Rejoice?

Matt. 5:10-12 “Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.”

Dad taught about persecution on Sunday and part of the lesson keeps coming back to me. The Bible tells Christians to rejoice when we are persecuted. In a way that sounds odd (I mean how can you rejoice when you are being persecuted for doing the right thing?) but in another way it makes sense.

For one, persecution means that Satan has identified you as an enemy. I can think of no other way I would rather have Satan think of me. Persecution can be a sign that you are doing the right thing. (Side note: Be careful . . . “persecution” is sometimes evidence that Christians can still be jerks!)

For another, persecution brings to light the spiritual battle. The spiritual battle is very real, but it is also very easy to forget about when it is hidden and there is no visible sign of persecution. Conflict brings the struggle between good and evil to life. Now you may ask why that is a good thing. I mean, what's so great about being reminded that we are in a battle? Well for me it helps clear up some of the confusion. If there's a real battle going on, I would rather know what and where it is than be caught sleeping. When lines are drawn and the battle is brought out into the open, you see the other side for what it really is. You also realize how miserable the people on that side are.

I used to think the other side was something to be hated, and it is, but I'm changing my mind about the people on the other side. When you see the people who are caught -- intentionally or not -- on Satan's side, you realize that even though they may stand for something despicable, the people themselves deserve more pity than hate. They are some of the saddest and most miserable people you will ever meet. Remember that as Jesus cried as he approached Jerusalem, sorry for the blinded people in it even though he knew they were the same people who would send him to his death. When it comes to persecution, they may have the upper hand, but they are being driven by a force too strong for them and fighting for a master who has nothing to offer them except more misery and, in some cases, an unexplainable desire to spread it to others. When you see them at camp, VBS, school, even the news and realize how hopeless they are, you you begin to feel more pity for them and more hatred for the master they work for. Our battle is not against them but against the powers behind them.

I think I'm beginning to see why Jesus said it is possible for Christians to rejoice in persecution. I don't much like conflict or persecution, and I don't think Christians are called to search out either, but I also don't think they are such a bad thing that they ought to be dreaded or avoided at all costs. If nothing else persecution reminds me again (not that I've experienced much of it!) of how good it is to be on God's side. When I see the other side for what it really is and I realize that it has nothing good to offer, it makes me profoundly grateful to be on the right side . . . even if that means persecution.

Isaiah 57:20 “But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.”

Psalm 84:10 “For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.”

Fun with Ink

The printer wouldn't work. This was no big surprise. Why should it be any different? It was turning out to be one of those mornings when nothing goes right.

I woke up that morning with great expectations. I was going to get a lot of things done and move on quickly to bigger and better things. I had a lot of paperwork to fill out and then I was going to make one big road trip to drop it off and finish a bunch of other errands and end up at VBS. All around, I had it planned to be an abundantly productive day . . . which was why I was so frustrated to trip up on the first step.

After checking my e-mail and finding I had a few more errands to add to my day, and also out that the paperwork I needed wouldn't download, I decided to forget that and print what I could. I have long ago learned that the important thing to do when you have a full to-do list is to not get stuck on the first step. Keep moving and come back for it later. According I pushed the print button and waited impatiently for it to kick out the papers I needed to get my busy day started. That was when I discovered that the printer was taking the day off. I hadn't seen that one coming. . . it didn't thrill my soul to realize that an obstinate printer had just been added to the growing pile of obstacles standing between myself and my nice neat list.

After pushing every button I could think of that might possible convince the printer to print, I finally decided (correctly) that it was out of ink. It was one of those frustrating chain of events where one problem leads directly to the next. However, the empty printer seemed to be the root of the problem so I decided to tackle it first. Never having filled the printer with ink, but desperately needing to print my document, I decided that now was a good time to learn. After a quick phone call to dad (who has filled the printer several times) I had the basic idea of how to do it. He said it was a simple process of filling a syringe with ink and injecting it into the cartridge, but he also warned that it could be a little tricky to know where and how to do it, and that if it wasn't done correctly it could be messy. (If you know my mom and ink, you know that when she heard this it quickly became an outside-and-old-clothes job.)

