Spiritual Growth | Cookie Cawthon | product of a tenacious grace

September

When a Dream Dies

One of the coolest things I (Lindsay) have gotten to do recently is editing and formatting devotionals for Cookie as she enters the final stages of an amazing writing project (more on this at the end of the post :)). With her keeping her writing focus on that project this week, I am back at the blog today to share more on how my story with Jesus ties into what He is up to on the crazy ride of Tenacious Grace.

dreamdies2 Sometimes Jesus says yes. Sometimes He says no. And sometimes He says not yet.

In April of 2012, as I was praying, Jesus whispered three things in my spirit and gave me clear instructions to “have faith.” Excited over the revelation and clarity I quickly wrote them down on a post-it. Post-It

I felt like all three of these things fell into the “not yet” category, but I stuck the post-it on my desk to serve as a reminder of where Jesus was taking me.

Then over a year passed. And instead of God drawing me closer to these opportunities, my circumstances seemed to be pulling me farther and farther away.

Holding onto hope became hard. And eventually I just couldn’t bear to look at the note without feeling discouraged. I felt pressed to let go. So…with a heavy heart, I pulled the post-it off and placed it into a folder.

Some would say I was giving up on God. I felt like that myself. I thought maybe I had misunderstood Him; or He was just letting me down. But I was wrong.

I didn’t realize it then, but sometime in the year after I had written my post-it note, I had gotten wrapped up in following Jesus for the purpose of seeing those promises fulfilled. My joy became tied to whether or not I thought I was getting closer to where God was taking me next. And God wanted my joy to be solely anchored in the fact that He was with me now—no matter what season I happened to be traversing.

As I bitterly let go of my dreams, Jesus stripped me of unhealthy ambition, idols, and pride. But over time I eventually and amazingly found myself in a place of peace — free of striving and straining.

I learned that when we get overly infatuated with the idea of what’s next, we will unavoidably lose sight of the purpose He has for us right where we are. And even worse, our God-given dreams can unintentionally become our gods.

Through that season He replaced my iron-fisted grip on my dreams with an open-handed hope. Where I could still have faith for the future, without obsessively looking for ways to bypass the present.

It’s been over three years since I wrote that post-it note. I had forgotten about it until I recently sat at the computer and saw a link to a devotional I wrote for my church’s blog. Then suddenly a wave of excitement hit me–reminding me of that post-it and all that Jesus has done since I put it away.

I searched my folders and found the note. Reading it I was overwhelmed with gratitude to Jesus. When I wasn’t paying attention He brought me full circle — providing every single opportunity that He had whispered over my life three years ago:

* ministry with C

* a women’s group

* the writing team

Alone I may have chalked them up to coincidence. But together they stand as a testament to His faithfulness in my life.

…He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion…

And as for the star on my post-it labelled “Ministry with C” — let me tell ya, Jesus is up to something of the Ephesians 3:20 variety in the form of Tenacious Grace.

Recently I got to spend a few days sitting in a studio, watching Cookie do what God has so beautifully gifted her to do. Teaching in a way to help people find Truth, strength, and hope in Jesus.

I’ve been able to attend and work alongside her through each of her previous Bible Studies. Listened to her do her thing on the NewSpring stage. Seen her speak at women’s conferences, in small groups, and in churches around the community. Jesus never fails to speak to me when Cookie teaches. Getting to partner together with her in what Jesus is doing is one of the greatest blessings of my life.

As Cookie, Kay, and I continue moving forward and assembling the nuts and bolts of Tenacious Grace we’d love your prayers. And here are a few things we’d love to share with you:

Cookie is fully immersed in the final stages of writing a devotional book that will accompany her upcoming video Bible Study. Expect lots more info on this amazing resource soon!
Cookie will also be speaking at several churches and ministries in the coming months, and if you’d like more information about having her speak at your church or event check out the SPEAKING page. We’d absolutely love to come and serve you!
If you would like to stay up-to-date on all that Jesus is up to in Tenacious Grace, head on over and like our ministry Facebook page. We’d love to connect with you there!

August

Take a Seat.

After speaking at NewSpring Church in November 2012, I had the neat opportunity to meet a beautiful young lady God had touched significantly through my story as she watched from the Greenville Campus. Since that was – and still is – the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, it was profoundly encouraging to know God did work that my words could never accomplish. Her beaming smile and animation fed something wonderful in my soul…

Meet Caroline Cann.

