shorts.

I'm currently doing a Beth Moore Bible study with my small group called "Believing God," and it's just fantastic. This week's homework has us going through the first 15 or so years of our lives and remembering different "GodStops" along the way. Everybody in our group comes from such different backgrounds that it can't help but make for interesting (and powerful) group discussion...
Anyway, today I had to think through ages 10-15 in my life, which wasn't necessarily pleasant at first because that meant middle school and a lot of uncomfortable memories. But then I remembered something that happened in 7th grade, which I will share with you starting...NOW.

Once upon a time in the 7th grade, I went to a private school. This particular school had some very nice staff and some very not-so-nice students...but I suppose that is the case in just about every middle school. This school also had a rule that no one, except for kindergartners, could wear shorts.

Now, this school is in Charleston, SC. And come about mid-March, the temperature can rise to about 90 degrees or so mid-day. AND they had a rule that we had to go outside for recess every day. So you can imagine the misery for all of us, 1st grade and up, during April and May. You may be saying to yourself, "Why didn't the girls wear skirts?" Well, I was rather tomboyish in style those days and would rather have boiled in the sun than wear a skirt...

So I decided to investigate the history of this ridiculous rule. After I found out that it had been established on faulty (in my opinion) logic, I decided to do what I could to remedy this situation. In other words, I decided to become an activist for students' rights. After talking it over with my parents, my mom showed me how to write a petition and suggested that I get my fellow students, who joined me in my complaints, to sign it. So I drafted a petition for the teachers to allow us to wear shorts during the hot spring and summer months, while agreeing that we would keep them at a modest length at all times.

One fateful day (I think it was a Thursday), I took my petition to school. I decided not to show any teachers what I was doing until after I had obtained a sufficient number of signatures. I didn't want them to stop the democratic process before we had the chance to be heard. So I went around between classes and during recess, and the number of signatures grew.

However, a few girls, who had been excited to add their names at first, suddenly feared that I was being subversive and was going to get them all in trouble. One by one, they tried to talk me out of showing anyone the petition. One girl in particular snatched the petition out of my hand and scratched her name off the list, tearing the paper in the process. Very upsetting.

Finally, after realizing they weren't going to stop me, one of them went and told the teacher. I may as well have been throwing a coup d'etat by all the fuss being made. I was so upset by this Judas-like betrayal that I ran to the bathroom in tears. Several friends came to comfort me, saying I was doing a great thing - "Don't give up!" they said. But it was too late - the authorities took over.

My teacher, Mrs. Dickerson, made me stand in the hallway with her while she called my mom. I have to stop here and explain that, as a child, whenever I thought I had done something wrong, I would start crying uncontrollably. I hated being in trouble, no matter what the reason. So by this point, I was pretty much sobbing. Mrs. Dickerson handed me the phone, and I remember being surprised as my mother almost shouted into the phone, "Your dad and I are SO PROUD of you, Sarah! WOW!"

What? I was in trouble, and my mom was proud of me? I was amazed.

I had to take my petition to the principal of the school. In retrospect, I think both she and my teacher were trying not to laugh at the scenario, especially when they saw the issue the petition addressed. Then my mother came and picked me up early, carrying cake and chocolate eclairs. We went home and celebrated as a family. My parents were so proud that I had stood up for something, that I had done it honorably, and that I had even suffered for the cause - no matter what the result was. A day that had promised to be traumatic had instead turned out to be monumental in a very different way.

So what happened? Well, the very last week of school, in late May, the entire school was allowed to wear shorts if they chose. And while I ended up not going to that school in 8th grade, I got wind that there had been a permanent change in their dress code. They decided to go with uniforms for their students...but navy-blue shorts would now be included as an option.

And in my parents' support that day, I got a glimpse of God's pleasure that will stay with me forever...all because of shorts.

q&a

Tonight, my band and I read through John 11 together. This is the part in Jesus’ story when His friend Lazarus got very sick and was expected to die soon. Instead of rushing to the scene to help and heal, Jesus waited two more days.

His justification for waiting so long? “This sickness will not end in death,” He said.

But alas, Lazarus did die*. And Jesus waited until after Lazarus passed to even think of traveling to his town. When He got there, He found Lazarus’ two sisters, Mary and Martha, grieving over their immense loss.

When she saw Him, Mary fell on her knees in reverence, realizing that Jesus was still the Sovereign Son of God. And then she said the only words she could find to say – words that, I think, came from a blend of faith, grief, and anger. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Her faith was displayed by her acknowledgement that He indeed could have saved Lazarus from death. Her confusion and/or anger, in my opinion, was revealed by one word: “If...” I wonder if that “if” was really screaming another question – “If You could have saved him, why didn’t You?”

When I imagine this scenario, I can almost hear a faintly accusing tone in Mary’s voice, and suddenly I know the pain she is feeling.

Questioning God usually comes out of great pain, doesn’t it?

Face it – we all have moments in our lives when we question God. I don’t chalk it up to spiritual immaturity, either. I’ve been walking with God for 18 years, but if I said I never questioned Him or got angry when I didn’t understand His ways, I’d be lying. I imagine you would be, too.

And at a certain point in your spiritual walk, the question changes. In the early days of our faith, the question we may ask God is, “Are You powerful?” But at a certain point, after we establish in our hearts that He really can do what He says He can do, and yet He doesn’t do it, the scarier question becomes, “Are You good?”

The thing is, God is not threatened by our questions or by our anger. He also is not fooled or unaware of what we’re thinking. So why don’t we just be open about it?

If you’re afraid of God’s response to your questions, be sure to look at Jesus’ response to Mary’s words. He did not chastise her. He did not rebuke her.

He watched her weep, and He was “deeply moved in spirit and troubled.” Shortly thereafter, He wept too.

The Son of God wept. He had just been challenged, in a way, because Mary didn’t understand the bigger picture, but instead of getting angry and setting her straight, Jesus felt exactly what she felt and wept with her.

How about that for our God, huh?

Here’s what I want to say to you. If you’re mad at God, just say it – to Him. He can handle it – believe me. He can handle all your anger, disappointment, and fear. But here’s the catch – don’t stay mad. What on earth good does it do?

I think after you express your doubts, anger, questions, or whatever it is, you may experience a peace that you didn’t know was possible in your situation. At least, that’s been my experience. God treasures your honesty, too. Just don’t forget that He’s, you know, GOD – still the same God from the Old Testament, the One that created the universe and smote nations…in other words, He’s a whole lot bigger, greater, and smarter than you. Fortunately for you, though, He loves you beyond measure.

And if you’re in a season of weeping right now, doesn’t it comfort you to know that Jesus weeps with you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Other thoughts:
My friend Gale suggested that maybe one of the reasons Jesus waited for Lazarus to die was so that He would know the loss of a loved one, like so many of us have experienced, and so He would know how to comfort us in our sorrow…Food for thought, I guess.

*(For those of you who haven’t read this story, Jesus does actually bring Lazarus back to life and restores him to his sisters – after four days in a tomb. Sometimes God lets things die completely so that, when He brings them back to life, the only one who could possibly get the credit is Him.)