Confident that I could fill the cartridge without making a mess, I nevertheless put on a pair of old shorts, a cut-off blue shirt, latex gloves (I had already found out by grabbing the ink cartridge that ink doesn't come off the hands easily) and moved my operation outside. Lindsey was somewhat dubious about my ability to do something for the first time without an instruction manual, but she needed the printer as badly as I did so she kept most of her “helpful” comments to herself.

It wasn't hard to find where the ink was supposed to go. There was a little cap right on the top that opened directly into the cartridge. The hard part was figuring out how to get it there. If done incorrectly, an air bubble would form inside the cartridge and I had been warned that this would not create a happy situation. Not sure exactly how much ink to put in the cartridge, I guestimated one whole syringe for one empty cartridge. Filling the syringe to the top, I stuck it the mouth of the cartridge and started squirting ink into it. Everything was going smoothly as Lindsey walked out the door to see how I was making out with my little baby and its bottle.

Standing there prissily in her spotless white shorts and pink shirt, she made a comment about how funny I looked in my old clothes and latex gloves. Concentrating on my task and trying to figure out why the ink had stopped flowing into the cartridge, I pushed the syringe a little harder and responded vaguely that I wearing this get-up in case something happened and the ink decided to get creative. She raised her eyebrows and asked once more if I knew what I was doing. I was just about to assure here that I knew exactly what I was doing and that nothing was going to happen when something did. Without warning, my “baby” decided it had enough and erupted, spewing ink at an impressive range in every direction. I could feel ink dripping from my legs and neck and knew emmediately I was covered. I slowly looked up to see what the damage was. What I saw made me laugh for the first time that day.

Lindsey was standing there with a shocked look on her face and big splotches of ink all over her face and shirt. Her mouth was still open as if she had been about to say something, but nothing was coming out. At that time Greg and Josh rolled into the driveway just in time to see both of us covered in ink, something they thought was terribly funny until the walked in the inky grass and got their feet covered in it. I still wasn't sure exactly how funny this was because I knew I had a lot more on me than Lindsey had on her and I wasn't sure if it would come off, but I thought it was pretty funny, too. Fortunately, the ink did come off, at least most of it, and the printer started working, allowing me to get back to my long and very boring list of things to do. I'm not sure if Lindsey agrees yet, but I think it was the best thing that happened all that day. I learned an important lesson out of my experiment: If you're ever having a bad day and need something to make you laugh, try squirting you sister with ink!

Crutches

This is the first time I've ever had to use crutches. I've decided that they're fun for a little, but I wouldn't want to live on them. Fortunately my ankle is only sprained (at least the doctor said he thinks that's all it is) so I'll only need to use them for a couple days. Honestly, my ankle really doesn't hurt, but nevertheless I've been assigned to crutches. I wasn't even going to go to the doctor, but because my ankle swelled immediately when I landed on it and because breaks often don't hurt as bad as a sprain, I was told I should have it checked out. An hour and multiple phone calls later (don't you love insurance companies and telephone menus?) I found out that it wasn't broken, for which I'm thankful. There's a lot less money involved this way, although not much difference in recovery time. The upshot of it all is that I won't be able to use my ankle much for thenext few weeks -- at least not anything super-active (i.e. fun).

I sprained my ankle at a volleyball tournament Saturday when I came down from a double block (which didn't even work) and landed on my friend's foot. The worst part about it was that it was early in the day and I didn't get to play the rest of the tournament, which I really wanted to play! Ironically, the ankle I sprained wasn't even the ankle I'd sprained at camp. That one was still wrapped up like a Christmas present when I rolled the other one. Between ankle's and shoulder surgery, I'm beginning to feel like I'm always recovering from something. I'll look forward to the day when I can play without having to worry about some temporarily defective body part going out of kilter. You really don't realize how much God created to go right with the human body until a few small things start going wrong. Oh well, that's life and it's part of the risk of playing volleyball . . . but would (and will) do it again. Without a little bit of risk life gets boring.

Back for the summer

Sweat.