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Since then, we have followed each other’s lives on social media and recently exchanged messages on Facebook. The semester after we met, Caroline moved to Columbia to become a Gamecock. She ran track for USC for a year and finished her NCAA eligibility playing volleyball. This past season was her last, and she has now jumped into broadcasting for the SEC Network (beach and indoor volleyball) and GamecocksOnline (videos and social media videos). Caroline will graduate this December with a degree in Broadcast Journalism, and as that life milestone nears she is working diligently and seeking God’s direction for what’s next.

However, she has recently encountered a window of time where God felt silent. This was particularly frustrating as meaningful life decisions loom on the horizon…

TakeASeat There have been times where I felt like Jesus wasn’t speaking to me.

I used to think these seasons of “quietness” meant Jesus thought I was doing well enough to lose the training wheels and try doing some things on my own.

Almost like Jesus was saying, “Hey, Caroline, you’re doing great. I’m going to rest my voice for a little while and let you handle some things.”

I also took the silence to mean I was in the middle of a transition. Pastor Judah Smith called it “in the meantime” in one of his sermons. I though Jesus’s silence meant nothing big was happening in my life so I could just sit back and He’d let me know when I needed to get ready for the next happenings of life. But after a few weeks of what I thought was silence…I started to get frustrated in my quiet time….shorten my time in prayer. And eventually my time in both disappeared.

I figured the next big event to happen in life would be my college graduation and by then Jesus would let me know what I needed to do. But for now, I was “in the meantime” and could just enjoy this season of life.

With one semester to go, I thought I was doing really great. Then it hit me.

Oh my gosh, I graduate in four months and Jesus hasn’t let me know what’s next. Sure, I’ve heard some great things in the little time I’ve spent with him and the sermons at church have been fire……but……..but……why don’t I have peace about what’s next? Why am I feeling like Jesus hasn’t been there for me? Why am I getting the silent treatment right now?

I decided to write down different events from the past six months where I felt Jesus’s guidance. For the first time in months, I was putting pen to paper and discussing things in my life with the one who designed it. Memories and little reminders flowed out of my head and on to paper – only to immediately be interrupted with another stream of consciousness that was so clear and so beautiful.

It made me pause and say, “Only Jesus.”

It hit me for the first time in months that Jesus wasn’t giving me the silent treatment. He wasn’t ignoring me. He hadn’t abandoned me. He was actually teaching me all along.

There are so many places in the Bible where Jesus is referred to as Rabbi or Teacher; I have read over these verses time and time again but never considered pausing over a word like teach. But in Matthew 5:2 – just before one of the most important sermons begins – the Bible reads, “…and he began to teach them.”

Six little words that, at first glance, don’t seem too exciting. And certainly not as exciting as the sermon that follows, beginning in verse 3. However, when I picked up Matthew 5 this go ’round, I was drawn to the first two verses. And especially the second sentence in the passage:

Now when Jesus saw the crowds,

he went up on a mountainside and sat down.

His disciples came to him,

and he began to teach them.

I don’t know about you, but I want to be more like Jesus. So, anytime he does something or begins to do something, I want to know about it. In Matthew 5:1, Jesus saw the crowds, so he went up on a mountainside and sat down. Visually, this captures my interest.

I know me, and I like being part of a crowd.

As a student at the University of South Carolina, there are few things better than being in Williams Brice Stadium with 80,000 of your closest friends. But trying to listen to something important while 2001 blasts across the stadium just isn’t possible.

Jesus knows this. So he moved up to the mountainside…….sat down……and “[h]is disciples came to him and he began to teach.”

The reason I believed I wasn’t hearing Jesus was because I didn’t do what his disciples did……follow him. There’s little doubt in my mind that those on the outskirts of the crowd in Matthew 5 could overhear the Sermon on the Mount, but there were probably very few who could hear well enough to learn.

Jesus brought his disciples close, offered them rest by sitting, and then began to talk to them where they could listen carefully.

My “in the meantime” wasn’t silent at all. Jesus was never not speaking to me. I just wasn’t following Him and allowing Him to put me in a position to really listen. I think sometimes we surround ourselves with a crowd full of work, parties, and a calendar so full of events that we aren’t really able to listen. I realized that as I neared my last semester of college I fell back into a crowd who was overhearing Jesus but not following. I was not a follower who was able to sit and intently listen to every word. Life is busy and Jesus gets that. He just always wants to spend time with us so we can sit, rest, and listen to everything he has to teach us.

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Caroline Cann, Guest Blogger

July

The House That Regret Built

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I know what I want to be when I grow up.

After burning through four college majors, two college degrees, teaching high school English for seven years, momming it at home for ten years, working on church staff for three years and traipsing around the planet for forty-two years, I finally know.

And the thing is….I vividly remember bumping up against what stirred my soul on several occasions along the way.

