Do you have great conversations in the shower? Please, tell me I’m not alone here. I don’t know if it’s the warm water loosening my brain, but the best convos with myself happen there.

My epiphany transpired in the middle of lather, rinse, repeat. While considering my dry, dull hair and calling on the hormone fairy to swoop in, balance my estrogen and return my shiny locks, I was enlightened. The thought trickled in as though it was there all along, waiting to get my attention.

           “You don’t need to lather twice.”

Deep, theological stuff, right? But it’s those “Oh duh” moments that often reveal the power of our minds.

Our brains are full of conditioned mindsets. Good and bad. Countless habits, attitudes, and perspectives live there and dictate our behaviors. Good and bad. Many are there since childhood, often handed down from family members.

Like the one that tells a young woman to cut the ends off a pot roast. She did it because her momma did it. Her momma did it because her momma did it. So, they ask gramma. The secret to the perfect pot roast? “My pan was too small. I cut the ends off the roast so it would fit.

But what about those mindsets that aren’t as harmless as shampoo and pot roast?

What about the ones that tell us we’re stupid, ugly, we’ll never measure up? Or those that say we are better, smarter, more valuable than others? They slither in and lie about who God is and who we are created to be, our true self. We have an enemy, my friend. Evil wants to rob us of our God-given identity.

Our minds really are battlefields where we live or die, spiritually and emotionally. That’s why Paul tells us in Romans to be transformed by changing or renewing our minds. And in 2 Corinthians, he reminds us to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

We compare our thoughts and attitudes to the truth of who God is and who He says we are. Knowing Him and ourselves,

We are free to resist the lies and grow into our divine design.

For 43 years, I lathered twice. That’s the way my mom taught me. It was the right way to wash an eight-year-old tomboy’s long hair. For three generations, women cut the ends off their pot roasts because “mom did it.” Until one day, we all stopped and asked why.

Yes, unhealthy mindsets die hard. But they do die. The next few weeks, we’ll look at lies about God and ourselves. We’ll step further into living abundant life in our God-given identity. Please join me on the journey.

Peace, my friend.

 

(c) Robin Melvin 2015

 

“So, tell me, if you woke up tomorrow and could do that one thing you’ve always wanted to do, what would it be?”

If I was in a comic strip instead of Diana’s counseling office, this is where you’d sketch a question mark over my head or pencil in chirping crickets. I sat there, unmoving. Unthinking really. Not one coherent thought. Beyond growing my faith and helping people, I couldn’t articulate one personal goal or dream. That’s the moment my lost identity was exposed, bare naked.

After thirty-one years of supporting my husband’s military and civilian careers and raising children and grandchildren, my youngest daughter graduated high school. I was an almost-empty-nester. For the first time in my adult life, freedom and a quiet home were mine. I’d heard this distresses some women but I was ecstatic. My time was my time.

Inundated with ideas and waiting to see the perfect one twinkling on the wall, framed with blinking arrows, I wasted time fretting about wasting time. Opportunities tangled my thoughts until my friend unraveled them with that one question. We peeked back into my childhood to uncover why my identity was wrapped tight in my roles and responsibilities, in what I did.

We found a little girl, voiceless and raised in an alcoholic home, still influencing me. After twenty-three years of experiencing God’s healing, I hadn’t completely stripped a victim mindset or my habit of gaining value by appearance and performance.

We peeled back people-pleasing, approval-seeking layers. False images, carbon copies, and chameleon skin hid my God-given identity. Lugging them into adolescence, marriage and mothering, I lost myself. I forgot to dream beyond changing roles and responsibilities. I didn’t plan past diapers and dinners, pony leagues and prom dresses. Life events and people defined me.

I walked out of Diana’s office smiling and thinking, Wow. I’m more messed up than I thought. Determined to see how unhealthy mindsets dictated my internal dialogue and life choices, I dug deeper. Not to blame, whine, or wallow in self-pity, but to understand my life’s self-defining moments. Those turning points when comments, events, or decisions layered junk on me. Ready to throw off behaviors rooted soul-deep, I thought a lot about image and identity.

Our identity is our individuality. It’s who we are and what makes us different from others. It’s our God-given design. Image is a physical likeness or a mental conception. It’s how we are viewed by others or ourselves. In knowing our true selves, who God created us to be, we find our unique personalities and freedom to express them.

As with all good things, our identity and image have twisted counterparts. They can be mistaken, stolen, or faked. For years, counterfeit images strait-jacketed me. Do you think parts of your true self are bound up and hidden away?

In the coming weeks, you’ll see my bare-it-all response to finding who I really am under fake layers and false identities. It’s connecting dots and untangling thoughts as I experienced them. Fleshed out, squeezed out, and written out. God’s still stripping me soul-deep, at the core of my fearful, selfish nature.

