Faith trips me out. It’s more elusive than anything and yet it promises more than anything at the same time. It’s definitely one of those things only God could have thunk.

And that’s the point: God. But I so often forget this. Instead, I get caught up in the notion that faith is about circumstances. Like, for example, if I pray for something and it turns out well, then it’s a sign of my faith. And if I pray for something and it doesn’t turn out well, it’s a sign of my lack of faith because if I really had faith, the circumstances would have turned out the way I had hoped or expected. But this is where my faith gets all messed up.

I was reading again in Hebrews 11 & 12 today. I often refer to Hebrews 11 because I like to be reminded of all those people who had faith to do great things like “overthrow kingdoms, shut the mouths of lions, quench the flames of fire, escape death by the edge of a sword, etc.” (Hebrews 11:33). It says “their weakness was turned to strength.” I like this because as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got way too many weaknesses and not enough strength…and quite frankly, reading it makes me feel a whole lot less depressed about my lack of strength. You know, like there’s actually hope for me.

But that’s not the whole enchilada. Verse 35 says, “But others trusted God and were tortured, preferring to die rather than turn from God and be free.” Somehow saying that there were other people WITH JUST AS MUCH FAITH who were “mocked, had their backs cut open with whips, chained in dungeons, died by stoning, sawed in half, killed with the sword, went hungry in skins of sheep & goats, were oppressed and mistreated” (vs. 36 & 37) doesn’t quite make me feel as empowered. Sawed in half? Where can I sign up?

But verse 39 says “All of these people we have mentioned received God’s approval because of their faith…” (emphasis mine). So, just because things in life don’t turn out “well,” doesn’t mean I lack faith. Faith is keeping my eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2), not the circumstances.

Hmmm. I guess there is hope for me after all.

This is the continuation of this post. (By the way, I forgot to mention something with regards to confession and that is, confessing your sin to the person you sinned against is also a very good thing when possible. Small detail.)

OK, moving on…

Action Step #2: Forgive those who have sinned against you.

I already hear it, “WHAT? Amy, I suspected you were an idiot and now you just confirmed it. That person doesn’t deserve forgiveness. They deserve to rot in hell for what they did to me.” Well, perhaps they do. I’ve spent a fair amount of time myself fantasizing about how a few people should be tortured, maimed and made to die a slow and agonizing death.

But here’s a little secret about forgiveness that turns the whole darn thing upside down: When we forgive someone else, it’s not solely for the benefit of the other person—it’s very much for our own benefit. Why? Well first of all, when we are unforgiving, bitterness and resentment are inevitably part of the equation and believe me, there ain’t nothin’ good about harboring bitterness and resentment—it’s another form of a slow and agonizing death…our own slow and agonizing spiritual death.

Second, it separates us from God. I don’t know about you, but if I ain’t got God, I ain’t got nothin’…because, as you can plainly see, I’m a big, fat LOSER on my own.

Third and very significantly, being unwilling to forgive someone is like…well, remember when I mentioned that you are on a journey and you’re carrying a boatload of crap behind you? Well, when you don’t forgive someone who has sinned against you, it’s as if you willingly handcuff yourself to that person. Now, not only do you have your own boatload of crap to lug behind you, you’ve also got to (#1) be tied to the person you don’t really like in the first place and (#2) YOU’RE ALSO DRAGGING AROUND THEIR CRAP IN ADDITION TO YOUR OWN…and let me tell you, if they sinned horribly against you, chances are they don’t just have a boatload of crap they’re lugging around, they’re dragging the MOTHER LOAD OF CRAP behind them. Need I say more? CUT. THEM. LOOSE!