I almost forgot what it was like to work outside in the hot summer sun. Almost, but not quite. The sensation of skin slowly cooking and the blinding glare every time I look up. That feeling of water running down my hair and across my face (sometimes managing to get into my eyes) mixed with a fine shower of sawdust from someone who was so considerate as to cut their board directly above or upwind from me. Usually the sawdust cakes into a sort of paste that sticks to the skin like some sort of mud plaster. I call it a sawdust shower and I'm getting one almost every day right now. That's okay because I've heard they're healthy for you.

Actually I kind of enjoy being back at it again. There's something about building houses that makes you miss it when you aren't doing it and wonder what exactly it was that you missed when you come back to it. Either way, I'm thankful to have the work. I really wasn't expecting Larry to have work when I came back but he did, at least for one week. Good thing too because the other jobs are a little slow right now.

It's been amazing this summer to see God work out my schedule. I don't always know very far in advance what I'll be doing, but every day there's always something to do. Sometimes there's more work than others, but it is almost always proportional to the amount of spare time that I have. Sometimes the “not very far in advance” part worries me, but I'm beginning to get used to it. As one speaker at camp pointed out, “God is never late; He's not early very often, but He's never late.” I think He does that to teach me faith. He knows I like to have things planned out so He makes sure I can't see very far into the future so that I have to trust Him as I come to it.

It's good to be back from camp for the summer. For those of you who didn't know, I did work at camp this summer. I was a counselor for five weeks at a little camp which was located about two hours away in Hughesville. (The camp keeps jumping around because they don't have their own property yet. It used to be in York, but that didn't work out this year so the whole camp up and moved to Hughesville – and let me tell you, that is no small amount of work!)

The first time I walked on the property, my thoughts were “no way. This isn't camp and it's never going to be.” It just didn't feel like camp. All the memories were still back at the “other place” in York. However, I couldn't say that because there was no “other place” to go to. However, once the staff arrived and we started hacking our way artistically through the woods (the director said he wanted an “interesting” trail, and that's exactly what Greg and I gave him – perhaps a little too artistic on second thought seeing as a couple people got lost on them =) and cleaning all sorts of things out of the old cabins, it pretty soon began to feel like camp. Camp really is all about the staff and by the end of the summer we had created another “camp” that will be in my memory just like the old one was. There were a few drawbacks to the property -- for instance the dining hall was really more like a large living room so that once you got about 60 junior campers sqeezed in there it was so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think -- but there were also a few advantages like the larger activities center (actually an old barn) that went perfectly with our farm frolic theme and gave us enough room to play indoor games when we got rained out. If any of you have ever had to try to figure out what to do with 60 energy-pumped juniors when your outdoor game gets rained out, you will appreciate that. I think part of the reason they were so energy-pumped was because Airheads (basically sugar concentrated into a bar form) were so cheap that kids were buying 16 for two dollars and eating them all during one afternoon. The counselors all decided that next year they are definitely going to be more expensive!

The weather was a big answer to prayer this year. Besides being unseasonably cool, a mixed blessing when it comes time for studious campers to hose down selected staff members (in fact one week half the counselors got sick from being cold and wet) the rain came at about the perfect time. See, camp is sort of like farming: you need rain, but you would really prefer not to have it at certain times. Thankfully, most the rain that was needed came in quick thunderstorms or overnight or during an inside activity. It was just enough to keep the stream full and most the campers dry, although there were several nights when our cabin strongly resembled – and smelled – like a cheap laundromat. I think the only reason the rafter in camp cabins are exposed is so that people can hang wet clothes from them.

Speaking of hosing staff, I think there ought to be a rule against hosing someone right after they wake up. The one afternoon, during one of the only two “free hours” counselors get during the entire week (actually it's only about 30 minutes and it's not usually free), I fell asleep. I had just drifted off when I was awakened very rudely by a sopping wet fellow staff member jumping up and down on top of me. He had just been hosed and was taking great delight in informing me that I was next. Still only half awake, stumbled out of my cabin to face a crowd of cheering teens who couldn't wait to see some girl who I barely knew and to whom I had never done anything wrong or even slightly mean, spray me down just because she had said enough verses to entitle her to that privilege. Some people may call cold water a refreshing experience. I call it a lousy way to wake up!

