Acts

6 Steps to Take When the Door Closes

May 19, 2016 By Michelle

Gate 2

Several months ago I applied for one of a handful of part-time writing positions available at an online community. Hundreds of writers submitted applications, and in the end, I was not one of the ones chosen.

Let me tell you straight up: not being one of the chosen ones stung. I felt a little overlooked, underappreciated and left behind. I was a little bit envious of the ones who had been selected to participate as writers in this particular community, and I was jealous of the opportunities and advantages that would come with their new role.

I felt, I’m guessing, a little bit like Joseph called Barsabbas must have felt the day Matthias was chosen as the twelfth disciple over him.

After Jesus ascended to heaven, the story goes, the eleven remaining disciples were tasked with finding a replacement for Judas. They nominated two men: Joseph called Barsabbas and Matthias. We know nothing about either of these two men, except that both had been devoted followers of Jesus from the start. The disciples prayed, then cast their lots, and Matthias was selected as the twelfth disciple.

This is all we hear. We don’t know how either man reacted. We don’t know what Matthias went on to do as one of the twelve disciples, nor do we know Barsabbas’ path.

We’ve all been the Barsabbas in this story — overlooked for the promotion, not picked for the team, not elected to the position, also-ran for the job. And you know as well as I do, losing to someone else hurts – whether it’s a job, a title, an award, a position, or a place. It can take the wind right out of our sails, leaving us second-guessing our gifts and abilities and floundering aimlessly along what we’d thought was our path. Losing also hurts our confidence, and, if we admit it to ourselves, our pride. No one remembers the name of the silver medalist, right?

If you’re feeling a bit Barsabbasy right now, perhaps reeling from a professional or personal disappointment that’s left you questioning your calling or wondering about your next step, I have some advice for you:

1. Give yourself permission to wallow a bit — It’s okay to feel sad, discouraged and even angry, especially if you’ve worked hard toward a goal that didn’t come to fruition. Mourn the loss– it’s legitimate and real — and don’t beat yourself up for wanting something and feeling disappointed that you didn’t get it. Eat extra chocolate. Stay in your pajamas and read trashy magazines. Vow that you’re quitting _____________ forever. Even if it’s not true, sometimes it feels good to make overly dramatic statements.

2. Re-evaluate your path – A closed door is a good time for a heart-to-heart with God. Ask him for guidance, wisdom and discernment. After you’ve accumulated a substantial pile of Dove dark chocolate wrappers and can’t take another word of “Celebrities! They’re Just Like Us!,” spend time in prayer and quiet contemplation. Reconsider your goals and plans. And try be observant and patient. God doesn’t usually give crystal-clear answers…and he often takes his time.

3. Open your eyes – As much as I detest the expression, “When a door closes, a window opens,” I’ve found from my own experience that there is some truth to it. But, as Alexander Graham Bell said, often we’re so busy staring down the closed door, we don’t notice the window that’s wide-open down the hall. Try to broaden your perspective and keep your eyes open to new opportunities you may not have noticed when you were laser-focused on your original goal.

4. Remember that you are chosen — Maybe not for this specific job or position or role, but You. Are. Chosen. God has chosen you as his beloved, and he has plans for you. He hasn’t forgotten you. You have not been overlooked by him. God loves you and always desires the best for you, even when, especially when, you’re feeling as valuable as dryer lint.

5. Accept that your plans are not necessarily God’s plans – I know, this one is hard. I, for one, always love my plans, and I typically think they are very, very good. Stellar, in fact. But, that doesn’t mean my plans are God’s plans. And frankly, it doesn’t even mean I’ll jump up and down with glee over God’s plans, if and when I ever figure out what they are. This is tough Truth, friends: God’s plan is the best plan, but it may not be the plan we want. Our job is to say yes to God’s plan. That’s called obedience, and it’s what we are called to do. {I give you permission to sigh about it.}

6. Do your best in the job you receive from the Master – Okay, see what I did there? I slipped in a Bible verse. That’s Colossians 4:17, and as I’ve written here before, I have that versed framed and hanging next to my desk. There are some days I have to read that verse a dozen times, because the truth is, I don’t always want to do the job I have received from God (see #5). I want to do someone else’s job, because their job looks fancier, and limelightier, and is clearly more lucrative than the half-penny an hour I’m earning over here. But alas, that job is the one God gave them; this job is the one God gave me, and he is asking me to do my best in it.

