My Dad Could Spot a Hypocrite a Mile Away

When I was growing up we had a Sunday routine. Mom took us kids to church, and Dad stayed home drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and sometimes fried the Sunday dinner chicken. Dad stayed home because of all the hypocrites.
I’ve been thinking a lot about hypocrisy lately. And whether or not I truly think people who give fake smiles and empty compliments are hypocrites or simply good people, wanting to make the crazy, screwed up people who stay home most Sundays smoking and drinking coffee feel like they’re wanted and appreciated when they do actually pull their heads out and show up. I think that’s more likely than the former hypothesis of hypocrisy. ☺

Hypocrisy is a really strong word. Dad shot it out of himself like Spiderman shooting a strong web and swinging from building to building. Alone, above the fray with his superpower—spotting all the hypocrites when no one else, least of all Mom, could see the truth behind the nefarious lies. He had the spidey sense the rest of us lacked—well, not me—he passed the superpower on through spidey DNA.

I think Dad might have had a good reason for the labeling. Church folks had defined what he thought about himself. They thought he was a no-good coffee-drinking, cigarette smoking, sometimes chicken-frying, home-from-church-stayer. And he began to see himself as not as good as the Christians who went to church. I don’t know why he didn’t just switch to the Baptist church. Half the men spent half the service smoking outside the doors. He’d have fit right in. Plus, he could have taught Sunday School which was the whole thing behind his decision to stay home and smoke and drink coffee on Sunday.

Dad knew his Bible, at least intellectually, but they wouldn’t let him teach a Sunday school class because he smoked. Smoking is something you aren’t allowed to do in a lot of churches, or if you do you shouldn’t admit it—which makes you a liar (maybe even a hypocrite)—but that’s better than smoking.

But really, puffing on an expensive, life-threatening tobacco stick is a sin the same way drinking coffee and eating cheesecake are sins. They’re self-indulgent—sort of like blogging ☺ --but won’t keep you out of heaven—if that’s the only goal for accepting Jesus.

Though he never said it in so many words, my dad's point was that you can’t teach a Sunday School class or lead songs if you smoke, but four-hundred pounds of fabulous can belt out How Great Thou Art and bring the preacher’s eighty-year-old mama to tears.

There is a little bit of double-standard involved, but it’s not the church’s fault, it’s just the way it was raised. A long time ago, someone decided certain things were sins, like showing a woman’s ankles, or listening to rock music, or smoking cigarettes and it just got passed on from one generation of church leaders to the next. Obviously some sins, those that aren’t practical—like ankle showing—even rock music since most churches use it for the jumping up and down songs—haven’t endured. Others have. You can’t blame people for that, or label them such a strong, horrible thing like: hypocrite. You have to decide what’s most important. Dulling the spidey senses, following Jesus into the fray.

Anyway, I always liked that Dad didn’t go to church. First of all, he couldn’t sing and we went to a small church of great harmonizers so when he belted out Salvation Has Been Brought Down (and the men) From Heaven. His off-key From Heaven made me want to disappear From my seat. But most of all, I liked coming home to the house smelling like fried chicken because that meant we didn’t have that long to wait before we could eat. Maybe I was the biggest hypocrite of all. Saying, “Gee, Mom I wish Dad would go to church and quit smoking and be Christians like us,” while secretly happy he stayed home—what with the bad singing, but good cooking.

I don’t know. Most important, I wish he could have let God’s love for him define his sense of self-worth instead of well-meaning folks who were just doing the best they could to follow Jesus. It’s what I’ve been trying to do as I think about the way God loves me. Passionate love, deep, bloody love that isn’t about what I do as much as how my heart aches for Him. How his presence fills me up over and over again.

As I’ve been meditating on that love, it makes me grateful, makes me want to be better, love better, serve better. Maybe give up smoking once and for all instead of grabbing it back up every ten years or so—but then I figure I’ll have to stop drinking coffee and eating cheesecake too. I’ve been thinking I should stop thinking about what other people think and try to remember they are just doing their best to serve Jesus the way they know Him—even if their opinions hurt me sometimes. I should love them better whether they love me or not. And I should obey Jesus better. Wholly. Do or don't do things that are actually in the Bible. Love thy neighbor, honor thy father and mother, Love the Lord Your God with everything in you (paraphrased because I got tired of the thys, don't covet your neighbor's wife (as if!).

So this Sunday when I go to church I will close my eyes (even though it’s dark so you really don’t have to), worship, listen to a good word, go home and maybe fry chicken and remember that the other Christians are just like me—God-lovers, family people, hard workers. All who just want to be accepted and not defined by wrong opinions from other people and maybe I can see them the way Jesus sees them. With deep, passionate, bloody love that gives and gives and gives.

