Abbie Smith

"Celibate Sex" is Now Available!

Abbie Smith — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 06:35:44 -0800

Check-out www.unsteadysaint.com for the scoop!

NEW BOOK

Abbie Smith — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 05:55:52 -0800

Pardon the blogging delay people.

I've been working hard to get a new website and book project released to you by February 13th. Yes, the day before February 14th. Yes, the day before the day better (or worse) known as Valentine's Day.

The book is about many things, some of which include sexuality, beauty, loneliness, hope, singleness, lust and Love.

Keep your eye-out - we're close!

To the Single and Childless Among Us

Abbie Smith — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 13:39:53 -0800

He slipped his way into my morning coffee, and accidentally, he said, proceeded to spill onto pages of my morning reading. Walk. And now work.

The non-mom-voice keeps taunting me. He did this when I was single, too. Idiot.

Why don't you have babies yet? You've been married over a year.
Your clock is ticking. Your womb is wasting away.

At first I tried to ignore it, but somehow that only created deeper and more persistent taunts.

What's wrong with you? What's wrong with your body?
Everyone else is. And is wondering why you're not.

Feeling David-sized in my voice, up against a Goliath-sized pack of lies, I decided to attempt a response.

You are wrong. Your taunts and arguments are wrong. You clearly do not know my God.

Teary and uncomposed, I continued.

You don't understand my God.
His daughters are given a different womb.
A womb about a Kingdom.

If God should ever give me a child who calls me mommy, I shall be terrifically grateful.
But if He doesn't, there are multiple other means by which He's positioned my practice of motherhood.
Multiple others ways my God reconciles children to His own perfect mothering.

Like letting me tell children how treasured they are, fostering life and a story worth living.
Letting me share with the younger what is pure and what is true.

My womb is far bigger than you are fathoming.
My womanhood is part of a far bigger story.

As a woman, I've been asked to dream with the broken, and disciple hope and a future into the flock behind.
As a womb-bearer, I've been given space to invite the hurting, and marriage to the bearer of life, freedom and healing.

And these are but the fringes.
These are but a taste of the astonishing roles for which my mothering heart has been created.
And for which l am terrifically grateful.

I haven't heard the non-mom-voice again today. But when I do, please remind me of these words.

Post-Labor

Abbie Smith — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 13:59:00 -0800

Why did the last ornament cause that? Why did fitting a final shape into the box labeled "xmas decos" cause such upheaval? Typically such precision stimulates my pride and sense of control and accomplishment.

This time it didn't. This time the perfectly organized and ready for the attic box elicited fear and emptiness.

Christmas is done. She had the baby. Now what?

The pregnancy of advent gave me a reason to wait. A tangible conclusion for which I was waiting. The story of Christmas lent reason to decorate and prepare and feast.

And then it happened. And then he was born; Immanuel, God with us.

We feasted more, savoring the gift. Presents and presence, nestled in knowing.

But then the time came. To leave the manger. To sweep-up remaining evergreen aromas. To box-up decorations of the Story.

The womb felt without again. This year ahead unknown.

Maybe Jesus is easier to trust in a pregnant story. Maybe he's easier to fathom with all the songs and light and magic of the season.

But as a real, born person, he can be harder to grab hold of. As the reality of the incarnation, his following can seem more complex.

So maybe my consolation today, in carrying "xmas decos" to the attic, is being allowed to leave some things out. Like advent and hopeful waiting. Like watching toward what's to come.

Waiting for his return. Watching for him in my midst.

Margaritas Crowded With Tequila

Abbie Smith — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 09:40:51 -0800

Stenches of weed and cigarettes opened the door for us. As did carols of margaritas crowded with tequila.

Neighbors invited us for Christmas this year. An honor in theory, and unarguable answer to prayer. Uncomfortable in reality, posing a wider scope of prayers.

Interactions knew we were the minority. Chances for light shone pitch black. Hope felt vacant.

This culture is too far gone.

Love too far forsaken.

Let’s leave and go home.

Let’s let them come to us,

On our terms and with our ways.

And then I remembered the vacancy at the inn,
the stench of the stable and the baby savior,
the servant king and the loving daddy.