There are a lot of other things that happen at camp which I don't now have the time or desire to put down in writing (some things are better left unsaid), but one thing I have discovered after two years of working at camp is that it will stretch you. Whether it's pretending to be excited about being hosed down with very cold water, or trying to get kid's excited about a game that you know isn't going to go well -- such was the case with a certain pig which despite being chased all summer did not get the idea that the idea of a pig chase is that the pig runs away when the campers chase it instead of sitting there stupidly until a camper picks it up by its legs and then squealing so pitifully and so loudly that all the campers feel so sorry for the poor piggy that some of them won't play and other more radical ones threaten to call the humane society – or whether it is playing a country bumpkin (and that took a major acting job, let me tell you!) *no comments please* that ends with a number where you have to sing a solo of “Let me call you sweetheart” to the whole camp, or whether it is something more serious like dealing with a camper who won't listen, or leading cabin devotions, or spending one-on-one time with a camper who is going through things you've never had to deal with, or even something like finding things to pray about when you've just been asked to pray three times in the past ten minutes (you never realize how little you think about God or count your blessings until you are asked to do so publicly multiple times during the course of a day), you will be stretched. No one comes away from camp thinking they were ready for what they faced, and those who are older and wiser don't even head into camp that way. At camp, especially a small camp like Servant's Heart, staff are are given a lot of responsibility. One thing I've discovered about being given responsibility is that it reveals your strengths and weaknesses, which can be a good thing if it is handled properly. Realizing your own strengths and weaknesses presents a tremendous opportunity to grow. It also provides an extreme temptation to compare yourself with others and to get proud or feel inferior. It all depends on how you deal with your strengths and where you turn for help with your weaknesses. You can try to do it all yourself, maximize your strengths and minimize your weaknesses, but eventually you reach a point where you realize that you are totally powerless to do anything except throw yourself at the feet of an almighty and all-loving God and say “help me.” Getting to that point may not be fun, but it's a good place to be and God will always try to get you there. That when you begin to see just how strong and sufficient God is.

There were a couple instances this summer when God showed me what He can do. One of them involved a boy named Rico. Rico is not the most eloquent or educated person I've ever met, he can be quite good at forgetting things, and he comes from a very bad environment in the city, but Rico got saved two years ago at camp. Since that time he has developed a relationship with God is truly unique. Rico has a hard time reading the Bible and hasn't had much good teaching or good examples to follow growing up, but he wants to know more about God and has grasped the concept that the only life worth living is a life that is sold out for God, no matter how hard that may be. Watching Rico's perspective on life and listening to him talk about what God is doing and teaching him, I realized that even though Rico has not been given much, God has more than made up that. God speaks much more directly to Rico than most people I meet and it is evident that God's Spirit has taken a much more active role in his life than in the lives who think they can do things on their own. One night Rico preached a message to the staff and I think I got more out of that message than any message that the evangelists gave. It was not the most brilliant message I have ever heard, actually it was a very basic message about salvation mixed with his own personal testimony and there was a lot of stumbling and mistakes until he got going, but God showed me a lot through that. Mostly I realized that it really doesn't matter much what someone says when they are giving a testimony or how they say it, what matters is what God has done. Nothing can be said that hasn't already been said, and probably it was said much better before, but if God has truly done something and a person is truly grateful for what He did, that will come through and mean more than a shallow testimony that is worded to sound significant. It was a reminder to me to be truly thankful for what God has done and to ask Him to give me the passion to do right and the conviction of things that are wrong. I stopped asking Him for those things way to long ago and I think they are something that need to be asked for regularly.

Another thing God showed me is that too often I view Christianity in a negative light. Not that I think Christianity is bad, just that my enthusiasm about telling and showing unsaved people how good and joyous it is to live life God's way doesn't match my conviction to point out how bad and miserable it is to live life their way. There is a balance and I think so many times we as Christians focus so much on what is wrong and get so good at picking it out that we ignore the other side of the coin and overlook everything that is not bad. We assume there are to classes of action, bad and normal, and very often what is normal becomes boring and mundane. It is not . . . or at least it should not. There are two ways to help someone. One is to point out where they are wrong. The other way is to encourage them in what is right. This summer I learned the importance of the second method. When I look back on my life, the people who have had the most impact were not the people who told me not to do wrong but the people who encouraged me to do right and showed me the benefits of it. During the second week of camp, this, became very evident.

