Stop listening to the demon of regret (part one).

FoMO is a social media-induced acronym that popped up a few years ago. A Time article defines FoMO (fear of missing out) as ‘‘the uneasy and sometimes all-consuming feeling that you’re missing out – that your peers are doing, in the know about, or in possession of more or something better than you.’’ Social media has amped up this anxiety disorder by giving us constant exposure to everyone else’s “best life now.” We become anxious by reading everyone else’s awesomeness. We give in to the fear that somehow we’ve missed it (or will) if we don’t get on the stick.

FoMO is a more recent label for an ancient soul-sickness: regret. Regret cultivates a perspective that views our current reality or history from a disappointed place. Or worse, it distorts our view of the future, so that as we gaze down the road we are already disappointed or fearful of being disappointed before we even step out. That way of thinking depends on believing other options or better options exist, when in fact they don’t. Do you see how damaging that is? I’m not talking about a fatalistic worldview that prescribes a life out of our control. I’m talking about a mindset that frustrates us by constantly churning up options we never had access to in the first place. I’m talking about a mindset that makes the best we could do not good enough. And that makes us feel like victims.

In a Psychology Today article, the author writes,

The truth is, there’s no reality existing somewhere else that says, “Darn, you’re not going to get to join us over here in the happy life, where you could have ended up if you had made the right choice and picked the other path.” That other, imagined happy life is and has always been just a thought. The particular reality that would have come, had we made the other choice, never was and never will be our reality. 

Can you hear how the mindset of regret can steal our peace by casting illusions, then making us believe we missed them? The fear of missing out is not of God, and the demon of regret is just that … a demon. Its sole purpose is discontent. It makes its living by speaking empty possibilities into our minds that don’t actually exist in reality, to paralyze us or at least keep us in a discontented space. This demon uses the tactic of comparison to distort what is real by comparing reality with something that doesn’t exist. Worse still, it creates a victim mentality by convincing us that circumstances beyond our control have stolen our ideal. It keeps us from owning our choices and embracing them, not as our plan B but as the reality we live in — a reality that a good and creative God can still make the most of.

Listen: When we fail to own our choices and live them out positively in partnership with the Holy Spirit, we not only miss out on the illusions we conjure up, but also on seeing God make the most of our reality.

And as I think of all the ways regret can steal my joy, here’s what really breaks me: Regret keeps me from giving my whole heart. To the extent that I live with regret or the fear of it, I will hold my heart and my hopes out for an imaginary “better.” I will  externalize my discontent (“I never got what I deserve.”), feed my self-pity, and cause folks around me to also feel the frustration of never quite measuring up (after all, they live inside my world of regret).

The demon of regret has one goal: to get me to hold back from wholehearted love, surrender, devotion, commitment. And that’s why I’m convinced that a pattern of regret is not of God. It is a mindset that needs healing. If you find yourself wasting mental energy on the things that could have been, or on the better choices you could have made but didn’t (keep in mind that I’m not talking about willful sin here, but about your honest, best, if imperfect efforts), or on all the reasons this path you’re on is unsatisfying, I want to encourage you to consider that maybe you’re feeding into a demon intent on your discouragement. Journal your thoughts. Seek God’s healing. Ask him to open your mind to possibilities over regrets. Confess regret as a brokenness you’re living out of and ask God to transform your mind. Ask him to help you own your reality, so you can stop living in regret over your past or your future.

Regret is a lie. Meanwhile, the most creative Being in the universe stands ready to offer you an abundant life that doesn’t depend on your circumstances, but on His presence in the midst of them.

In the next post, we will look at three common areas where we tend to let regret have a voice in our lives.

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Ten 21st-century sins (and one remedy)

The funny thing about sin is how it can lure us into thinking ours isn’t so bad. Most of us who sit in church have mastered the big ones. Not all of us, obviously, but most of us don’t smoke, chew or dance with the girls who do (as we say in the South). We grew out of getting drunk. We don’t kill or steal.

What, then, are the sins of our generation?  The quiet, insidious ones that sneak up on us and steal our joy? Here are ten thoughts to challenge your ideas about sin and your place in this fallen world:

1. Entitlement. Another generation might have called it greed. One of my friends wisely noted that a sense of entitlement actually disables our ability to connect with others, perhaps because it fosters a spirit of competition (which kills community). We condition ourselves to weigh everything and everyone against some unattainable ideal or against what we think we deserve. I deserve what you have or I deserve more or you deserve less.

