Dealing with subtle sins: envy

Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.—Psalm 51:10 (NIV)

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I haven’t dusted my house since before Christmas. Call it laziness, call it setting priorities, call it avoidance, call it denial (“It’s not that bad.”), call it whatever you want. But it’s such a futile activity, especially in the winter. Especially if you have a woodburner. Especially if your furnace has a blower. I could dust one day, and the next it doesn’t even look like it.

The only time the thickening accumulation bothers me is when the sun is shining. But I haven’t seen the sun very much lately. Only gray, dreary skies and snow flying sideways. But eventually the sun will return, and the dust shall be dealt with. (No cracks about Genesis 3:19, please: “For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”)

Just as the dust accumulates in my house if I don’t deal with it, so sin accumulates in my heart. Call it laziness, call it setting priorities, call it avoidance, call it denial, call it what you will, but if not dealt with, it results in spiritual dryness, an empty prayer life and stunted Christian growth.

Lent has always been a time for spiritual introspection, a time to clean my spiritual house and get rid of the hindrances, time to face the ugly things that I’d rather keep hidden, for I’m ashamed that they even exist in me.

Yet I’m an imperfect human being, struggling to live a godly life in an ungodly world. I don’t lie (outright), but is there any way I deceive others? I haven’t murdered anyone, but have I, by spreading gossip, murdered someone’s reputation? I claim to love others, but do I harbor bitterness or envy or unforgiveness in my heart?

For the next six weeks, we’re going to examine some of these “subtle sins.” Today we’ll start with envy.

A couple of months ago, I discussed unanswered prayer with a friend at church. I couldn’t understand why there seemed to be a roadblock to book publishing. My first novel was considered by the publishing committee at several houses only to be turned down again and again. In addition, speaking and teaching gigs had dried up.

He asked if there was unconfessed sin in my life. I told him I’d considered it, but didn’t really see anything. I prayed for God to show me, but He knew I wasn’t ready. I really didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. But God always brings us to a place of readiness first.

Then we started a two-week prayer and fasting time for a writers and speakers network I belong to. Many needed breakthroughs, especially financial. The first devotional was about sin hindering prayer. Once again I prayed, “Lord, show me . . .”

And He did. The sin was envy. Not a strong presence (so I thought), but a grasping one. I don’t want to say “little,” because no sin is little in the eyes of God. But when others would ask for prayer for favor for their book proposals, for book contracts or speaking engagements, the envy would stir. “I want that for me, too!” I’d cry silently. And I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—pray with a sincere heart. If you couldn’t have it, why should they? Envy whispered.

For so long I either denied the envy I harbored or refused to acknowledge that it was big enough, strong enough, to affect me and make a difference. I was wrong.

Unlike dusting my house, cleaning the accumulated dirt in my heart is not futile. It’s vital.

Lord, pluck this envy out of my heart! Then spray the weed killer of Your Word on it to destroy any root that may have been left behind. Plant the seed of Your love that will grow and spread and blossom and give off a sweet fragrance. I know, Lord, that envy has hidden in me for a long time, and that I will have to be on my guard, watching for it in case it sprouts again. Never again will I underestimate the cost and the power of this deadly sin. Only through the blood of Your Son, Jesus, can I overcome this and live the life You have called me to live. I thank You for Your patience, steadfast love, and unending mercy and grace. In the name of Him Who died so that I might live, Jesus Christ, my Savior and Lord of my life. Amen.

Special-Tea: James 3:13–4:10

Grandma daze

Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the LORD that will be established. – Proverbs 19:21 (RSV)

When my son called and asked if we’d watch the kids for the week he and his wife were away, I didn’t hesitate. Winter’s been a bugger this year, and even though they live next door, I hadn’t spent much time with them since Christmas. Of course, school and chores also reduce Grandma time.

“Of course,” I said.

“That was easy,” he said.

Sure didn’t turn out to be easy.

Now, the day before, I’d learned that a publisher was interested in my still-being-written novel, but wanted a minimum of 90,000 words. I’d had 68,000 of a planned 80,000 done. I did the math: Writing 2,500 words a day, I could easily have the 90,000 words by the end of the month—and said so.