The second week of camp was bad. It's not that all the kids were angry and defiant, it's just that there were enough of them to set the mood for the camp. During staff training we learned a lot about the importance of not letting other people control you by your reactions. If someone can get you to lose your temper or get in a bad mood by doing something that annoys you, they are controlling you. Any time you react to someone else, they are -- for better or for worse -- controlling you. That particular week, my cabin had some problems and while I wasn't blowing up at my campers, it was taking the fun out of my week to constantly be dealing with attitude/behavior problems. Thankfully, God knew what I needed and that week the evangelist who was there, Mike Westburg, was just what was needed. He had been a counselor in his younger days and I learned a lot just by watching him. He knew that this was a “bad” week, everybody on staff did, but instead of just cracking down on the bad behavior and settling for the role of firm but resigned baby-sitter, he made it cool to do the right thing and have fun. He played with the kids and participated in the events, bringing some energy and enthusiasm that was needed much than stern reprimands and a critical attitude towards the kids. At the one staff meeting when asked for help with how to tell kids what they are doing is wrong and get them to stop, he pointed out gently he has heard it said many times by teachers that you need to encourage what is good much more than you discipline what is bad. If there's one area I know I need to improve, it's on how to focus on what is good and have fun with it even when everything seems to be going bad.

Okay, so this is a lot longer than I thought it would be. It's hard to wrap up six weeks in one afternoon of typing, but I don't have enough spare time to go into more detail. Anyway, that's what I've been up to and what God has been teaching me over the past several weeks. Overall, I don't think I would want to be a counselor for a living and it is a lot of work, but I learned a lot more this way and had a lot more fun than I would have doing a lot of other things. If I wasn't working at a Christian camp, I would have to say that I gave up a summer to do a lot of work for no money (even now in some of my weaker moments Satan asks me if maybe I did) but I've heard it said many times that anything given up for God is not really given up at all and I know I can agree with that! Working at camp this summer also made me realize how much time, energy, and money certain people (parents, pastors, teen leaders, family friends) have poured into me and how glad I am that they did. One thing I think myself and the rest of the staff realized as we made the transition from campers to staff (also teenager to adulthood) is that there is a time and season for everything. For so many years we've been receiving. Now it is time to give back. It's time to do for someone else what someone has already done for you.

Random thoughts

(Random thoughts that never made it to blog posts.)

The danger . . .

. . . with comparing: If two snails compare themselves, one of them is bound to think he is fast.

. . . with growing up Christian: You are told what is the right thing to do before you understand why. This is fine as long as you eventually figure out the reasons behind what you do. The danger is that many kids never make this transition. They continue going through the motions without knowing the reason until one day they grow up and decide that there are no reasons. Nothing could be further from the truth! Unfortunately it happens all the time.

************************

Some people try so hard to be real and sincere . . . other people just are. I prefer the second type. Every day I run across people who obviously believe deep down that they are practical, interesting people and are desperate for someone to realize just how real and un-fake they are. I wish I could tell them that the fulfillment they are looking for will never come from other people. They need someone who understood them before they were born, knows exactly who they are, what they have done, what they will do, and what they will be (Psalm 139). Unfortunately they are so busy looking in the wrong place that I fear it will be a long time before they begin looking in the right place.

*************************

A quote from a speaker I heard recently: “Many people come up and tell me that they don't need to go to church to be a Christian. True enough. Also true: you don't need to go home to be considered married . . . but it helps!”

**************************

I am soooooo ready to get to camp. I'm tired of preparing . . . I want to be there and start doing. If you'll excuse me I think I'm going to find a good piece of grass to stick between my teeth and some pockets to shove my hands into. Oh this whole farm theme is going to be way too easy =)

The cemetery

I climbed the deep grassy slope quickly, anxious to see what lay at the top. As I crested the hill, a single headstone greeted me, silhouetted against the sky.

It was not alone.

As I reached the top I saw another, and then another. There were many graves in that place, some so old the names were barely visible and some so new that that the stones looked like they had just been cut. All were different in shape and age, but they shared one similarity: the American flag. It fluttered beside each grave, caught in a slight breeze.