I remembered the story.
Of leaving perfection for the sake of the stench.
Living the life we were meant to live,
dying the death we were meant to die.

Coming to a culture eternally array,

With love eternally forsaken.

I must leave my home, Jesus said.

And come to them,

Showing them the freedom of my way.

And then I remembered the honor, and thoughtful answer to prayer, that neighbors had invited us for Christmas this year.

The Absurdity of the Christmas Story

Abbie Smith — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 14:33:32 -0800

Each year seems to strike me with different absurdities wrapped-up in the Christmas story.

Some years it was the fat man with the beard and red suit. Others maybe the anticipation on Christmas Eve, as my sister and I waited pregnant with hope at our doorways, searching for the crack of dawn.

About a decade ago, I started believing the Jesus part of the absurdities wrapped-up in the Christmas story. As true. And the absurdities took a different shape.

Some years it’s been a confusion with consumerism and why we exchange gifts when it’s someone else’s birthday? Other years a fascination with salvation and the lengths of its Story. This year it’s the bit about humanity. Of the deity.

The teenage virgin being told she’s pregnant. With God.

The king being intentionally born into poverty. As God.

The savior learning to walk and talk. To read and tell the truth.

The prince of peace as a teenager, tempted socially and sexually and morally.

The high priest in his twenties, wrestling with doubt and desire, theology and identity.

Or late twenties, fighting vocation and singleness and feeling alone.

Or early thirties, living-out community and solitude, grace and truth.

Jesus, just a few years into his actual ministry, laying down his ministry for the sake of a bigger one. Laying down his life for the sake of a massive one. A mass-of-Christ one, bleeding life into lives far beyond his humanity.

How stunning.

How miraculous.

How humble.

How precious.

How refreshing.

How sacrificial.

How glorious.

How inviting.

How absurd.

Why Her, and Not Me?

Abbie Smith — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 10:43:28 -0800

Below is a message I shared at a women's Christmas gathering this morning.

When’s the last time you compared yourself to someone? What aspect of them were you desiring, or disliking about yourself?

Whether it’s someone’s jeans, thighs, job, boyfriend, grades, gifts, hair, family, facebook profile, height, voice, kids, car, boobs, butt, nail-color, vacation, pregnancy, wedding, house, friends, style, nose, shoes, smile, husband, story, knowledge, wardrobe, or weight…we’re all prone to envy. We all struggle with desiring beyond what we’ve been given. And wanting to become like someone, or wanting what someone has, isn’t a sin, but when desire bleeds into resentment, it becomes envy. And envy can literally strangle the life out of us.

We envy because we’re discontent with who we are, and therefore, see it in another and can’t help but resent them. We envy because we forget who God is (as ultimate author and unwaveringly good) and we forget who we are (as His craftsmanship). The odd thing though, given that envy is all around us, is that we rarely talk about it—maybe especially in the Church. Jesus’ brother said, “where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice” (James 3:16). So clearly envy threatens our joy and care for other people. And it threatens our enjoyment of God’s creative design over our specific situation. Envy leads us to resent what others have, which can’t help but emphasize what we don’t. St. Augustine calls envy, “dissatisfaction with our place in God’s order of creation, manifested in begrudging his gifts and vocations to others.”

But Jesus saved us from such a shallow way of criticizing and/or securing ourselves, right? Well, yeah, in Truth, but the anti-trinity (the world, the devil and our flesh) still pursue our identity and security on a daily basis. So what’s the cure, then?

An often overlooked character in Jesus’ narrative story, who shines some light here, is Elizabeth. In Luke 1, we find Mary, a virgin who’s just been told she’s pregnant with the Son of God, traveling about seventy miles from Nazareth to visit Elizabeth, a elderly relative who’s six months pregnant with who we now know as “John the Baptist.” It was likely refreshing for Mary to hang-out with someone older and more experienced than her teenage wisdom, and Elizabeth had had quite a miraculous conception, as well, and must’ve been an encouragement in believing Mary’s unbelievable account.