“Alrighty,” the editor said.

I figured I’d have from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. while the kids were in school to write to my heart’s content. I should have known John Lennon’s maxim, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans,” would come into play.

We were to get Brent, our 10-year-old grandson, on Sunday afternoon. His 7-year-old sister, Madison, was to spend the night at their other grandma’s. But plans changed when Madison came down with a stomach virus on Sunday. We got Madison, who stayed home from school on Monday, and Brent went with Nanny.

I still had four “kid-less” days when I could write.

By eight a.m. Tuesday morning, I felt as though I’d already put in a full day of work. A horrible night’s sleep hadn’t helped, either. After two trips next door to retrieve sneakers and a backpack—during which I’d gotten stuck in the snow, had to unlock and lock the door no less than four times because the key ring strap kept getting caught between the locked door and the door frame, and got the four-wheel-drive stuck in low—we made it to the bus stop at the end of the lane with four minutes to spare.

“Uh-oh,” said Brent from the backseat as the bus rumbled by. After a stop up the road, the bus would return for them. “I left my lunch on the table when I went in to get my backpack.”

I broke my neighbor’s speed limit of 10 mph in the lane when I raced back to the house for the forgotten lunch—and back out the lane to the waiting bus.

The whole day stretched before me—2,500 words, I thought, here I come. Not!

Midmorning I learned the schools were dismissing two hours early, thanks to a snowstorm. When I checked the forecast and read “8 to 14 inches,” “wind,” and “blowing and drifting snow,” I knew they probably wouldn’t go back to school until Friday.

Now, when my kids were in school, snow days in the Huey house were “slow days”—time for putting the schedule, the do-list and life’s busyness on hold and breaking out the hot chocolate, popcorn, board games and kids’ movies. Time to let life stand still and enjoy the moment. Carpe diem! Seize the day!

No, life doesn’t go as we so carefully plan. It brings with it little and big surprises, moments of serendipity, chances to choose joy and fun and time with those we love.

As a full-time writer working out of my home, I’m driven by assignments and deadlines. My focus is usually on the computer screen before me. When I’m working on a novel, my mind is in my story world, even when my body is at the supper table.

All too soon, Brent and Madison will be teenagers, and spending time with Grandma won’t be cool.

The writing can wait. The novel will get done, and in time.

For now, I’ll take those Grandma Days whenever I can.


Thank you for snow days, Lord. And for grandchildren and children and husbands and love. You know I couldn’t live without any of them. Amen.

Special-Tea: Ecclesiastes 3:1–9

When I fail

Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. – Hebrews 12:1 (NIV)

I knew better, but I tried to get away with it anyway.

At the beginning of January, I began still another diet. As I followed the four-day jumpstart eating plan, I noticed it was high in protein. No flour products such as pasta and bread—not even whole wheat.

Now I love pasta and bread. These are my Achilles’ heel, and probably the reason I’ve been trying, without much success, to lose weight for the past 30 years. White flour and sugar foods literally make me sick. Within an hour after consuming them, I feel achy and tired, like I’m coming down with something.

But I convince myself a little bit now and then won’t hurt, that substituting white flour with whole wheat or buying a low-glycemic brand of pasta won’t affect me in the least. As long as I don’t go hog wild on whole wheat products or sneak in a serving of something made with white flour too many times.

Now, Friday evening is hubby and my date night. Pizza and a movie. Just the two of us. I make homemade pizza (half whole wheat, half unbleached white flour), and Dean makes a big salad, which is to keep me from eating half the pizza. As long as I stick to two slices of pizza, I’m OK.

One Friday night we decided to eat at a local pizzeria. I wanted the whole grain crust pizza, but was told they don’t make it anymore.

“A couple of slices won’t hurt,” I thought.

We ordered a large, pepperoni pizza and a basket of bread sticks—made with white flour. While we waited for the pizza, we shared the bread sticks—two and a half each. When the pizza arrived, I selected two of the smallest slices, then halved a third slice, which didn’t have any pepperoni.