Now. Before you go off calling Stone Phillips or Barbara Walters trying to get me on one of those shows with a headline like “PASTOR’S WIFE APPEARS TO BE ON DRUGS, PROMOTING ‘USE ME & ABUSE ME’ SPIRITUALITY,” let me say this…

Forgiving someone does not mean you forget what they did nor does it mean you condone their actions nor does it mean you let them walk all over you again. What it does mean is that you will, from this moment forward, not obsess about them or what they did (Work through the pain? Yes. Obsess? No.) and not wish horrible, evil things to happen to them (let God do that—He’s far more creative than you anyway). Let them off the hook—I know, not a particularly fun thought, especially for us humans who really like vengeance and getting even and stuff. But we’ve gotta see the big picture here. First, God just let you off the hook when you took Action Step #1, my friend. Second, we are EXTRAORDINARILY better off when we do whatever we can to be in good standing with God (even if getting your head chopped off by a guillotine seems more pleasant). And God wants us to confess our sin and He wants us to forgive others. (Check out James 5:16, Matthew 6:14, Luke 11:4 and about 5.2 million other verses that say similar things.)

So, there you have it…a few ways to “deal with your crap.” It’ll take a while and, like I said, it won’t be fun, but you didn’t pick up your boatload of crap in a day and you won’t unload it in a day either. But think of how sweet life will be.

(By the way, if you still feel like calling one of those shows, my preference is 60 Minutes. I really like 60 Minutes and I’ve often thought that if I ever had to be on a show due to my perceived lunacy, I’d really like it to be 60 Minutes.)

WARNING: Don’t read this post if you want to feel good.

OK.

I’ve talked a lot about crap lately. Some have suggested I explain exactly what I mean by “crap.” Actually, that’s slightly inaccurate. What really happened is that my good friend emailed me and said that if I’m gonna keep talking about the fact the people should deal with their crap, I really should explain what I mean by “deal with your crap.” I thought she had a point so I started writing this post. But then I gave up on it because it was taking too much of my brain power. Actually, now that I think about it, that’s not entirely correct either. What really happened is that I started writing this post and writing a post always takes me forever and a day and then one of my shows came on TV and so I quit in the middle.

Anyway, so then I was talking to the same friend on the phone last night and she told me again that I should explain “deal with your crap.” OK, so here it is. (By the way, she and her family might move to Africa. They’re kind of like modern-day Abrahams.)

So.

In one of my previous posts I described “crap” this way:

Crap comes in all shapes and sizes. In general, I define crap as the pain which comes from yours or someone else’s sin. That pain, in turn, makes you do, say and think things that are, well…either sinful or just plain stupid.

I still think that sums it up pretty well and I’m not sure if I really have much to add. Perhaps I can shed a little more light on exactly how to “deal with your crap”…at least as far as I see it.

But before I begin, I’d like to point out that there are a whole bunch of very important people who have written volumes of very important work about crap (although that’s not the term they generally use) and how to get rid of yours. I’ll give you my two cents but I warn you that I’m only a Pastor’s Wife. What the heck do I know?

How to “Deal With Your Crap”

1. First you must accept the fact that you have crap. We’ve all got it so just accept it as a fact of life. If you didn’t have crap, well, then you’d be God.

2. Once you’ve accepted the fact that you’ve got it, commit to doing whatever possible to get rid of it. This is an important step because you should know from the get-go that dealing with your crap won’t be fun. You’ll be going through the fire, my friend, but as my husband says, the hotter the fire, the more refined you get. Don’t let the discomfort discourage you from dealing with it. Just press through.

3. Know that the process is ongoing, not a one-time thing. You’ve got crap now and you’ll pick up more along the way—that’s also a fact. Become a pro at dealing with your crap and you’ll experience more freedom than you ever thought possible. Think of it this way. Imagine you’re on a journey. You’ll be draggin’ along your crap no matter what. So, would you rather keep heaping it on or would you rather unload it as you go? Learn how to unload it and the journey will be a whole lot easier.

Intermission: I know it ain’t pretty.

OK. So now we’ve accepted that we’ve got crap, we’re committed to working through it and we’ll adopt a lifelong goal of unloading it as soon as we get it until the day we die. Now the action steps. I’m happy to tell you there are only 2. PIECE. OF. CAKE. (OK, that’s a big fat lie. I personally rank these two particular action steps right up there with getting my head chopped off by a guillotine.)