My feet slowed to a walk, and then to crawl, and soon they stopped altogether. My steps had led me to the edge of the cemetery, and there I stopped and looked.

For a place commemorating to death, the cemetery was a lively place.
Signs of life showed themselves all around. The trees, their radiant leaves glowing in the sun, gave silent homage to the life that had coursed through them all summer. All around me birds twittered as they flew from one patch of brush to another.

As I watched, a squirrel raced across the ground to claim a nut that had just fallen and started an argument between a chipmunk and a Blue Jay who obviously thought there were not enough to go around. Even the sky was alive, providing a brilliant blue backdrop for the entire entire valley and town below. In the distance, white clouds drifted slowly by, driven by the same breeze that played through the leaves and caught the flags, unfurling them like banners.

As I stood there I wondered if the people under the headstones, whose bodies had long since decayed, could appreciate this place. This was what they had fought for, liberty, beauty, clean earth, a blue sky, a fluttering breeze, the noise of birds. . . life itself . . . everything this cemetery was. It was a fitting resting place.

But as I contemplated this, the stark contradiction of the place struck me. This was only a resting place. They didn’t die here, here in this cemetery surrounded by what they loved. They fought and fell thousands of miles from here surrounded by death and misery, the very things they fought and hated most, helpless to do anything but wait for it to take them.

It was a somber thought, and I left saddened. I understood for the first time in my life that those who truly love life are rarely allowed to enjoy it but often die defending it for those who will not care.

Prayer

Luke 22:41-2 “And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”

Of all Jesus prayers, this is the one I'm most grateful he said. It's also the one I find is the hardest to pray.

~Who a man is when he is alone and on his knees before God is what he is and nothing more ~ Tom Harman quoting someone else

I came across this the other day in C.S. Lewis's Screwtape Letters. (For those of you who haven't read them, they are from the perspective of two demon's correspondence on how best to keep a man from being a true Christian.)

The best thing, where possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether. When the patient is and adult recently reconverted to the Enemy's party, like your man, this is best done by encouraging him to remember, or think he remembers, the parrotlike nature of his prayers in childhood. In reaction against that he may be persuaded to aim at something entirely spontaneous, inward, informal, and unregularised; and what this will actually mean to a beginner will be an effort to produce in himself a vaguely devotional mood in which real concentration of will and intelligence have not part. One of their poets, Coleridge, has recorded that he did not pray “with moving lips and bended knees” but merely “composed his spirit to love” and indulged in “a sense of supplication.” That is exactly the sort of prayer we want; and since it bears a superficial resemblance to the prayer of silence as practised by those who are very far advanced in the Enemy's service, clever and lazy patients can be taken by it for quite a long time. . .

If this fails, you must fall back on a subtler misdirection of his intention. Whenever they are attending to the Enemy Himself we are defeated, but there are ways of preventing them from doing so. The simplest is to turn their gaze away from Him towards themselves. Keep them watching their own minds and trying to produce feelings there by the action of their own wills. When they meant to ask Him for charity, let them, instead, start trying to manufacture charitable feelings for themselves and not notice that this is what they are doing. when they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. When they say they are praying for forgiveness, let them be trying to feel forgiven. Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by the success of producing the desired feeling: and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment . . .

. . . For if he ever comes to make the distinction , if he ever consciously directs his prayers “Not to what I think thou art but to what thou knowest thyself to be,” our situation is, for the moment, desperate. Once all this thoughts and images have been flung aside or, if retained, retained with full recognition of their merely subjective nature, and the man trusts himself to the completely real, external presence there with him in the room and never knowable by him as he is known by it – why, then it is that the incalculable may occur. In avoiding this situation – this real nakedness of the soul in prayer – you will be helped by the fact that the humans do not desire it as much as they suppose. There's such a thing as getting more than they bargained for!

Of all the things I've read about prayer, I'm finding out that I really don't understand it. However, I've also found out that the success of my daily walk depends more on that than anything else. I don't think we need to understand it as much as we just need to do it and make a conscious effort about it even when we don't feel like it. If we ask God for help and do our part, the rest is up to Him.