But put yourself in Elizabeth’s shoes for a second. Might you have felt a twinge of envy? I mean, why did Mary get to be pregnant right after puberty (instead of menopause), while Elizabeth had been so prayerful and obedient, and barren, for decade after decade after decade? Why does Mary get to look all young and cute and vibrant, while Elizabeth withers away in fat and wrinkles and a husband who can’t even talk anymore? Surely Elizabeth was grateful for the son God had given her, but wouldn’t it make sense for her to wonder why God didn’t give her, versus a teenager, the really special one? Hadn’t He heard this faithful Jewish woman’s desires to be the Messiah’s mother? Apart from the grace of the Holy Spirit, yes, these thoughts probably would’ve been Elizabeth’s. But look instead at how she responds:

³⁹At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, ⁴⁰where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. ⁴¹When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. ⁴²In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! ⁴³But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? ⁴⁴ As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. ⁴⁵Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”

Upon Mary’s arrival, Elizabeth, who herself was pregnant with the man who would pave the way for Jesus’ ministry, lays down her human tendency to be self-ward, consumed by her self and her body and her story. From every logical perspective, Elizabeth should’ve envied Mary, but instead, celebrated and affirmed her and the arrival of the Messiah. Elizabeth’s heart rejoiced with this unborn child, already referring to Him as, “my Lord,” somehow knowing already that this embryo was her personal Savior. Furthermore, Elizabeth counts herself honored that God would choose her to share this news with. She goes on to recognize that Mary believed the message God had been spoken to her and affirms such a fulfillment. "Blessed is she who has believed," Elizabeth says, an essence of response to God, to trust His Word and live true to that belief. Graced by the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth is able to stand tall in who she is and is becoming in Christ, and to believe God in such a way that she could resist envy and rightly respond to the sister and miracle standing before her.

Have you ever felt envy toward one who God seemed to single-out for special blessing? Or bitter by your not being sought out for anything special? “Why does she always get picked?...Why isn’t my family like theirs, or my child like that one?...Why is my family the one being struck by cancer, or my body struck by this ugly shape?...Why can’t I be the one who’s pregnant…or getting married…or who always seems secure, or stable, or who’s made for something great? Why can’t I be the one who’s special, God?”

If we’re honest, all of us have—and probably will again by sunset tonight. But each of us also has the same invitation to respond like Elizabeth. As God’s daughter, you’ve been uniquely designed with a make-up and purpose and personality of glorifying Him in a way no one else in history or the future can repeat. Each of you in this room today has a customized task on earth, and favoring toward that task.

And what happens when we envy is that we lose contentment in God and in who God has made each of us to be. Envy’s roots lie in unbelief, while it’s repellant is trust. And it’s a mysterious vice, working through subtle and peculiar paths. Basically if Satan can get to us to believe that what we’re desiring, or dissatisfied with, is too weird, or gross, or unheard of to voice, he’s done his job. Whereas, when we’re willing to be vulnerable with ourselves, each other and God, trusting Jesus’ redeeming strength at work in us, heaven gets excited.

In The Message translation, 1 Corinthians 7:17 reads, “Don't be wishing you were someplace else or with someone else. Where you are right now is God's place for you.” Paul goes on to say in chapter 13, “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast…” To love is to cease to compare—ceasing to resent, and instead, embracing ourselves as God’s daughters. Titus 3 says it like this, that we, too, “were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another. But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, butaccording to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, ⁶whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirsaccording to the hope of eternal life” (3-7).

Our task as Believers is to embrace God’s design of us, and let His Incarnation make its way through that design. And embracing God’s design of us means faithfully stewarding the gifts, wiring, resources, even weaknesses that we’ve been given. Jesus is never mentioned as being exceptionally good-looking, gifted in athletics, smart, wealthy, socially adept, liked by people, etc. What’s mentioned is who He is in relation to His Father, and based on this position, what he’s living for. And we, too, have the invitation to look at God and look at our stories, and wonder with Elizabeth, "Why am I so favored?”, chosen by the Designer of the Universe to participate with a unique, unmatchable role, in His story?

So be free and encouraged to be yourself this Christmas season, to confess to God and to each other, to affirm God and each other, and to boldly ask the Spirit of God to unveil your favor and incomparable meaning.