Action Step #1: Be sorry. Ask God to forgive you for doing very dumb things. Confess your sin. Repent. However you want to say it, just be sorry for doing what is wrong.

The concept is very simple, yet so overlooked. All it requires is genuine regret as well as a sincere, honest effort to avoid doing it in the future. To put it simplistically, you might think of it like this: Behaving sinfully is like riding down the expressway in the wrong direction. Repentance means you get off the expressway and drive in the right direction. Repentance does NOT mean you just pull over at a rest area with every intention to head in the exact same direction once you take a little R & R.

Bonus: Some basic tips about confession:
a. It’s best to confess to someone else—someone you trust and someone who will assure you of God’s forgiveness. And someone who won’t use it against you down the road.
b. It’s best to get it all out. Even the small stuff. Hey, better safe than sorry.
c. If you don’t know what to confess, ask God. A little heartfelt prayer like “God, show me what I need to confess” is a prayer that will be answered 100% of the time. I guarantee it. Why? Because God WANTS to point out our sin, not because He wants to lord it over us but because sin is what separates us from Him and he wants to be close to us. Believe it or not, He likes us. He really really likes us. By the way, if you pray that prayer (”God, show me what I need to confess”) and you don’t get an answer, it’s because you haven’t listened hard enough or waited long enough.
d. In order to confess your sin, it’d be good to know what sin is. Reading the Bible is a good way to figure that out.

Uh…this post will be continued because it happened again (i.e. my show is starting). I confess.

If you’re just joining us, this post will make a whole lot more sense if you read this post first.

Some of you have asked so I figured the whole story needed an update.

So.

I’m sure you’ll recall the fight for the Weimaraner that ended in the “s” word. By the way cmhl, the answer to your question (i.e. did we get the Weimaraner the second time around) is negative. I’m over it. I suppose that sweet little puppy was, in the end, just a pawn in my sick game against those teenage chics. Sometimes I wonder if I really have a heart.

Alright. So the Weimaraner’s out. The dog search continues and I’ve now reached a whole new level of desperation. And a few days later we get lucky. We meet Sophie, a 6-month old black lab/hound mix. I love her instantly, of course. The kids are cautiously excited about the possibility of her joining our family and Brian, well, he doesn’t like her. But she’s got a lot going for her—she’s lived with a 5 year old & a 2 year old already, she’s almost completely house trained and she’s cute as all get out with her sad face and long, hound ears. (Well, Brian doesn’t think she’s cute. It’s because he really wants a Golden Retriever.)

Nevertheless, he agrees to take her and I’m finally feeling like things are moving in the right direction. We meet her on a Friday night and she still needs to be spayed which can’t be done until Monday and then she needs a day to recover so we can’t pick her up until Tuesday. I’m bummed. Brian’s relieved. I think he figures he’ll have 4 days to talk me out of it.

Well, Friday to Tuesday are perhaps some of the worst days of marriage we’ve had in a long, long time. And over a dumb dog. This should be Clue #1. I want the dog. He doesn’t, but at the last moment, he reads Ephesians 5:28 “husbands out to love their wives as they love their own bodies. For a man is actually loving himself when he loves his wife.” He figures if he was me, he’d get himself that dog. So, he decides it’s the right thing to do to let me get the dog. (This is the part of Ephesians 5 I really like.)

So, I pick her up Tuesday. As soon as they hand her over to me, she pees. Clue #2. Then I take her to the car and girlfriend will NOT get into the car. Consequently, I have to LIFT her into the car. First of all, she probably weighs 50 pounds. Secondly, I’m pregnant. I think 40 pounds is my limit. Clues #3 & #4.

So she’s sittin’ in the passenger’s seat and she’s drooling all over creation. Clue #5. And every time I brake, her nose becomes one with the dashboard. Clue #6.