Maybe Barsabbas is a better person than I am. Maybe he clapped Matthias on the back, offered him a fist bump and hearty congratulations and went on his merry way to do the job he received from God. I don’t know. But I do know this:

If, like me, you struggle with swallowing disappointment; if you wrestle with envy; if you sometimes feel unchosen and forgotten, it’s okay. It really is. We are human, and, for the most part, we are doing the best we can. God sees that. He sees you. And he has something beautiful for you that, quite possibly, has yet to be revealed.

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When the Holy Spirit Doesn’t Come in Tongues and Fire

May 19, 2013 By Michelle

The Holy Spirit first spoke to me in the middle of a church sermon. The irony is that I didn’t believe in God at the time.

You might wonder why I was sitting in a church pew on Sunday morning if I didn’t believe in God. Two reasons. One: I wanted to believe in God, but I didn’t know how to get there. And two (the primary reason): Brad and I had agreed to enroll our son Noah, who was four at the time, in Sunday school. On most Sundays it was simply easier for me to sit in church while Noah was in class, instead of in my car or in the café of the nearby Barnes and Noble. Brad and I took turns each Sunday – one of us brought Noah to Sunday school while the other stayed home with Rowan, who, as a toddler, had a less-than-churchy disposition.

It would have been cool if the Holy Spirit had worked in me that Sunday like he worked in the disciples on Pentecost, when he arrived at the gathering “like the roaring of a mighty windstorm,” settling onto the disciples in “flames and tongues of fire.” (Acts 2:2-3). Frankly, that sort of dramatic display, though terrifying, would have convinced me of the presence of God in a New York minute.

But that’s not the way the Holy Spirit worked in me. In fact, I didn’t even realize it had been the Holy Spirit at work until more than two years later, when I looked back at that Sunday and thought, “Huh … would you look at that.”

What happened that morning in church was that Pastor Greg preached a sermon called “Just Walk across the Room.” It was a message about evangelizing – a call to the congregation to reach out and invite what he called “unchurched” friends, relatives, neighbors and acquaintances to experience God.

The irony, of course, is that while I was sitting in an actual pew in an actual church, I was as unchurched and faithless as any unbeliever on the street.

After I got home from church that morning, I walked immediately downstairs to our basement office, sat at the computer and typed a vague email to Pastor Greg. I simply told him that the morning’s sermon had grabbed my attention, and that perhaps I should stop by his office to talk sometime. The following week I met Pastor Greg in his office and we talked. I admitted to him that I didn’t think I believed in God, but that I wanted to and didn’t know how.

“I believe that God’s with you, that the Holy Spirit is in you, working in you, and has brought you here today,” Pastor Greg had answered that day, looking me straight in the eye as I squirmed in my chair. “And I believe that’s evidence that you’re not as far lost as you think you are.”

I’d like to tell you that when I heard those words, I broke into a rousing chorus of Alleluias and heard the voice of God thunder through the roof of the church.

But the truth is, nothing happened.

While I was relieved to have finally unburdened myself, I also frankly thought Pastor Greg was full of baloney. I simply didn’t believe him. I didn’t even know how to respond to his confident declaration, so I nodded a lot, muttered something along the lines of, “Wow, that’s great, good news, thank you.” And then I drove to the mall and bought a pair of sandals.

But as it turned out, Pastor Greg was right. The Holy Spirit was at work in me. Not in a roaring wind or in tongues of fire. Not in a way that was obvious to me at the time. But working indeed. It just took me another two years to recognize it.

