Psalm 34:18
18 The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Holidays are always interesting. I love them, but at certain moments I get sucker punched with emotions. You know when you hit the point of exhaustion and become frustrated with your heart and situation? I become frustrated because I feel I should "be over" those feelings, but they still come back just as strong. So then I have condemning thoughts which leads to sadness which leads to doubt which sticks me back in that pit of despair. UGGG it's the worst! I become fearful that I will always experience these brutal feelings which causes my heart to break all over again. Yet, the good news is that Christ has got me right where He wants me, and He's going to walk with me through every painful step. I know He will use all of this for His glory. Memories and loneliness are beyond difficult and suffocating. But again, it keeps me depending on Christ for my ultimate security - not easy but essential.
The hard times will continue to come, but Christ is right there with us and He will continue to place people in our lives to help us make it through the depths of the depths. The beauty is that He knows exactly how we feel and no one else really understands the depths of our pain but Him. I just found this secular song turned spiritual (b/c being a Christ follower means we get to see Him in everything) and it speaks to my heart in a huge way - knowing Christ is continuing to heal and repair my heart, even when it feels completely hopeless.
James 4:8a
8 Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.
1 Peter 5:7
7 casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.
Psalm 22:14
14 I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
Lamentations 2:19
19 “Arise, cry out in the night,
at the beginning of the night watches!
Pour out your heart like water
before the presence of the Lord!
Lift your hands to him
for the lives of your children,
who faint for hunger
at the head of every street.”
Friends the holidays sometimes mean one foot in front of the other - God will be right there. Sometimes holidays mean a grand canyon absence of those who are no longer - the worst pain, and I wish I could take it away. However, I know that God does not take us through pain as punishment, and He loves us more than anyone could. Continue to trust that this is all a part of His ultimate plan for good. I am praying for you every step of the way. Love you friends.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
My Jonathan
- 1 Samuel 20
Vulnerability is not his forte, and his words will leave others bare. His condemning thoughts turned to action have stripped him, and there is nothing left but to reveal the rotting flesh. The miles running under the tires are building the dread of laying his deepest debt upon the table, but he is compelled to end the charade. He has no thoughts to feel for others, because his hole of a heart has become a crater of self-preservation; devouring deceptive promises into his starved soul. Now is the time to end the concealment and dangle his heart on the line.
The biggest battle originates from within, and it will destroy all in its path. The scales that have multiplied must be shed. He sits across from eyes that will soon experience busted betrayal. He wants more than anything to be rid of the lies, but knows the pain that will gush forth with the tidal wave of truth. He fears the layers that must be scraped are too deep for his own healing much less anyone else, yet the eyes that meet the first swell of shock are a stunned, saddened compassion. A reaction of devastation mingled with a piercing acknowledgment of the real man. A man wounded, lost and in desperate need of someone who abhors the evil within him, but clings to the good and devotes himself to fighting whatever demons arise.
The selfish man meets the self-giving man who shares the weight of consequences. The lonely wanderer meets the loving brother who wipes away his tears of sorrow. The hopeless meets the hopeful - a radical who loves his neighbor as himself. The trusted foe sees beyond the disaster, broken and bloody, and sets his friend's eyes towards the restored and refined road. He takes his brother's hand as they navigate the ruins and reminds him of his substance, a path pointed towards joy, hope, and love. They grasp onto hope and persevere through deafening doubt towards a destination guaranteed to bring ultimate love, security, fulfillment and significance.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The Difficult Plan
"This moment of difficulty is not in the way of the plan. This moment IS the plan. The difficulties are a sure sign of his redemptive love .. Not unfaithfulness." - Paul Tripp
Dear regret,
Those condemning thoughts just won't let you sleep and keep nicking those healing scars open. Yes, your reaction to the cage of pretense was cruel. Walls upon walls of numbing protection growing in response to manipulation. Bricks surround your bleeding heart. Bricks meant for a tall tower of protection, but resulting in a fortress for a battle leaving victims in its wake.
Dear wounded,
Unspoken words left a gaping hole; a slicing silence of retaliation. You know it was too much for another to enter into the pain of the cuts you carelessly carved. You weep over another's apathy and mourn your sinful search to fill the void. You tested beyond what any heart should face, yet you still feel the consequences that burn of hatred and numbing disregard .Dear fearful,
A small heart was replaced with another, a gift wrapped with sorrow, as one mother's tears give way to another's joy. One moment full of promise, and the next a harsh inhalation of despair. Trepidation produces the thought that your gift, too, could be taken at any moment and the struggle against doubt threatens to consume.