Changing Generations Means Changing Views on Fasting, Food and Body

Abbie Smith — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 09:55:37 -0800

(Due to thoughtful and lengthy responses, this facebook post seemed worthy to move into a blog conversation).

"Returning from a book group of girls ranging from their 20's to 80's. Today's topic began with fasting and moved into food, body-image, eating disorders, the birth of television and internet... Absolutely fascinating, and complex, to piece together change in the past decades. And to consider restoration in the decades to come! Out of curiousity, if you could say one thing about food or body to the generation below you, what would it be?"

Instead of Entertaining Like the Jones'

Abbie Smith — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 08:57:03 -0800

We've had guests in town the last few weeks. Some for an evening, some for a week and one for two and a half weeks.

I've loved it. And I've cursed it.

Guests bring an extra energy to the home - an extra voice to the conversation and tone to the laughter. They bring different perspectives on how to chop an onion, or choose a paint color.

But they can also bring exhaustion - adding tiresome energy and perspectives you could've done just fine without. They can bring more work, at times, and for me, at least more temptation to "entertain."

en-ter-tain - [en-ter-teyn] - verb 1. to hold the attention of pleasantly or agreeably; divert; amuse.

The mere thought of guests awakens my drive to entertain. And in our fast-paced, high volume, highly visual culture, that's hard work. Holding people's attention, or dutifully assuring their amused well-being is an impossible feat, and yet we (women, especially) still shoot for it. We try to go faster, produce more and create better. And in doing so, run ourselves into the ground, and run highly antithetical to mankind's make-up. We aim to perfect our entertaining, at the cost of being with and participating in the lives our guests.

The thing is, entertaining isn't all bad, I'm learning, but it's also a fragile good. The mere word has morphed a good bit in this century. Introductions of television and Internet lent the likes of Carol Brady and Real Simple to set standards for how a house should be decorated, or what one must do to host acceptably.

Generally speaking, guests are a gift to be hosted, not a short-lived presence to be entertained. That said, I think there are times for entertaining. There are times for spoiling guests with pleasure and diversion from their day-to-day lives. We host a weekly meal and Bible Study in our neighborhood and I love offering a clean home, unique centerpiece and tasty food. But too often, for me at least, these noticeable diversions from most folks' busy lives, can bleed into an expectation for myself, or whomever enters my space. Too often my idea(l)s of entertaining coerce me toward flashy amusements, drawing attention away from the relational and toward the external. Too often I find myself stuck aiming for an immaculate facade of a perfect home and permanent smile.

It's no secret that the biggest sparkle tends to win in our society (and oftentimes in the Church). The secret seems to be that simplicity and minimalism are treasures in the chest of human longing. Actual presence with another human being is a rare gem and marked diversion. Hospitality, that is.

hos-pi-tal-i-ty [hos-pi-tal-i-tee] - noun

1. the friendly reception and treatment of guests or strangers.

2. the quality or disposition of receiving and treating guests and strangers in a warm, friendly, generous way.

Did you notice that "strangers" appears in each of these definitions. When's the last time you hosted a stranger? Me neither. And when's the last time you prepared for the quality, or disposition of how you received and treated your guests? Nevertheless, we're told in 1 Peter 4:9 that hospitality is something Christians are asked to show one another...without grumbling, that is, thereby contributing to one another's needs (Romans 12:13).

Hospitality insists on vulnerability. Meaning, at times, our offering will feel menial, or burnt, or still dirty in the sink. At times, that is, we'll have to choose a priority of relational intimacy, over the possibility of being seen in the truth of our messy homes or selves. Whereas entertaining asks the aesthetics of your house to rule over the true state of you, hospitality bids the true state of you to open the door of your home.

Hospitality bids us to be real. How polished, or posh, or big your space is, takes a backseat to simple expressions of care, like a burning candle, or jar of wildflowers (Edith Shaeffer wrote a fantastic book on this called, "The Art of Homemaking"). Maybe this week we won't have the time, energy, or budget to create our envisioned environment. But as we learn in this short interplay of Mary and Martha, hospitality bids us to put intimacy and presence before a strategy for how to best entertain.

