remember—I am constantly bouncing between control and perfection!

But you see, I am not the first or the worst. I am not the first to commit a sin, nor am I the worst. In fact, I am far from it. And I forget that so often. I forget that my sin carries as much weight as anyone else’s. My sins are as painful to God as the “worst” sin of the “worst” sinner.

And the worst thing about the inventors curse is that it founded in pride—that my thoughts, my choices, my actions, my words, my sins are so original and so bad that Jesus’ blood doesn’t cover them. How arrogant am I to think that? How belittling to the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. How prideful.

And when I buy into the inventors curse, I allow myself to be separated from anyone who really can help me. If I didn’t invent that particular sin, then there are people out there that know what I am going through, and can help me. You see, there is safety in numbers. No—I am not talking about the advice my parents gave me when I went to college. I mean, that Satan attacks when we are most vulnerable. I am most vulnerable when I am alone—physically and spiritually. When there is no one holding me accountable and no one supporting me, then Satan attacks with a vengeance.

Ecc. 4:9-12 says “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: 10. If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! 11. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? 12. Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” Two are better than one. And three are better than two. And four are better than three… I think you get the idea. The more people I have supporting me, the less chance there is of me allowing the inventors curse to take hold. And the greater chance I have of being successful against Satan’s attack.

So as I sit here, thinking about all that I have done wrong—all my sin—equal in Gods eyes to any sin out there, and I have a choice. I can choose between buying into the inventors curse, and living a life of solitary guilt and shame. Or I can buy into the Inventors cross—and let the blood of Christ cover my sins and me.

So tonight I took my personality profile. It is scary how accurate it was! Here is the summary... I would love to know what your profile says... (http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes3.asp)

Guardians of birthdays, holidays and celebrations, ESFJs are generous entertainers. They enjoy and joyfully observe traditions and are liberal in giving, especially where custom prescribes.

All else being equal, ESFJs enjoy being in charge. They see problems clearly and delegate easily, work hard and play with zest. ESFJs, as do most SJs, bear strong allegiance to rights of seniority. They willingly provide service (which embodies life's meaning) and expect the same from others.

ESFJs are easily wounded. And when wounded, their emotions will not be contained. They by nature "wear their hearts on their sleeves," often exuding warmth and bonhomie, but not infrequently boiling over with the vexation of their souls. Some ESFJs channel these vibrant emotions into moving dramatic performances on stage and screen.

Strong, contradictory forces consume the ESFJ. Their sense of right and wrong wrestles with an overwhelming rescuing, 'mothering' drive. This sometimes results in swift, immediate action taken upon a transgressor, followed by stern reprimand; ultimately, however, the prodigal is wrested from the gallows of their folly, just as the noose tightens and all hope is lost, by the very executioner!

An ESFJ at odds with self is a remarkable sight. When a decision must be made, especially one involving the risk of conflict (abhorrent to ESFJs), there ensues an in-house wrestling match between the aforementioned black-and-white Values and the Nemesis of Discord. The contender pits self against self, once firmly deciding with the Right, then switching to Prudence to forestall hostilities, countered by unswerving Values, ad exhaustium, winner take all.

As caretakers, ESFJs sense danger all around--germs within, the elements without, unscrupulous malefactors, insidious character flaws. The world is a dangerous place, not to be trusted. Not that the ESFJ is paranoid; 'hyper-vigilant' would be more precise. And thus they serve excellently as protectors, outstanding in fields such as medical care and elementary education.

Functional Analysis:
Extraverted Feeling

ESFJs live in their Extraverted Feeling functioning. Feeling, a rational (i.e., deciding) function, expresses opinions easily in the E world of objects and people. ESFJs have the ability to express warmth, rage, and a range of other emotions. Actions are encouraged or rebuked based on how they affect other people, especially people near and dear to the ESFJ. This type's vocal decisiveness predisposes many of its number to facility with administration and supervision.
Introverted Sensing

The secondary Sensing function aids and abets the dominant Fe in that sensate data is collected and at once compared with the inner forms or standards. Data on which decisions are made are thus focused and given a contrast which tends to be stronger and clearer than the original stimuli. The strengthening effect of Si on Fe may be responsible for this type's reputation for wearing their "hearts on their sleeves." At any rate, ESFJs reflect the "black and white" view of reality which is common to the SJ types.
Extraverted iNtuition

Intuition is tertiary--as the ESFJ matures, and as situations arise which call for suspension of criticism, Ne is allowed to play. Under the leadership of the Fe function, iNtuition allows for a loosening of the more rigid Si rights and wrongs; teasing and slapstick humor emerge. ESFJs are also capable of discerning patterns and philosophies, but such perceiving is subject to the weakness of the tertiary position, and the results often lack the variety and complexity of connections that more complex systems require.
Introverted Thinking

The inferior Ti function may rarely be expressed. In fact, ESFJs may take affront at the aloof, detached nature of dominant Ti types, or conversely, be drawn to them. Some ESFJs construct rationale which have the appearance of (Jungian) Thinking logic, but under scrutiny are in fact command performances of "Thinking in the service of Feeling," (i.e., Thinking-like conclusions which do not obey the tenets of impersonal logic; they rather construct scenarios from only those "hard, cold facts" which support the conclusion reached by the dominant Extraverted Feeling function. To wit:

You don't sew with a fork, so I see no reason to eat
with knitting needles.
-- Miss Piggy, on eating Chinese Food

Famous ESFJs:

U.S. Presidents:
William McKinley
William J. Clinton

Jack Benny
Desi Arnaz ("Ricky Ricardo")
Don Knotts ("Barney Fife")
John Connally (former Governor of Texas)
Terry Bradshaw, NFL quarterback
Sally Struthers (All in the Family)
Mary Tyler Moore
Dixie Carter (Designing Women)
Steve Spurrier, Heismann trophy winner, Univ. of Fla. football coach
Sally Field
Danny Glover, actor (Lethal Weapon movies, Predator 2 Margaret Butt
Nancy Kerrigan (U.S. olympic figureskater)
Elvis Stojko (Canadian olympic figureskater)
Fictional ESFJs:

Babbitt (Sinclair Lewis)
Hoss Cartwright (Bonanza)
Leonard "Bones" McCoy (Star Trek)
Monica (Friends)
Haleh (ER)
Donald Duck
Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh