Texting with Satan

We met Dalton a week after we moved here.

He was walking down the street, dirty and haggard, and I offered him a meal. We were doing a fish fry benefit for a local ministry and plates were $7 each. He said he didn't have any money and I told him that I asked if he was hungry, not if he had money.

From there a friendship was born.

Even though I discovered that he was not homeless, having inherited an aunt's house, he had no money, no furniture, and no groceries. I included him in my homeless ministry.

I picked him up for church every Sunday for six months, until he got his truck running and began driving himself to church.

He would have periods of time when he would start to back away, but I'd always find a job for him in the church and make sure he felt needed.

He liked to text and we had frequent text conversations. It was obvious from the start that his cognitive function was oddly paradoxical. Aware of historical and world events that only Jeopardy champions could recall, in some ways he was brilliant. But he also showed signs of a stunted mental growth and severe social disorder, similar but not quite the same as Asperger's. A diagnosed schizophrenic, he went to a psychiatrist twice a month.

I didn't care about any of that nor did it scare me. We're all a little crazy, I figure, and the root of ALL illness, physical or mental, is spiritual anyway so I knew one day he'd be set free.

We've been friends now for a year and half, and even though he stopped coming to church a few months ago, I've continued to help him and engage in some interesting text conversations.

He grew up with a drug-addicted, prostitute mother who was in and out of jail, grandparents who despised him, and a largely absentee father. I was the first real friend he'd ever had, he told me.

The text talks aren't unusual; I receive several every day. Many guys touch base just to stay accountable, or to know that someone out there truly cares.

But Dalton's texts started getting much darker a few weeks ago.

Attacking Christianity, church, and bizarre things like the moon and kittens, his rants were often left unanswered.

I knew I would be carrying on a conversation with the devil.

Only when he'd reach out and ask for help in clearing his mind would I respond.

But he was like a child, trying to see how far he could go.

He kept on. And on. Attacking the Bible, attacking Christians, trying to provoke an argument.

Last night, he crossed a line. He attacked my husband and the message he preached from the pulpit. (The sermon was about Paul.) I'd heard Dalton argue before that Paul was basically the devil but this time when he attacked Paul, he attacked my husband as well.

What was I supposed to do?

Turn the other cheek? Take a stand?

I wasn't going to get into another text marathon with him. Those never ended well. He always had to have the last word, and as soon as he seemed to receive help, he'd go off in left field somewhere.

I felt like a mom who'd finally reached her wit's end. That's it! I thought. You wanted me to get to this point. I'm there!

My reply was short and succinct. I'm sorry you feel that way about my husband. Goodbye.

I honestly don't know if I did the right thing.

Because it's still bothering me, I'm thinking I didn't.

I can only pray for guidance and clarity in my future steps.

Pitching Your Tent Toward Sodom

This morning's sermon was on Genesis 13:12 and how Lot pitched his tent toward Sodom.

I'd already known the title of the sermon and some of the points. I try to act as an attentive audience as my husband prepares his notes throughout the week, but if I hear too much of a sermon beforehand my mind tends to wander to grocery lists and meal menus during the service.

So even though I knew the gist of the message, I didn't know the details. Nor did I know the conviction that would accompany it.

I'd like to think of myself more as Abraham, leading the nations and following God faithfully.

But during the sermon I saw myself as Lot, receiving the fringe benefits instead of earning the wages.

But I don't pitch my tent toward Sodom, I meekly declared to the Lord. I am not living in sin, nor am I fixated on living like the world does. Of this, I was confident.

No, He said. You've pitched your tent on a carousel. In my mind's eye, I saw one of those little merry-go-rounds that make for great incentives in getting kids to behave in Wal-Mart. I've spent many post-shopping trips with kids and grandkids on the little horses, rewarded for patiently sitting in the cart throughout my shopping, while I impatiently waited for the cycle to end.

I could clearly see the things of God on one side and the things of the world on the other. And me, right there on the carousel, spinning dizzily around and around as my focus shifted.

He was right. That's exactly what I do.

My Sodom may not be sex and drugs, but it's love of money, and secular music, and tv shows that poke fun at sin.

What happens when the music stops? Where are you facing? He continued.

Somewhere different each time, I realized. Sometimes toward the Lord, sometimes toward the world. Yet others times I ride without ceasing. Around and around.

They call that being double-minded.

Here's the thing. As long as I want to stay on that carousel, He's going to keep feeding it quarters. That's His permissive will.

In His perfect will, I take my tent, face it toward Him, hang the OUT OF ORDER sign on the carousel, and cast not my eyes on the world ever again.

Did we learn nothing from Lot's wife? She turned into a pillar of salt.

We just turn into pillars of unrighteousness.

Where is your tent pitched? Near God, but facing the world? In the world? Facing God and with your back to the world?

Or are you like me, on a carousel, praying that the music doesn't stop when you're faced the wrong way?

Be Careful, Little Ears, What You Hear

"Oh, be careful, little ears, what you hear...be careful, little ears, what you hear...For the Father up above is looking down with love. Oh, be careful, little ears, what you hear..."

Many of us learned this song as a child.

I remember thinking, How are you supposed to be careful about what you hear? Or what you see? I understood the verse about being careful what you SAY, but when you're five years old, your world is a pretty controlled environment.

It's taken forty years to get my answer.

It's a concept, one learned at an early age, that we should learn and meditate on as we get older and have to make those choices.

One I sometimes forget.

I think it's a song we should be singing as adults, every day as a reminder.

I was on my way home last week when I started flipping through the radio stations. I generally keep my radio tuned in to K-Love but sometimes I want to hear something else. If a country song isn't blatantly extolling the virtues of living for the devil, I will sing along at the top of my lungs.

This day, however, I came across Meghan Trainor's All About That Bass. Now I knew the song from a Kidz Bop CD (which cleans up lyrics of popular songs) and I loved the beat so I decided to listen to the unedited version. I'd heard it before so I knew this was a mistake but I did it anyway. (How many times do we say THAT?)

I felt a little convicted but figured, hey, it's just one time, and even though I knew it grieved the Spirit, it was only 3 minutes and then it was over.

Only it wasn't.

For six days in a row now, I've woken up to the song in my head. And not just any part, but the part where she curses. I've wanted to crawl under a rock.

The worst part was preparing the church for service Sunday with the song refusing to leave my head.

Then, in the middle of the sermon, when my husband said, "It's all about the faith," my mind started rapping again.

Now I truly get the song...be careful, little ears, what you hear. Not just because He's watching, but because He cares for us so much that he doesn't want the things we listen to or watch to separate us from the perfect love of Christ.

I pray now that with true repentance He will banish the song from its endless loop in my head.

I will be more careful what my little ears hear from now on.