We finally get home and she spends the first hour sniffing every last atom of the house. OK. Whatever. She also consumes every piece of dried, crusty food that the kids have dropped on the floor. This I like because (and I unabashedly admit it) this is one of the main reasons I wanted her in the first place. Now, I know there are those of you who may think I’m horrible because dogs really should not be allowed to eat human scraps, especially under the dining room table. Well, that may be true but having two small children simply trumps the fact that dogs should not be allowed to eat human scraps. That’s right. THAT DOG WILL EARN HER KEEP BY MOPPING MY FLOOR!

Well, like the good dog owner I am (minus the food scraps part) I take her out to go potty on a regular basis. I’m happy to say she pees EVERY SINGLE TIME I take her out. There is one problem, however. EVER SINGLE TIME I bring her back in, she promptly pees again. ON. MY. FLOOR. I suddenly realize she is not a normal living being. No. She’s got peeing issues. She will only pee in batches. And I have a question. WHAT MAN, WOMAN, BOY, GIRL OR ANIMAL WANTS TO PEE IN BATCHES? Like, I’ll sit on the toilet, pee, stop myself halfway through, get up, putz around and then 3 minutes later, sit back down on the toilet and pee the rest of the way. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT? For heaven’s sake dog, WOULD YOU JUST GET IT ALL OUT IN ONE SHOT? Housebroken, MY FOOT! Clue #…what number am I on?

So, it’s bedtime. And she’s in a quandary. She desperately wants to be with her people, but she’s got another problem: she is PETRIFIED OF THE STAIRS. Going up or down is no easy task. As I watch her I am so glad she’s not a human being because I cannot help but laugh OUT LOUD as she trips and stumbles and then when she finally makes it, she looks back as if to say, “Whew, that was inTENSE!” (I should really be more sympathetic because I think I know what her problem is—her body is not growing at the same speed as her brain. I was there. I was about 14 and one day I’d be walking along and I’d trip over absolutely nothing and it was like, “Geez, my legs weren’t this long yesterday.”)

So, as I was saying, it’s bedtime and it takes her forever and a day to get herself up the stairs. It takes another eternity for her to decide where she’s going to sleep. Oh yeah, she pees once or twice in there too. So, I’m in bed, out of bed, cleaning up pee, taking her out in the FREEZING cold rain so she can go potty, coming back in, dealing with her stair phobia, waiting until she finds a place to sleep, etc. etc. etc. This goes on until about 2 am at which time I wake up to a strange gurgling sound. I get up and she is in my closet, PUKING on the floor. TWICE. IN DIFFERENT SPOTS. And here’s me, on my knees, in my very small, very UNventilated closet (with the door closed so as not to wake up Brian who didn’t want this dog in the first place), staring at dog vomit, AT 2 AM. And with what shall I clean this mess up? And should I just leave it until the morning? And I THINK I’M GONNA HURL!

I finally get it all cleaned up, take her out one last time to go potty and then she suddenly decides, she will NOT climb those darn stairs ONE MORE TIME. No. She will sit at the bottom and cry and whimper instead. Well, girlfriend, I don’t care what the books say about the importance of sleeping close to your people. It’s you and the kitchen baby. By the way, DO NOT PEE. AGAIN. IT IS NEARLY 3 AM AND YOU HAVE HAD AMPLE OPPORTUNITY TO DO YOUR THING THE LAST 52 TIMES I TOOK YOU OUT IN THE LAST 4 HOURS. Surely you can hold it for 4 hours. YOU. OWE. ME.

I finally sleep, albeit shortly, only to find another puddle on the floor welcoming me in the morning…followed by 2 bouts of diarrhea a few hours later. I call my neighbor who wonders if the transition has made her nervous. Yeah? Well, that makes two of us.

So, what do I do? I do exactly what I’ve wished I could do with my very own children on several occasions: I send her right back to where she came from. That’s right. We get into the car not 30 hours after her arrival and back she goes to the shelter.

And I am SO glad we got Sophie. You know why? Because she took that dog bug right out of my system faster than I can say “dog puke.” We will NOT be getting another dog for a very, very, very long time.

I told you I have no heart.