Has the Holy Spirit ever worked in unexpected ways in you? Think back over your life for a minute. Can you think of an experience you’ve always brushed off that might, in fact, be the result of the Holy Spirit’s work?

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: Trusting that the Door Will Open

April 28, 2013 By Michelle

I remember a conversation I had with my officemate Pam right before I quit my job. I’d been mired in indecision, torn over whether or not I should take the leap from the security of a job I’d held for ten years to the risky unknown of freelance writing. “It’s like you’re at the end of a long, dark hallway,” Pam said to me one morning as we sat at our desks, the sun slanting through the blinds. “You just have to take the first step.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to see a couple of doors down that hallway first,” I replied, laughing. “They don’t even have to be wide open, a sliver of light would be fine. I just want to know the doors are actually there first.”

When I read today’s story about Peter’s release from prison (Acts 12:1-17), I wondered if perhaps he had felt a bit like me as he stood on the cusp of freedom. Despite any reservations he may have had, though, Peter reacted immediately to the angel’s call. He didn’t weigh his options. He didn’t hem and haw. He didn’t scratch out a list of pros and cons. When the angel called, Peter obeyed and followed.

Later in the story we learn that Peter hadn’t even realized the angel was real. He’d assumed it was a vision. Yet he had still followed, no questions asked. And when Peter took that first step in obedience, when he slipped on his sandals and followed that angelic vision out of the prison cell, a miraculous thing happened. Every door opened along the way:

They passed the first and second guard posts and came to the iron gate leading to the city, and this opened for them all by itself. So they passed through and started walking down the street, and then the angel suddenly left him. (Acts 12:10)

Only after Peter acted in obedience did he realize it had been an angel of the Lord who had been guiding him to freedom all along.

Walking in faith, trust and obedience is scary. It’s difficult to take that first step, not knowing for sure if the gates will swing open or if the doors will even appear. But sometimes I think God simply wants us to trust him enough to take that first, tentative step, without the signed-on-the-dotted-line guarantee that everything will work out. Sometimes I think God wants us to step out in faith, trusting that he will brighten the dark hallway and open doors along the way.

A year ago this week I took that first step. I quit my job and leaped (or perhaps tiptoed is a better word) into my new life as a writer. Although I hadn’t seen them when I stood at the end of that long, dark hallway, the doors were indeed there. Some of them appeared when I least expected it. Some of the doors had been there all along, and I simply hadn’t seen them until I stepped closer.

Can you think back to a time in your life when you stepped out in faith, not sure the doors would open, or even if the doors were there at all? What happened as a result?

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When You Don’t Feel Like Stopping

April 21, 2013 By Michelle

As I walked past, my heels clicking briskly on the sidewalk, I saw her bent low on her hands and knees, peering under her car at the liquid dripping onto the pavement. She wore gray sweatpants, a rumpled gray sweatshirt and flip-flops, even though the morning was cold and damp, and she glanced up at me as I walked by, pulling my suitcase behind me. I could see she was crying. I looked the other way and kept walking.

I had to pass the woman again as I walked back to the hotel. I didn’t want to stop. She didn’t look like “my type.” I had to speak at the conference in a few minutes. I was wearing a nice dress. I was cold without my coat. I wouldn’t be able to help anyway. This is what I told myself, the excuses streaming like a fast-flowing current.

She was crouching now, elbows on her knees, head in her hands, her hair tangled and unwashed, a curtain around her face. Bending down next to her, I tucked my dress under my legs and touched a hand to her arm. “Are you okay?” I asked. When she looked at me, the skin beneath her eyes was smudged with old makeup. Black streaks of mascara etched her cheeks. She choked out her story, a jumble of words about her lousy car and a wedding to attend that afternoon, and two hours’ sleep and bills she couldn’t afford to pay and a bad mechanic. I listened. I peered under the car with her. I looked under the hood, nodding and murmuring as I listened to her story.

I remembered that moment when I read the lesson for this week – a story about a man who listened to God. A story of a man who didn’t walk in the opposite direction.