As I let you in on my deepest hurts, I hope you’ll uncover some unhealthy mindsets and see you truly are a new creation when you accept Christ and all He says about you.

Together, as we shed others’ opinions and society’s stereotypes, may you see yourself as God does. Holy, righteous, redeemed for a purpose. Free from guilt, right with God, and valuable beyond human measure.

Bare naked fear, pain, and pride are ugly. But I’m done hiding. How about you? Transparency is risky but it’s healing and freeing.

It’s been two years since Diana asked me a simple, soul-stirring question that sent me on this shameless baring-all journey to uncover my God-given identity. Are you ready to join me? It’s gonna be a wild ride. Peace, my friend.

 

(c) Robin Melvin 2015

Patience. I want it. Now. By the time you read this, my fourth grandbaby will be born. But, for the moment, my family’s mantra is, “Come on, Luna Sophia.” We breathe it out and trust she’ll get here in God’s time. That’s all we can do.

Even my daughter-in-law, whose swollen feet require sandals two sizes bigger than usual, can’t control the timing. She’s so done with all the put-you-into-labor tricks. Her limits for patience are stretched tighter than her belly. Pregnancy is in control. All she can do is surrender to the process and wait.

Yes, waiting. I’m not too keen on it. But, here’s a truth that helps me: Waiting time is not wasted time. The process of getting from A to Z is just as important as the outcome.

It’s the in-between time that grows us. Whether our challenge is minor like waiting at the dentist or major like waiting for a diagnosis, there’s always something to learn. When we’re tapping our foot or wringing our hands that’s a signal to ask God, “What do you want to teach me?”

I admit, I don’t always ask with the best attitude. Putting aside fear, pride, or my “rights” to be edgy and impatient isn’t easy.

                      But it sure beats wasting time by letting a difficult situation control me.

Knowing that waiting time isn’t wasted time,  encourages us to persevere — which builds our faith, our character, and our hope. We learn patient endurance, evidence of the Holy Spirit’s work in us. Author Joyce Meyer teaches, “… over time we become less affected by the difficulties and challenges we face. It’s like exercise … we must go through the pain to get the gain.”

Perhaps like me, an exercise analogy gives you the heeby-jeebys and you prefer Helen Keller’s thoughts:

           “We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.”

Waiting is hard. But waiting is crucial.

Let’s trust that God wants to birth something good in us. When we’re patient in the waiting, we’ll grow in process. Grace and Peace, my friends.

The Illinois Patriot Guard rumbled onto our church parking lot, honored guests of our annual Biker Sunday. We invited them because of their dedication to our military and first responders.

This nationwide group was formed in 2005 in response to Westboro Baptist “church”, a hate-driven cult that pickets military funerals and carries signs telling the world that God hates soldiers, homosexuals, and anyone else who disagrees with their founder.

Can you imagine sitting graveside, about to lower your son’s casket into the ground and hearing, “Soldiers deserve to die!”

To ensure dignity and respect for our fallen and their families, the Patriot Guard often forms a line, shielding them from protestors. Their American flags block the view and their rumbling motorcycles drown out the shouts.

That’s why we celebrated the Illinois Patriot Guard with a dynamic church service, rocking music, and an outdoor barbecue.

While mingling with our guests, I spoke to Viet Nam veteran, Steve Ballard. Yesterday, he rode with the Guard, to escort Pfc. Toppen’s flag-draped coffin from Midway Airport to his hometown, Mokena.

Ballard told me about the emotional toll these rides take. Amidst the sadness, he’s inspired by children, elderly – and every age in between – who line the streets, rain or shine. Whether their smiling, crying, waving or saluting, they represent the best in us: compassion, goodness, and sacrificial love. And that’s exactly what I saw in the teary eyes of that Viet Nam Vet.

As I thanked him for his commitment to our soldiers, he said something that stuck with me:

“It’s ironic that we started because of a church, and now we’re here being honored by a church.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. Yes, a beautiful irony. It took me a moment to respond.

“I hope people don’t lump all Christians in with the protestors. They don’t represent true Christ followers or the heart of God.”

He smiled as I scrambled for pen and paper to capture our conversation. When the motorcycles revved up for a sixty mile ride, he tossed me his business card and went to join them.

Our chat left me thinking about two churches: one spewing hatred and one sowing love. Second Corinthians reminds me that “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.” That’s true for a church and also for each individual who claims to be a Christian.

So, I ask myself: Who do I represent? My pastor says, “Remember who you and whose you are, regardless of where you are.”

That’s what I want. I want my attitude and actions to line up with – to be worthy of – my Savior’s name. Every American has a debt to honor. Especially those who claim to follow  Christ. Let’s represent Jesus with grace and unconditional love.

The Illinois Patriot Guard stands strong with compassion, goodness, and sacrificial love. They shield others from hate. May we do the same.