Faith, phonies, and Following by Tracey Bateman

Of all the institutions in America, church is probably my least favorite. I wish I didn’t feel that way. I do write Christian fiction after all, and Christian authors should like the things all the other Christian like—potluck, baptisms, offering time. But church drives me crazy, what with all the phony smiles, hyper acceptance, and preachers wanting our money. (that was facetiousness for those of you who think I’m saying everyone’s a phony, lemmings, or money-grubbing snake oil salesmen).

I went to my friend’s church yesterday. He’s a pastor and is about as real as a guy can get. He used to pastor the biggest denominational church in town until he beat up a guy that had it coming and got ousted. So he started his own church. I think he repented for knocking the guy’s brains out and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t beat up anyone else since—he took up running, so that probably helps. Yesterday, he said Jesus went to the temple on the Sabbath “As was His custom”.

“If Jesus’ custom was to go to the temple,” my preacher friend said, “most of you should probably move in here.” It was funny. The point being if the perfect Son of God needed to go to church for a weekly recharge, how much more do we? This pastor is one of my best friends and he knows I think church is pretty much a waste of time, so he probably threw that out there to tell me church is, in fact, not a waste of time, and not only should I stop dissing the institution, I probably need it more than most people do. Smile. He might be afraid for my soul, but most likely just doesn’t want lightning to strike my head before we finish editing his book.

True story about my church experience last week. I went to church for the first time in awhile what with Mom being so sick for months and me figuring that’s as good an excuse as any to stay out of church and not be too judged for it. Two men complimented me. (don’t get hung up on the gender, it wasn’t like that, could have as easily been women). I was talking to a friend at the kiosk and a guy slipped his big arm around me and drew me in for an appropriate side-ways hug. He was big and warm and smelled like guy soap, which always reminds me of my dad and I could have stayed there awhile, but that would’ve been weird, so I didn’t. He said something nice and made me feel beautiful and accepted and I basked in his friendship. We’ve been friends since our, now grown, boys were in kindergarten together. I like him. He’s been “quitting smoking” since I met him, says inappropriate things at times, might have some shady business practices (not sure about that), but he adores his beautiful, perfect wife and their bazillion adorable kids, and is a good husband, father, and provider. And every time I see him he lets me know that he’ll always be my friend, even though he knows I’m messy too.

The other compliment: A smile, a hug/pat, and “You’re awesome.” SIGH. This guy definitely does NOT think I’m awesome. ☺ He knows I could be awesome like him, but I have a ways to go. He loves me, sort of, but in a “you could be so great, why aren’t you?” kind of way that makes me sad because my value is always based on what I will be rather than who I am.

And that’s what I don’t like most about church. The fake smiles and empty words (and also the dark sanctuary during worship which I think is manipulative—my friend’s church does it too, so I guess it’s just the new normal). So I’ve been stewing about it all week. Mad, really. Judging, even though I don’t want to be judged. And today, I woke up feeling guilty because I’m so mad, but also, thinking I’m right and church is stupid and I’m never going back, what with all the phonies, and I’m sure God agrees. Like Anne Lamott says, “You know you’ve made God in your own image when he hates the same people you do.”

I keep coming back to “Jesus went to the temple, as was his custom.” If being a follower of Jesus is to be like Him, to truly follow His example, then maybe He doesn’t think church is a waste of time like I figured He probably did, since I do. If following Jesus is obeying him, then my heart has to change. My over-inflated view of my own opinions needs to conform to the humility of Jesus’ weekly trek to the temple. Otherwise, I’m following an ideal—like going to church because you’re supposed to, rather than following a savior because I love him.

So anyway, I stopped being mad, got over myself, and figured I better start following Jesus better. It’s like falling in love all over again, this realization that I want to follow Jesus, even if he leads me to the temple with the dark sanctuary and phony smiles and empty compliments. Because the flip side is the peace of his presence, the truth of his word, and an ocean of love so deep and red and warm that even someone like me can swim in it and find the grace to follow him anywhere he leads.

I Made My Husband Nervous

Rusty just walked by and got nervous to see me blogging. But I promised I'd be good and he got over it.

Has it really been five months since I blogged? That's unbelievable. And truly, for those of you who follow and want to hear from me, I apologize.