2. Fear. Related to this one is shame and unforgiveness, both of which are generated out of a spirit of fear. Shame is “in” these days (google it), so we’re finally calling out this base emotion that keeps us trapped in immaturity. It refuses to acknowledge that the One who lives in me is greater than the one who lives in the world. It also causes me to practice a self-protective posture. A self-protective (read “fearful”) crouch is fundamentally opposed to the personality of Jesus.

3. Jealousy. One of my Facebook friends also mentioned “professional jealousy,” which is an insightful twist on a very biblical sin (“What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?” – James 4:1). We wouldn’t think as adults of voicing our jealousy over a friend’s car, raise, or more functional spouse. But we won’t think twice about subtly sabotaging successful co-workers. Subtlety in this context is another term for passive aggression, which I personally consider to be among the most evil of community-destroying behaviors.

4. Anonymous anger. Yet another version of passive aggression, this one often manifests itself online (an addiction to being online gets an honorable mention here as a valid 21st-century sin). The heart beneath anonymous anger — the kind that shows up in traffic, in the comment sections of news sites, in gossip, in tweets about people we don’t personally know — reveals a lack of compassion. This is a heart sickness that comes back to bite us. Paul says as much. “If you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another” (Galatians 5:15).

5. Passivity/ sloth. The other end of active anger is emotional disconnection. This one will sneak up on us from behind. Over-stimulated by so much aggressiveness and so many words, we find ourselves disappearing into binge-sessions of NCIS (preaching to myself here) or worse yet, reality TV (where we can feel better about ourselves because at least we’re not them).

6. Instant gratification. Trolling website after website, gathering pictures of stuff on our Pinterest pages, which we then become impatient to own or make. No boundaries. No patience.

7. Self-deception. One friend says this is us “trying to convince ourselves that we as individuals are more valuable than those around us.” Related to entitlement, self-deception takes us a step further down the road, adding fantasy to frustrated destiny. When we are not honest with ourselves, that gap between who we are and who we want to be is a breeding ground for frustration.

8. Objectification. Clumping people into piles then slapping broad labels on them, we learn to treat people who aren’t like us as if they have nothing to teach us. That includes those who live in other political camps and even those who live in other sin camps. But what if the people who are least like us are actually doorways into the Kingdom?

9. Narcissism. The friend who voted this one onto the list specifically mentioned selfies, which seem innocent (and probably are) until the accumulation of them begins to make us believe that we are the center of our universe around which everyone else is circling, hitting the “like” button as they pass by.

10. Pride. The deep root out of which all our contemporary sins sprout turns out to be the oldest sin in the Book. As a sin, pride never seems to go out of style. Oddly, its bedfellow is self-hatred. Pride and self-hatred are two sides of the same coin. It is us, like the proverbial “man behind the curtain,” doing our best to make ourselves appear more powerful than we are so we won’t be labeled worthless, which is what we actually believe.

Which of these is your personal battle?

Choose your sin, and the remedy is the same: humility. Or Jesus, whose primary personality trait is humility. It is the willingness to get outside ourselves, to get over ourselves, to believe in something bigger than ourselves. To place our time and emphasis on loving God and loving others rather than protecting self.

Humility. An old remedy for what ends up being the oldest (only?) sin … pride.

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Make me.

In a season of confession, I discovered  a bit of poetry embedded in a journaled prayer. I share it here, thankful for the cleansing the Holy Spirit is working in my life these days. Confession and repentance are good things.

Make Me.

I am undone by you, Jesus.

Exposed.

I am judgment. I am opinion. I am condemnation and criticism.

I am chaos and I am confusion.

I am selfish, small minded, false in every way. I am impure motives.

I am lost.

I am a woman of unclean lips and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.

And now I am undone, my insides are spilling out.

I am control. I am manipulation. I am soul-sickness.

I am veneer. I am empty of identity and full of posturing.

I do not know how to be still.

Repent me, for I cannot repent myself.

I cannot turn myself around, as if this is a child’s game.

This change is not my choice.

Repent me. Turn me. Change me. Make me new. Make all things new.

Be still, my soul. And know.

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The Opie Principle

When we were in Kentucky, we lived in a little townhouse that had boxwoods on either side of the front door. In our first spring there, we discovered that snakes love boxwoods. There was a mama snake who visited us every spring so she could have her babies in our shrubbery. Sometimes we’d come home in the afternoon and find as many as fifteen little snakes sunning on the tops of our boxwoods. Which were (have I mentioned this?) right next to our front door. Eventually, we got used to them and in fact, by the time our last spring in Kentucky rolled around, Steve would just pick them up barehanded and take them across the street to a big field.