I was proud of myself for my self-control—until the too-familiar sick, achy, tired feeling hit me and the numbers on my bathroom scale jumped up and stayed up. It took me a week to get back to where I was before I fooled myself into eating that pizza. (The bread sticks didn’t help, either.) I had less energy and more cravings than I had before the pizza incident.

You’d think I’d learn.

James describes this phenomenon when he writes that temptation starts with desire, and, if not dealt with, will lure us into doing what we know we shouldn’t. First the desire, then thinking “This isn’t so bad” or “A little bit, just this once, won’t hurt.” Once we convince ourselves, we plan how we could do this and get away with it. Then we do it. (James 1:13–15)

I felt like a failure all week. Hopeless. Discouraged. Disappointed in myself. I hate setbacks, and it was I who engineered this one. Failures tend to make us want to quit. There was but one thing to do: Put this self-inflicted defeat behind me and get back with the plan.

I’m going to have setbacks and failures, not only with weight loss, but also with life itself. Unforeseen expenses. An unexpected diagnosis. Loss of income. Accident. Illness. Problems with relationships. The list goes on. C’est la vie—such is life.

I’ve learned diligence, perseverance, endurance, and patience aren’t easily acquired, but are ideals toward which I work—traits that aren’t mine in abundance, but, like muscles, strengthen with training. The more I use them, the stronger they get. I’ve learned that I’m not perfect, and neither is life.

So what to do when I fail?

Don’t beat myself up about it. Don’t sob in my tea. Ask for forgiveness, wisdom, and strength—then forget what’s behind and reach for what’s ahead ( Philippians 3:13–14).

That’s the only way to overcome failure.

Thank you, dear Lord, for the strength, grace and mercy that help me to press on, so someday I can say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7). Amen.

Special-Tea: Hebrews 12:1–2; 1 Corinthians 9:24–27

The choices we make

I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life. – Deuteronomy 30:19,20 (NIV)

“Lies,” read the email’s subject line. I didn’t recognize the sender, but I clicked it open anyway.

“God is a myth,” I read. “Christianity is a religion designed to keep people down and control them. There is only nature, and man is a beast.”

Assuming the sender was someone who read my column, I responded.

“Christianity is not a religion,” I wrote. “Religion is man reaching up to God, trying to be good enough. Christianity is God reaching down to man and making him good enough.”

I explained that Christianity doesn’t bind me—it sets me free.

“It’s not about religion,” I wrote. “It’s about relationship—with God, who is real. Even though you don’t believe in Him, He knows you and loves you and wants you in heaven with Him forever.”

I closed with Jeremiah 29:13: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

His response made it clear his mind was made up, and nothing would change it. He said his piece, and I mine. So I left it go at that.

The next day, however, I received another email. “What’s the matter, Michele, cat got your tongue? Or have you come to the realization that everything you have believed in is a fraud? Let me know—if you dare.”

This was a person with his dukes up, spoiling for a fight. He wasn’t going to get one. God doesn’t need to prove Himself, and He certainly doesn’t need me or anyone else to defend Him.

“We have a free will to choose to believe in Him or not to believe in Him,” I wrote back. “I know Whom and in what I believe. That is solid, unchanging.”

I closed by telling him I would not debate the issue.

“Not because my faith in what I believe is weak, but because I don’t have to. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine.”

“God is a fraud” was the subject line in the next email I received from him. I deleted it without opening it.

This reminds me of the man who scoffed at my third grade teacher, a nun: “What are you going to do when you die and find out there is no God?”

“What are you going to do when you die,” she said, “and find out there is?”

All week I found myself singing the words of an old hymn: “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness; I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name. On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.”*

It’s all about choice.

I’m standing on the Rock. What about you?

Dear God, thank you for revealing Yourself to us—through Your Word, through Your Son Jesus, through everything You created. Continue to draw us to Yourself, and show us those who are truly seeking You. Amen.

*From “The Solid Rock,” lyrics by Edward Mote, in Public Domain

Special-Tea: Matthew 7:24–27

More tea: 1 Corinthians 2:10–16; 2 Corinthians 3:16; Romans 1:18–23; Psalm 14:1