As they continued their travel, Jesus entered a village. A woman by the name of Martha welcomed him and made him feel quite at home. She had a sister, Mary, who sat before the Master, hanging on every word he said. But Martha was pulled away by all she had to do in the kitchen. Later, she stepped in, interrupting them.
"Master, don't you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand.
"The Master said, "Martha, dear Martha, you're fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it's the main course, and won't be taken from her" (Luke 10:38-42 The Message Translation).

"How do we know though," I may've posed to Jesus? How do we know when a desire to entertain well, has crossed into self-seeking forms of adulation, pride, or people-pleasing? Here are some questions that've begun helping me answer this lately:

*What is it I'm striving to accomplish when I invite guests into my home, and where were these strivings modeled to me?

*Do duties and expectations trump attempts to love well the guest in my midst?

*Am I aiming to provide a perfect experience, or a real experience?

*Am I more concerned with guest's experience of me, or my appearance to them, than I am offering a safe, genuine place, expressive of Home?

As we move into the holiday season, our temptation will be to entertain memorably and energetically. But my prayer is that when we entertain, perfection or giftedness will cease to be our drivers, and presence will step in as a recognized and utmost pleasure of our guests. And that when we practice hospitality, we'll discover the genuine, generous and vulnerable presence of Jesus, especially to the stranger.

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unaware. Hebrews 13:2

Suburban Gone Ghetto

Abbie Smith — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 10:28:13 -0800

Sometimes I wonder why we live in our neighborhood.

Like when a drunk neighbor showed-up on our doorstep last night, belligerent for money. Shouldn’t we protect ourselves from such instability?

Or observing a prostitute walk into another neighbor’s house across the street. Shouldn’t I guard my eyes from such injustice?

Or watching neighbors abuse the welfare system, let alone their own children. Shouldn’t we avoid this—putting our young marriage in a safe, happy setting, surrounded by a white picket fence, with 2.5 safe, happy children and a golden retriever?

Or when I’m tutoring kids who are twelve and can’t read, or sixteen and pregnant. Shouldn’t we let the government solve societal dysfunction and doctors save people and teachers figure out a system for illiteracy?

Or in yesterday’s conversation, when an eighteen-year-old was telling me about the January birth of her second child, who has at least four possible baby-daddies. Shouldn’t I work with capable people who are educated and have comprehension enough to know better, or think differently?

And then I glance at the coffee table, and the humble hues of a tan-colored Bible resting there. And I remember its Story; the only Story I believe as true.

I remember the drunk people and the prostitutes, the lazy people and the religious ones. I remember the children. I remember the hypocrisy and the corruption, the addiction and the false accusation. I remember the sacrifices and the miracles, the sinners and the righteous.

I remember that Christ alone is our stability and our soul’s primal cry.

I remember that God is the justifier and architect of true justice.

I remember that idealism does not fit into reality, and is but an inkling of our Longing for Home and a world without trouble.

I remember that safety is a state of the heart, found most deeply in the lap of the Father.

I remember the way Jesus spoke so endearingly of children, and of his robust theology of family, transcendent of any formula or fixed model.

I remember how Jesus wept and wondered, leaned-in at times and the discerned liberty to leave at others.

I remember the Gospel. I remember that all we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6). And that we're to put on then, asGod’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts^, kindness,humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and,if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive (Colossians 3:12-13).

I remember that I am like my neighbors and have so much to learn from them about Jesus. And that until I can look the drunkard, and prostitute, and prostitute’s user, and any other human being, in the eye and say, "Jesus loves you just as much as he does me. At the heart of the Gospel, I am just as distant from God as you are, and we are just as near to Him by way of the Cross; we are equal in our desperation to be forgiven, accepted and loved."

I remember that the Gospel isn’t tidy and that gaining Life comes at great cost.

I remember that Jesus paid it all—forgiving whoever would call upon him—and that all day long, the Trinity intercedes on this behalf for each of my neighbors and me.

Sometimes I wonder why God would be so kind to let us live in His neighborhood.