In the early years of my adolescence I wanted to be a missionary. I was born with a teacher’s heart, so during that span of life, I “practiced” the missionary life by teaching my sister about Jesus. Heather is ten years younger, so I would sit her three year-old little self in my lap and read her endless Bible stories. Asking her questions to check her comprehension as any teacher worth her salt knows to do.

I again rubbed elbows with my heart’s love at the end of a bar in Clemson shortly after my college graduation. With a degree in Secondary Education. Deep in conversation about what I wanted to do next, I stifled tears when I shared my desire to search out the poorest community I could find and enact change through quality education. With a grand finale flourish, I released the tears and concluded, “I think I may be a Democrat.” True story. I didn’t know what to call the fire in my belly. I didn’t have a label for it.

My trip to Kenya in 2009 once again inflamed this thing in me. It felt like all my senses were on high alert. Colors were more vibrant, smells richer, flavors deeper. I felt all wide-eyed and alive.

And then. My recent trips to visit with the female inmates in the Florence County Detention Center sealed the deal. The thing was back. And this time I knew what to call it. And it isn’t at all tied to a political party.

Fear and doubt in the form of…

You can’t go live in a foreign country by yourself.

It wouldn’t be safe for you to work in a low-income community as a young teacher.

What are you going to do? Sell all of your belongings and feel sorry you were born in America? How does that help Kenyans?

…caused me to reject the stirring. My own preoccupation with safety and certainty has stolen years.

I regret that. It makes me sad to only now walk with clarity of purpose. It took decades to get here, and time is short. There is so much to do…..

There are other things I regret too.

But here’s what I know about regret. It builds a house and invites us to dinner. It rolls out a lavish spread and makes it easy for us to accept its hospitality. Regret says, “Put your feet up. Rest. Cry if you want to; your tears are welcome here.” And all the while it coaxes us into paralysis. Until our faith atrophies. Our hope feels like concrete blocks. We are smothered by the oppressive blanket of the past. We’re a guest at the inn of shame where no sunshine angles through the window. It’s dim. And we’re stuck.

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That’s the house regret has built in my life. Does that ring true with your experience at all? Is that your current address?

Well, here’s what else I’ve learned about regret. If we’ll intentionally muster the persistent effort to leave out the back door, we’ll find ourselves standing in the sunshine on the front porch of opportunity.

Because we can’t change the weight of the past.

But we don’t have to continue to sit under it.

God has provided informed hindsight where He’s allowed me to look in the rearview mirror and see how essential every part of my journey has been to our current location. Experiences from my childhood taught me Jesus is the source of healing and helped me connect with others who have similar backgrounds.

My early love for disciple-making and the years of studying educational theory and practice as a college student work nicely together.

My years on a church staff taught me how to lead a ministry, how to lead people and build teams. How to engage people with the Truth and the pure joy of serving others.

My mistakes have baptized me in an understanding of grace that I desperately needed, and they have broken the legs of pride that attempted to stand too tall. Because sometimes the Lord’s goodness tastes like humble pie.

While He has worked good from everything in my life for His purposes, He has said as He did after the miracle of feeding the five thousand in John 6, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted” (v. 12).

Let nothing be wasted.

I look back and know that every part of it was necessary. Though I could have chosen to learn lessons in less painful ways.

Today, as I stand in the sunshine on the front porch of opportunity, I am not alone. There are two friends with me, Kay Douglas (the business/legal guru) and Lindsay Haselden (the creative/marketing brain), and we peek in the window and see a ministry called Tenacious Grace. God has knit us together with a submission to Him, a love for each other, and a passion for seeing people thrive in their relationship with Jesus. I am particularly broken for poor, marginalized, hurting women.

friends.

We don’t know all of the specifics, but we know that Tenacious Grace is a place where people can find Truth, strength, and hope in Jesus. Through speaking and writing and serving in jail and whatever other directive the Lord gives, we intend to point to Jesus, champion grace, and serve women who haven’t enjoyed the advantages of life we have.

We have a tiny office and bills. We are in the process of filing for 501c3 (nonprofit) status, and next month we’re filming a six-week video-driven Bible study, which will be our first major project.

If you are interested in watching and participating in what God is doing through the ministry of Tenacious Grace, like our ministry page on FB, subscribe to the blog, and share posts to help us reach outside of our circles of influence. There will be lots of opportunities to get involved, and we would love to have you on board.

As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll stop by again real soon.