Dear bitter,
A life was stripped from your loving grasp, leaving billowing storm clouds. The senseless pain and loss weigh heavy upon your soul and threaten to suffocate. The loudness of an empty home screams of memories spent and dreams dashed. You choke on the silent sob erupting within and raise fists to the dark sky.
Dear friends,
The ghosts that haunt can linger if we grip tight. How shall we answer? Oh Lord, be our hearts and minds, when we cannot feel or think in tidal waves of despair. Restore in our hearts the faith to relinquish from our hands and place back into the hands of one who orchestrates every grief-stricken second for the redemptive good. We will most certainly breathe again when we gasp fighting against the chains that so easily shackle. His blood cleanses, His word breathes new life, and his love...
Oh, His sweet love breaks the chains.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
When the "Whys?" become Wise
There is something about a love that's lost. The pain of loss through mistakes. The pain of loss through senseless. The pain of loss not understood.
I gather the tears of friends. Wounds of heartless nights in a union of wedded souls. Cries of babes who will never be heard. Shouts of cancer silencing another saint.
His perfect rhythm was fractured and here we are. Fighting. Fighting without. Fighting within. Limping along. Feeling sinews tearing at the frustration of the unpredictable. Feeling failure. Feeling helpless in an out of control world.
But, He said look unto me, and so I look. I keep looking, and I keep pressing.
There is a beauty in restoration. A restoration that does not return love lost. A restoration that heals without answering the why. A restoration that slices deep down in the soul and reveals the reality of a heart struggle.
There is a joy in facing fear. A joy in everything stripped bare. A joy that begins to seep ointment into the wounds of abandonment, suffering, and pain. A joy in the "whys?" of rage becoming the "wise" of trust.
There is a healing in the fight to believe. A healing in the refusal to accept the here and the now. A healing in the laying down of desire. A healing in fists flung at the demons of the night. A healing of open and raised hands towards the light.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Psalm 40 - June 2011
Psalm 40For the director of music. Of David. A psalm.
I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
A dear friend asked me the other day how I was feeling. Now, most of my close friends know when they ask this particular question at this time in my life, it has the potential for a theological dissertation. The usual topic of choice: the purpose of affliction brought on by one’s own sinful nature. AKA~ Don’t ask unless you are ready to take a ticket on the emotional rollercoaster of a convicted sinner.
Well, s/he did ask…
My response was a metaphor, which corresponds to my recent thought patterns. My whole English major background has trained me to connect any and every situation to a concrete example. I’m a “live and learn kinda’ girl”, which is not always the most direct route but it does provide me with the capability to make an abundance of metaphors come to life.
My response to my dear friend is one that has taken shape through the means of various sermons, conversations, and stories. Often, I preface my painfully long answers with this statement, “You really want to hear how I feel?” It gives my poor friend (or should I say victim?), a chance to say something such as “I totally forgot, but I do in fact have to wash my hair, but is a rain check possible?” However, my sweet, patient friend insisted that I continue.
I began with one of my metaphors, “Have you ever seen Deadliest Catch? You know the documentary/reality TV show that portrays events during the Alaskan king crab fishing season? The show that mirrors its title based on the hazardously high possibility of injury or death associated with the work? Honestly? I feel as if I’m in the middle of the latest episode. It is the middle of the night, pitch black, and I am stuck in the center of a fierce Bering Sea storm. I am blindly clinging to whatever hard, stable object I can grasp. My body is bracing for the next onslaught of icy waves that will certainly, drench my body and send me slamming, reeling, and grasping for the next solid object in the scope of my exhausted grip. I am attempting to avoid being pitched into the churning, chilling waters.
The craziest part about the situation is that I’m the one that steered the boat into this storm. I’m the one that disregarded the Captain’s orders, the weather watches and warnings. I’m the one who blindly and arrogantly assumed there may be danger ahead! I’m the one that failed to protect her crewmates who were pitched into the darkness of the night. Yet, I continued to direct the ship towards the dark, looming clouds. Now, I’m alone in the fiercest storm of my life. However, I suddenly realize that I am really not alone. My omniscient Captain has awakened to the sound of my cries for help. He has taken back the wheel that I foolishly thought I could handle. Still, even though I know His capable hand rests on the wheel, the gale force winds and waves continue to lash around me. As the storm’s winds throw me about, I realize they are consequences of my stubborn pride. My weakness, failure, and foolishness have left me vulnerably clutching to the deck amidst the crashing roar of consequence.