One day, I was in the front yard when our daughter, Claire Marie (she was about five or six at the time) came tearing around the house in serious distress. She was screaming that she’d seen a snake in our back yard. Because one thinks sensibly about such things when one is in the front yard and the snake is in the back yard, I thought this might be a great opportunity to help my daughter get used to snakes. I took her by the hand and said, “Sweetie, let’s just go look at it. Snakes won’t hurt you if you don’t bother them. In fact, they are usually more scared of us than we are of them.”

These are the sorts of things parents say that they don’t really believe.

We walked to the side of the house and sure enough, there was the snake. He was curled up directly beneath our dog, Opie, who was standing there staring at us, clueless about any snake in his world (Opie was never known for his intuition).  Since he was standing directly over the snake, I began calling for him to move. Seeing my concern, Claire Marie began yelling at him, too. And then Opie started barking — not at the snake, of course, but at us.

There we were, trying to get the dog off the snake while the dog barked at us and a snake sat idly beneath him.

Finally — it must have been the commotion — the snake shot out from under the dog and zipped across the yard.  It slithered right across my baby girl’s feet, at which time I was no longer a snake advocate. I grabbed my daughter. Claire Marie screeched. The snake slithered off.  And Opie remained clueless.

He never saw the snake.

And I think to myself: how many of us are sitting on top of our own snakes (think: sin, hang-ups, issues) while we bark at the people all around us and wreak havoc in our relationships as if it were everyone’s fault but ours?

The problem with this strategy is that most of the time (Jesus actually says this) the issues we have with other people are simply a reflection of our own.

So this is where holiness begins: It is not in being able to name all the sins, but in being able to name my sin.

In other words, don’t bark at others when the snake is beneath your feet.

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“In the evening I went very unwillingly to Charge Conference …”

This week, I felt my heart strangely warmed.

On Tuesday evening, I went (somewhat) unwillingly to Charge Conference. I confess to having lost patience with some of these denominational forms. I’m not alone. We all tend to grumble about these things. But there, in the least likely of places, the Holy Spirit showed up, manifesting as holy conviction and illogical joy.

Terry Fleming, our district superintendent, spoke eloquently about tortoises and hares, humility and perseverance. Somewhere in his message, I experienced the truth of God being spoken over my life. It wasn’t a comfortable truth. I sensed a personal call to confession for a kind of pride that has been masquerading as faithfulness.

Heather Glover sensed the Spirit, too, though for her it showed up as gratitude. Heather is a poster child for our discipleship system, having been spiritually raised up from a life of addiction through Celebrate Recovery and Mosaic’s leadership incubator program. She now serves as our Director of Adult Discipleship. This was her experience of her first-ever Charge Conference, in her words:

Charge Conference, for those of you who aren’t familiar, is when the church leaders come together with the District Superintendent to approve the budget and church leadership for the upcoming year. Sounds like a hoot, right? I mean, anything with conference in the title will surely strike fear in the heart of any fun loving individual.

Never mind the mention of a line item list of the budget.

But WAIT! Let me tell you what Charge Conference means to me.

Charge Conference means that my God went before me and prepared a place for me at the table. I know this because when I walked in the room, no one batted an eye. Why? Because I belonged there. One of those line items in the budget list was my salary. Another was the budget for my ministry area. And I am the very first Director of Adult Discipleship at my church, EVER. My God went before me and made a way, against all odds.

Charge Conference means that God’s grace IS sufficient. It is by God’s grace alone that I am at this place in my life. From lost, addicted, and wandering far from God, to doing the Lord’s work. I don’t have a job. It’s a vocation. A calling. And I didn’t look for it. It fell in my lap. That’s what God’s unmerited favor looks like. That’s grace.

Charge Conference means that I am a part of something much bigger than myself. And it means I have the privilege and honor of being a leader among leaders.

I thoroughly enjoyed attending Charge Conference. I hung on every word that my fellow leaders, my pastor, and the DS spoke. And I left with a spring in my step, singing praises to my God. I will never take for granted the formalities in life that should otherwise bore me to tears. I have experienced a life of chaos, void of all formalities, and absent any sense of belonging. This is pure joy by comparison.

Lord, forgive me for failing to keep my eye fixed on you, for failing to look for you in the unlikely places, for failing to believe you can show up anywhere.

Even at Charge Conference.

 

(The title of this blog — and the line about being “strangely warmed” — references John Wesley’s journal entry on the night he experienced a spiritual awakening while attending a study of Romans in a home on Aldersgate Street in London.)

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