[Feature Images: Miguel Angel Arroyo Ortega and Max and Dee Bernt]

July

Hidden, but not healed

One of the treasures of real deal friendship is living closely enough to another human that you get to marvel at God’s work in her. That’s not so if we keep our relationships splashing in the shallow end. Diving deeply in our own self-absorption until our lungs burn and there’s no air for others.

For most of my adult life I have preferred those friendships. They require little. Yield little. Which was fine by me.

But God had other plans when I met Lindsay seven years ago. She spent fewer words than most people I’d ever met. She glowed red if she contributed during home group and concealed a white-hot penchant for competition that made me know I always wanted her on my team.

A lot of life happens in seven years, and we’ve been privileged to do most of that life together. During our relationship, God has grown her into a force. He has given her a voice others are wise to give ear, and she is more committed to pushing herself, more committed to walking in the shoes God intends her to fill than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s committed to growth and honesty and obedience and grace.

We are friends.

We are ministry teammates.

And it is such a treat to have her sharing her story on the blog today…

Antidepressants and anxiety meds became a part of my daily routine at the tender age of 13.

Though there are parts of my childhood I remember only in a hazy fog, I do know that at some point a switch flipped inside of me. I transformed from a vivacious and fun-loving kid, to a withdrawn and fearful adolescent. I can still recall my mother taking me to the doctor to discuss the abnormality of my temperament.

I would spend the next 10 years keeping the darkness at bay with a pill every morning. I had no real friends. I avoided most people. I occasionally prayed to a God I claimed but did not really know. I had a great family, but I also had a secret shame.

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One that was stuffed down so deep that I couldn’t have told you about it if I wanted to. Oh, to be sure it would resurface time and time again, only to be desperately shoved back into the depths of my mind. Forgotten in my head, but like an untreated wound it was left to fester in the deepest places of my heart. Hidden, but not healed.

Then one day my life changed. The far-away God I had known about my entire life finally became personal to me. Jesus. And, exactly as I was –burdened and broken– I began to follow Him. To love Him. To trust Him.

As I did that, ever so gradually, the darkness began to dissolve.

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For someone who had lived in darkness for so long the light was both a beautiful and scary thing. I discovered the amazing joy and love found in the light. But I also discovered that hurts can’t stay hidden when there is no darkness to conceal them. No dark corner to bury the memories of my molestation when the shame threatened to overwhelm me. And that is when I finally came to understand…

Jesus didn’t want to hide it. He wanted to heal it.

Healing for me started with confession–a willingness to acknowledge my past instead of running from it. And oh, how beautifully Jesus orchestrated the relationships in my life through this season. Providing me with someone who loved Him and had openly shared similar experiences. Someone who could loan me strength and hope as mine began to fail.

Talking about it didn’t kill me as I felt certain it would. Much to my surprise it brought me freedom and peace. The shame of my past lost its grip on me. The open wound eventually became nothing more than a scar–part of my story to serve as evidence of Jesus’s love and faithfulness.

Our past hurts. Our past sins. Our burdens. Our stories. These become our ministry. These are all tools Jesus has equipped us with. To draw others to Him. To bring healing to the broken. To help others see beauty rise from their ashes.

How would anyone ever know how to get out of a pit without someone who had been in the pit before willing to tell them?

We never know who needs to hear our story. We never know who may need to borrow our strength. Jesus doesn’t want us to hide our pain. He wants to heal it. And then to use it to draw others to His love and grace.

Guest Post by Lindsay Haselden

We would love to hear from you. If you have a story you would like to share, or if you would like prayer, please email stories@tenaciousgrace.cc.

July

On Being White and Southern

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“I’m not going to talk,” I’d contend.

Early in Chris’ career, he often entertained and hosted educational programs for physicians in the swankiest of restaurants. Anytime I accompanied him, I vowed silence.

I grew up in a charming, tiny town on a tobacco farm. There was no swank and not many physicians either.

These dinners, wholly of my own creation, made me feel inadequate and inferior. I feared I would appear foolish and simple.

“No. I’m really not talking this time,” I’d insist.

Because, without fail, each time I would discover I could navigate all the pieces of silverware and enjoy engaging conversation with his guests. I’d tentatively gain ground on my fear and allow a bit of me to come out to play.

I have also experienced a parallel timidity about visiting other countries. Each of the times I’ve boarded flights to the UK, Germany, Kenya, and Israel, I’ve been afraid of the differences in culture and perceptions and language.

Fear certainly hindered me from becoming involved in jail ministry before now. I was frightened by the place and the people; the trappings of incarceration were foreign to me.

This cowardice towards difference stretched so far as a new home we purchased a decade ago. By all accounts, it should have been our dream home. It was twice the size of our previous house, possessed upgrades we could only afford because the house had been on the market a loooooong time, and was well-built with a smart floor plan.

