Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rarely are the terms “hilarious storyteller” and “theologian” used in the same sentence—much less to describe the same person—but Lisa Harper is definitely not stereotypical! She has an earned doctorate from Houston Theological Seminary, has published extensively, and teaches the Bible around the world, but she’s also a frequent belly laugher. She describes her greatest accomplishment as being Missy’s mom through the miracle of adoption, followed closely by learning to wake surf in her sixties.

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stumbling into grace

Thomas Nelson

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS......................................................................................xvINTRODUCTION: WE HAD HIM AT "HELLO"..................................................................xvii1. EWE SCARED? Jesus and Scary Things...............................................................32. THE VERY REAL PROBLEM WITH PANTYHOSE Jesus and Binding Things....................................153. TAKE A LOAD OFF Jesus and Fattening Things.......................................................274. NO FANGS ALLOWED Jesus and Dangerous Things......................................................395. CAT APPRECIATION DAY Jesus and Little, Sweet Things..............................................516. JOHNNY COME LATELY Jesus and the Gift of Forgiveness.............................................637. GETTING OUR SQUEEZE ON Jesus and the Gift of Touch...............................................758. THE BRIDE WHO TRIPPED DOWN THE AISLE Jesus and the Gift of Good Humor............................879. WHO'S GOT YOUR BACK? Jesus and the Gift of Community.............................................9910. BUSYNESS ISN'T A SPIRITUAL GIFT Jesus and the Gift of Rest......................................11111. EMPATHIZING WITH ENEMIES How Jesus Helps Us Become Less Critical................................12512. LIAR, LIAR! PANTS ON FIRE! How Jesus Helps Us Become More Honest................................13713. PUTTING DOWN THE PEN How Jesus Helps Us Become More Content.....................................14914. CARRYING HOME A GIANT How Jesus Helps Us Become More Dependent..................................15915. THE GALVANIZING EFFECT OF GRATITUDE How Jesus Helps Us Become More Grateful.....................173CONCLUSION: THE SANCTITY OF SCARS....................................................................187NOTES................................................................................................191

Chapter One

Why is God doing this? Though it is blasphemous to think it, our whole being cries out that this is unfair of him, that our grief and pain are disproportionate to our sin, that we have been abandoned. —D. A. Carson

So, today I've been thinking about scary things.

It all started with a phone call from my doctor. Actually, I should probably back up a bit further in my story and explain that I was raised in a family where you pretty much had to slice an artery before going to the doctor. No missing school because of the sniffles for us, though coughing up blood might qualify for skipping homeroom. Much as parents lecture their unappreciative offspring with tales of hiking through snowdrifts and milking seventeen cows before eating breakfasts of gruel, I'm tempted to lecture some of my seemingly wimpy friends about the dangers of hypochondria, which is why I was really flustered by my response to this recent phone call from my dermatologist.

I wasn't initially alarmed when her number appeared on my cell phone screen, not that she'd ever called before. I mean, we don't play tennis or belong to the same book club or anything. Our interaction has been limited to her peering at suspicious moles and making soothing small talk while I perch awkwardly on a narrow steel table and try to keep a Kleenex-sized paper gown from exposing my other parts. But I was expecting a call from her office, because her nurse had informed me the previous week that they would call when they got the results of a biopsy she'd had done on a weird, bumpy "rash" that had been coming and going above my right ear for several years. I wasn't expecting Dr. Vincent's voice when I picked up. I assumed it was the receptionist or maybe some nurse who drew the short stick that day and had to make phone calls instead of doing cool stuff like stabbing people with syringes or freezing warts.

The moment I recognized the doctor's voice, I knew the "rash" wasn't the psoriasis my former dermatologist had diagnosed. (Frankly, that threw me off my game for a while, because he made me use prescription shampoo that caused me to smell like a mechanic. Plus, he performed a lot of liposuction in addition to mole gazing, and I was afraid every time he examined me he was going to suggest I get my cellulite sucked out.) And while Dr. Vincent spoke several reassuring sentences before saying the "C" word, all I heard was, "Waah, waah, waah, waah, waah, you have cancer!"

Then Dr. Vincent explained that, although they couldn't know the extent of the growth until it was surgically removed, it was the best kind of skin cancer to have and was more than likely contained. What I heard was, "There is a disgusting mass upside your head that's probably leaking poison into your brain right now!"

The doctor finally assured me that the surgical scar would be hidden underneath my hair. I heard, "You're going to look like the bride of Frankenstein and a mob of angry citizens carrying pitchforks and lanterns is going to chase you out of your village in the middle of the night."

Of course, I didn't utter any of those crazy concerns out loud to Dr. Vincent. I was completely rational and very polite throughout the phone call. But after we said goodbye, I pulled over into a Walgreens parking lot and began to cry. A few minutes later, I called one of my closest friends and broke the news. She told me not to worry and reminded me that she'd had two carcinomas removed from her chest and was doing fine now. Then she said she loved me but had to go because she was in the middle of fixing dinner. Since I've been such a stoic patient in the past and preferred to hole up alone with Sprite and saltines during flu bouts, I was surprised by my sudden need for compassion. I realized, with an embarrassed start, that I had wanted Kim to gasp and dissolve into empathetic sobs. I became acutely aware that I was scared.

The truth is, I've struggled with fear my whole life. I've only recently begun to pull it out from under the rug of denial. As a child, I was afraid my parents' divorce was at least partly my fault. Not too long after they split up, I became afraid of being permanently stained and unworthy after being sexually molested. I've been afraid of being abandoned by people who love me for as long as I can remember. I was afraid of disappointing my teachers in school, my professors in college, and my bosses at work. In my thirties, I began to be afraid of being single for the rest of my life. I really didn't want to end up as the weird lady in the neighborhood who lived in squalor with only cats for company.

I've also burned up way too much emotional energy being afraid of not being good enough, sweet enough, thin enough, or spiritual enough. And I've been especially anxious about being perceived as afraid, because I always assumed being afraid was a bad thing. However, I'm discovering that being afraid is simply a people thing. Middle age and an increased awareness of my own frailty have teamed up to convince me that fear is an inexorable part of the human condition.

For example, I was in group therapy with a guy last year who is an officer in the military. He's been part of an elite Special Forces unit for more than twenty years and has participated in combat in...