My mother and blind/deaf/diabetic older brother moved in with us mid-December. We've gone from being completely self-absorbed to sharing our lives and our time with loved ones. It's been good. I'm learning new things about the heart of God who constantly challenges me to a closer walk with Him and new levels of grace. Because anyone who has taken care of aging parents knows that it takes grace to keep the "honor they father and mother" challenge but at the same time be put in the role of caregiver. The roles get all messed up. One day I'm saying, "Yes, Ma." the next: "You can't have that, there's too much salt."

Three weeks after moving in, my mom was taken to the hospital where she stayed for five and a half weeks. It was touch and go and we thought we were going to lose her a few times. But God still has purpose for her life. She's been in and out for three months and currently lives at a skilled nursing facility getting rehab. I love telling people Mom's in rehab. They always think Betty Ford. But that's not it, I promise. She's having therapy on her legs and occupational therapy to relearn many of the day-to-day practical things she's lost.

In the meantime, my fifty-something-year-old brother is adjusting to a crazy, busy, disorganized family and I think he truly believes he's here to straighten us out. :) He tries anyway. I'm learning all the things I missed growing up with him. He was a nuisance to me as a kid and a teenager--because, well, he's blind and deaf and to me he was sort of a piece of the furniture. How awful is that to admit? Now, I see him differently. He's funny--really funny. He told Rusty the other day he wanted a million dollars. Rusty said, "You want a million dollars?" He said, "Yeah!" I guess he thought Russ would just hand it over. Rusty said, "Okay, go work and get a million dollars." My brother got the joke. Who knew he got jokes? He spelled out (sign language...because, like I said, blind and deaf), "Rusty, smart." and cracked up that he told him to go to work. I guess it might not be funny unless you know him. But we thought it was hysterical.

GOOD NEWS

After two years off to regroup and refocus and several rejections later, I recently got the opportunity to send a proposal for a Historical fiction novel and DRUMROLL please....It was accepted. Still can't make an official announcement, but I can say, it's exciting to have marching orders (Miss Linda said yesterday. "March is right..one foot before the other by faith..watching and waiting willingly by faith for the things yet to come forth. Have to 'walk' into them and thru them to higher thing.")

So, there's my five-month update. I'll do better. :)

Encouraging Word Devotional

My friend, David Stearman has been writing for years--mostly songs, including some for singers we all know and love: Amy Grant for one. But lately he's penning novels and most recently a great new devotional called Encouraging Word that just hit number ONE on Amazon's Christian Meditations list. AWESOME

He has graciously agreed to share one of his devotionals with us today.

Winter's End

Song of Solomon 2:11-12--For behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

Proverbs 4:18--But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn that grows brighter and brighter to the perfect day.

Winter. Not my favorite season. Sure, sometimes it snows and everything looks beautiful. Even the air is exhilarating. But here in the Southern US, most winter days are just cold and gray.

But before long the Earth tilts, tipping us closer to the sun. The days grow longer, the flowers appear, the songbirds return, and soon we’re reveling in spring’s warm embrace. This change is inevitable. The natural forces God set in motion at Creation cannot be prevented or circumvented.

And your life will get better, too, for God promises so in the Bible. The spiritual forces He set in motion by way of His word are irresistible. By placing your faith in these promises, you align yourself with the Power that drives the seasons. Yes, the God who created the universe declares that your life will get better and better until the Perfect Day.

Today’s Prayer: Lord, things seem cold and gray in my life today, but I know they won’t stay that way. You promised my days would grow brighter and brighter, and I trust you to bring this to pass. Soon enough it will be springtime in my life and these challenging days will be behind and forgotten.

To order the .99 ebook go here: http://www.amazon.com/Encouraging-Word-Days-Uplift-ebook/dp/B00A1SM1ZS/ref=zg_bsnr_158398011_1

Hope always Opens another Door

Day Two:

Why so downcast, o my soul? Put your trust in God.

I love that David talked to himself. Encouraged himself, reminded himself that God is bigger and there is always a better day ahead.

Some days, I just have to tell myself that Jesus never fails. That He sees, He hears, He knows. His heart is so big and directed toward me, that if I wait it out, I'll see the Goodness of God in the land of the living.

And some days, that Goodness overflows. Maybe not in a big, fat check. But in small, constant ways like: A letter from a reader, thanking me for brightening her day with one of my books. Some days, we get little surprises like the dog actually "stays" when I tell her to :) Or Mike makes curfew. Ha! A phone call from a someone who just wants to love me, have coffee or lunch. Someone who remembers I'm still here. Days when I feel alone and tired and in need of kindness.

We've had a tough couple of years. I'm not going to lie. And with the very real truth that the military funding will be cut even more, it's unlikely Rusty will find another military position. So we have to turn our eyes elsewhere. What's the next step, Lord?