Nonetheless, I lay on the couch our first night there and sobbed. I wanted my smallish house back. There were eight exterior doors on the new house, which alarmed me from a safety perspective, and I was afraid it would never feel like home.

Different scares me initially.

In fact, I think that’s so for most people.

That’s what’s infecting our Facebook and Twitter feeds right now.

Fear.

Racism. Classism. Feminism. Legalism. Cynicism. Chauvinism. Anti-Semitism. Homophobism (I may have just concocted that word). All the black sheep -isms.

These are systems or ideologies rooted in fear. Based on unfounded generalizations about a group of people who are different.

It’s not new.

In the Old Testament in Exodus 1, the Egyptians were afraid of the Israelites, so they enslaved them.

In the New Testament in John 4, Jews feared defilement by the Samaritans and had no association with them.

And this phenomenon has continued to pock the history of mankind via countless wars and atrocities. And it always will.

It’s not new at all.

Difference scares us.

During our vacation to New York, we stayed in Stuyvesant Heights, a largely African-American community in Brooklyn. We landed only days after Dylann Roof killed nine African-Americans just two hours from our home.

I felt conspicuously white.

When we checked into our brownstone on a beautifully tree-lined street, we found it decorated with strong political statements:

It made me uncomfortable. Afraid even. Can I be that honest? Afraid that my whiteness would be offensive. Because people of my shade have committed acts of horror against African-Americans.

Not a hundred and fifty years ago.

Four days ago.

And I knew my region would be as apparent as my race the first time I spoke. I expected their disdain based on the color of my skin and the sound of my voice.

We dropped our bags and walked to lunch just around the corner. By the conclusion of our meal, I had shaken the fear that different can summon.

I can honestly say I felt less aware of being Southern and white in an African-American neighborhood in Brooklyn than I do in South Carolina. It was a non-issue in our interactions. I’m guessing the residents realized we were white 🙂 , but my race had never felt more irrelevant.

It was freeing.

After lunch, we caught a taxi to the Brooklyn Tabernacle, a predominantly African-American church led by a white pastor, and felt so warmly welcomed by the ladies seated around us.

It was the next morning in our flat, while the girls were still sledgehammered by exhaustion, that I sensed the Lord whisper Truth very clearly:

Perfect love casts out fear, Cookie.

Huh?

My mind drifted to a t-shirt I ordered in mid-May, long before hatred had its day on June 17. It would be delivered while we were away. Maybe Chris could ask William to grab it off the front porch and stick it in the house…

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And then it was as though God put a puzzle together right before my eyes….

The passion ignited by my visit to Kenya years earlier + Recently hanging out and speaking to folks at our local homeless shelter + Getting involved with jail ministry + Being smitten with a quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn.

All people different from me.

When love is the driving force in you,

there is no place for fear of difference.

Only love.

Because love is never satisfied

until it takes over every room of life space.

It’s a mutually-exclusive saturation.

I feel like I’m supposed to say I don’t see color. Or whatever difference exists between you and me. That that’s the correct response.

Maybe it is.

To me, it may be richer progress to acknowledge that we’re different.

To admit that you and I are different people, be that based on race, region, religion, gender, or sexual orientation.

To admit that we have different histories.

That we have experienced the world differently because of our differences.

And appreciate that. Even greater….LOVE THAT.

Can we have the freedom to see each other as exquisitely different? That feels truer to me than pretending I don’t see color. Or gender roles. Or class inequities.

Because I only know Southern white girl; that’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what it’s like to be Middle Eastern or a felon, Asian or gay or a man or black, but to the extent that I am better equipped to love people and understand the heart of God, I want to.

I want to divorce unwarranted generalizations of people based on the actions of individuals.

But I don’t want to ignore the things that make you you.

Because how can I truly love you, with a genuine knowledge, if I ignore what your experience brings to the table where mine lacks?

We can take down the Confederate flag, which I staunchly support we do.

But we can’t legislate love.

We can fight for it though. We can be advocates and purveyors of it.

I’m about that. All about that.

I’ll take my example from a man who loved people very different from himself. A man whose every action was motivated by love. Whose death was the greatest expression of love of all time.

He is uncompromising with regards to our hearts. They are to be soft, affected, and undivided. Pure.

Wholly submitted to the Truth……..love trumps fear.

You may also be interested in checking out these popular posts on depression, pursuing a woman’s heart, or a really, really neat personal encounter with God.

Blog subscribers….look for an email headed your way this week with the skinny on our fall Bible study.

[Feature Image: Kat B]