When the Holy Spirit prompted Philip to walk up to an Ethiopian eunuch, Philip didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about inconvenience or awkwardness. He didn’t regard the man so unlike himself with suspicion or disdain. He didn’t think about how different the man was from him. He simply heeded the Holy Spirit and engaged the stranger in conversation, a conversation that resulted in the man’s conversion and baptism.

My story isn’t nearly as dramatic. In fact, in retrospect, I know I could have done a lot more for that woman in the parking lot. I could have asked to pray for her. I could have offered her money. I really didn’t do anything at all but listen and nod my head in empathy. And when we stood, brushing the grit from our palms, I looked her in the eyes and told her everything would be okay. I wasn’t sure this was true, or even if I believed it, but I said it anyway, mainly because I didn’t know what else to say.

I admire Philip’s willingness to heed the Holy Spirit, the ease with which he obeyed the command. Obedience doesn’t come that naturally to me. I fight it. Sometimes I ignore God’s voice altogether. Or I give myself ten reasons why I don’t need to listen.

I should have prayed with the woman in the parking lot. I should have offered her money. Or a ride. All I did was stop to listen. But when it comes to obedience, maybe stopping is where we start.

Have you ever stopped in your tracks to respond when you felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit? Have you ever ignored the prompt and kept walking? How did you feel in either situation?

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Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: Know Your Strengths

April 15, 2013 By Michelle

A few months after Noah was born I decided to make him a scrapbook. I scoured the aisles at Michael’s for stickers and dye-cuts and fancy papers and special scissors with ruffled edges. And then, every night after Noah was finally settled in his crib, I sat at the dining room table, construction paper littering the floor at my feet, and I scrapped.

The problem was, I hated every minute of it.

Nothing turned out like I had envisioned. I didn’t have a creative eye for matching papers and pictures. Everything I cut with the fancy scissors turned out crooked and off-kilter. My handwriting was messy, and the magic marker smudged and bled. I had envisioned Martha Stewart magnificence, and what I created looked like the work of a ten-year-old. Scrapbooking, I learned the hard way, was not my thing.

As I paged through that rag-tag scrapbook a couple of days ago I thought about the verses we read for this week from Acts 6.

Because the twelve disciples were struggling to maintain order within the rapidly growing church, they called a meeting with the larger group of followers to decide what they could delegate and what they would continue to focus on themselves:

“We apostles should spend our time teaching the word of God, not running a food program,” they announced. “And so, brothers, select seven men who are well-respected and are full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will give them this responsibility. Then we apostles can spend our time in prayer and teaching the word.” (Acts 6:2-4)

The disciples recognized their strengths and their mission – teaching and preaching the word of God. They focused on their God-given gifts and then delegated those responsibilities better-suited to the strengths of others in the group.

I think sometimes we feel obligated to do it all. And instead of focusing on the special abilities God has given us, we run ourselves ragged funneling our energy into areas in which we don’t especially excel. Sometimes we say yes to something because we feel like that’s what’s expected of us. Like me with the scrapbook. As a new mother, I thought that was what I was supposed to do: make a scrapbook of my baby’s first year. Regardless of whether I was good at it or not, and regardless of whether I even enjoyed it.

A few years ago the director of children’s ministries at my church called to ask if I might be willing to teach Sunday school. A wave of guilt washed through me before I took a deep breath and informed her that I didn’t think I would be well-suited for such a role. “Frankly I don’t even really like kids that much,” I blurted to Faye. Thankfully she laughed.

There are times you do need to try something new in order to grow or to step out of your comfort zone. But there are other instances in which you know saying yes would result in a cataclysmic disaster.

Sometimes, as with my ill-fated foray into scrapbooking, a period of trial and error is necessary in order to discern our strengths. But sometimes, like the disciples, we simply know what we’re good at and where we need to focus our energy. And in those circumstances, it’s okay to say yes, or no, with confidence and without guilt.

What about you? Do you know what your God-given strengths are? Have you ever said no to something you knew wouldn’t be the best use of your skills?

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Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

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Acts

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