Hope always opens another door. It takes wisdom and courage to walk into change, but we're listening. Willing to do whatever God says as He directs us forward to tomorrow. Grateful for family and friends who love us and want God's best for us.

God's ways make me scratch my head, but this I know, I TRUST Him. I Believe He is working out my life, and later (however long it takes) when I look back, I'll see His hand as He has faithfully met eveyr need against overwhelming odds.

He's just that cool...

The Morning After

A couple weeks ago my agent, Karen, told me I must start blogging again. Normally I don't enjoy bossy people, but my sweet friend, Karen is RIGHT. I am so inconsistent. My friend Larry is in the process of editing his book called 40 Days With the Devil (see his fantastic blog www.larrydugger.com), and he encourages his readers to take 40 days for real change. Helping him with this book has actually changed my life! But I've decided to apply the principles to getting consistent with blogging so for the next 40 (weekdays) I am going to blog. Even if it's something stupid.

Day One:

Yesterday was a BIG day for me. I love election day, the process of rising, cooking a special breakfast, teaching the kids how important it is--this freedom our soldiers have fought and died for over the course of our country's 236 years.

Went with my eighteen-year-old son, Stevan, as he cast his first ever ballot! It matters. Three of my kids are now registered voters. I don't tell them how to vote (not that it would do me any good--they're all pretty much independent thinkers), I mainly care only THAT they vote. It's their hard-won right.

I made fattening, carb-loaded food fit for a holiday, and we waited. And waited. By eight o'clock central time, I had a feeling the president would be re-elected. My mood shifted from celebration to resignation.



But then, guess what happened? Morning came. God didn't fall off his throne, my puppy is still having puppies, Will still went to school (despite his best efforts to stay home and "comfort me"--which loosely translated means, "how about you just get over it, while I play my video game?), I still have an edit to do and Jesus still loves America and all its people, even the Democrats (smile).

Lots of emotions milling around in America today. Anger, elation, sadness, joy, fear, hope. Depends on your affiliation. I doubt there's a lot of apathy going on. At least not from those who weren't already apathetic.

I hope and pray our nation will come together, One Nation Under God. If we truly, truly believe that every, single word of the Bible is true and not just Mark 11:23-24, then we MUST believe that God had a hand in this election, regardless the outcome. Everyone must submit to governing authorities. For all authority comes from God, and those in positions of authority have been placed there by God. Rom. 13:1 NLT Vs two is even more sobering. It says if you rebel against the authority you're rebelling against God and what he instituted.

I'm not a bible scholar. But I do believe the Word of God. I believe in our country, and even though I do not agree with many of the policies of our current administration and I mourn for the life of the unborn, President Obama is in my prayers.

God bless this nation

The spirit of Christmas--a little early

Traditionally, my family lives by an iron-clad principle: NO Christmas until after Thanksgiving. We shake our heads in disgust at Christmas trees in the stores, wrapping paper out early, commercialized Baby Jesus and the angels. People who put their trees up before Halloween for crying out loud.

But the most important rule? NO Christmas movies between December 26 and until after the turkey has been eaten on Thanksgiving of the following year. It's just our thing. Each holiday gets its special time to just be...

But this year, I'm the one my kids are looking at, shaking their judgy heads and scowling.

Because here's the thing...

I have been working on a Christmas story the last few days. Which means watching a ton of Christmas movies to get me in the mood. So who cares what my kids think?

In the Bateman home it doesn't feel like Christmas until Thanksgiving night. We put up the tree, watch Elf or Jingle all the Way, and drink hot chocolate, plus bake cookies, but with all the leftover pie, we barely eat them.

Something about Christmas in September has pulled me into the Christmas spirit and I feel hope rising.

What is it about the Christmas season that does this? I mean really. We spend a ton of money, stress about family visits and worry that the kids are going to be disappointed at the things they "didn't" get. And yet, that feeling of hope prevails throughout the whole season. I love that.

I love snow and lights and too much food. I love baby faces sticky with their first taste of candy cane, peanut butter fudge, wrapping paper, Christmas carols, the three wise men and plastic dolls in wooden mangers. Christmas cards all filled out and never mailed (sheepish grin).

My heart is full of Christmas today. Hope, love, peace on earth, angels, and possibility.

I want pie and hot chocolate and ten inches of fluffy, white snow, just wet enough to make a great snowball and a lopsided snowman.

I want to think about Joseph and a big-bellied Mary, baby Jesus, the gift. The one. The savior.

Merry Christmas everyone.