Still, my Captain does not fail me. Even though I doubted him, even though I rebelliously chose to steer his ship towards destruction, He stands like a strong tower. I merely had to whimper for his help and He came to rescue. His strength and wisdom are navigating me through the darkest throes of the night. Though my body is bruised and battered from my foolish decisions, he instills courage throughout my being. Calmly, he is driving out my fears in the midst of my self-inflicted chaos. He tells me that this is His purpose: to save me from myself, to drive out the disillusionment within, and to set my feet back on solid ground. Although the storm rages on, the grace of His presence overwhelms me, and His voice assures me that He will save me. He does not promise to take me back to where I began. He does not promise to bring back my crewmates. He does not promise that I will not feel the searing pain of broken limbs, dreams, and desires. But, He does promise to set my feet on solid ground, to create in me something drastically new, and to steer me towards the rising sun of the shore."
How beautiful to find that our captain, our God, is in the business of saving us from self-inflicted storms? How merciful, how gracious, how mighty is He!? Clinging to our Lord amidst the afflictions of our life, whether self-inflicted or not, is our calling. At times, we are the misguided fisherwoman and at other times we are the wounded crewmates. No matter the storm, our Captain desires that we look to Him in this fallen world. When we are weary, broken, afraid, hurt, lonely…He is the only one who will give us the sense that this world is not our hope. Our hope does not lie in situations, occupations, people, or possessions. Our hope lies in a God who will and does abundantly more than we can ask or think.
I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
A dear friend asked me the other day how I was feeling. Now, most of my close friends know when they ask this particular question at this time in my life, it has the potential for a theological dissertation. The usual topic of choice: the purpose of affliction brought on by one’s own sinful nature. AKA~ Don’t ask unless you are ready to take a ticket on the emotional rollercoaster of a convicted sinner.
Well, s/he did ask…
My response was a metaphor, which corresponds to my recent thought patterns. My whole English major background has trained me to connect any and every situation to a concrete example. I’m a “live and learn kinda’ girl”, which is not always the most direct route but it does provide me with the capability to make an abundance of metaphors come to life.
My response to my dear friend is one that has taken shape through the means of various sermons, conversations, and stories. Often, I preface my painfully long answers with this statement, “You really want to hear how I feel?” It gives my poor friend (or should I say victim?), a chance to say something such as “I totally forgot, but I do in fact have to wash my hair, but is a rain check possible?” However, my sweet, patient friend insisted that I continue.
I began with one of my metaphors, “Have you ever seen Deadliest Catch? You know the documentary/reality TV show that portrays events during the Alaskan king crab fishing season? The show that mirrors its title based on the hazardously high possibility of injury or death associated with the work? Honestly? I feel as if I’m in the middle of the latest episode. It is the middle of the night, pitch black, and I am stuck in the center of a fierce Bering Sea storm. I am blindly clinging to whatever hard, stable object I can grasp. My body is bracing for the next onslaught of icy waves that will certainly, drench my body and send me slamming, reeling, and grasping for the next solid object in the scope of my exhausted grip. I am attempting to avoid being pitched into the churning, chilling waters.
The craziest part about the situation is that I’m the one that steered the boat into this storm. I’m the one that disregarded the Captain’s orders, the weather watches and warnings. I’m the one who blindly and arrogantly assumed there may be danger ahead! I’m the one that failed to protect her crewmates who were pitched into the darkness of the night. Yet, I continued to direct the ship towards the dark, looming clouds. Now, I’m alone in the fiercest storm of my life. However, I suddenly realize that I am really not alone. My omniscient Captain has awakened to the sound of my cries for help. He has taken back the wheel that I foolishly thought I could handle. Still, even though I know His capable hand rests on the wheel, the gale force winds and waves continue to lash around me. As the storm’s winds throw me about, I realize they are consequences of my stubborn pride. My weakness, failure, and foolishness have left me vulnerably clutching to the deck amidst the crashing roar of consequence.
Still, my Captain does not fail me. Even though I doubted him, even though I rebelliously chose to steer his ship towards destruction, He stands like a strong tower. I merely had to whimper for his help and He came to rescue. His strength and wisdom are navigating me through the darkest throes of the night. Though my body is bruised and battered from my foolish decisions, he instills courage throughout my being. Calmly, he is driving out my fears in the midst of my self-inflicted chaos. He tells me that this is His purpose: to save me from myself, to drive out the disillusionment within, and to set my feet back on solid ground. Although the storm rages on, the grace of His presence overwhelms me, and His voice assures me that He will save me. He does not promise to take me back to where I began. He does not promise to bring back my crewmates. He does not promise that I will not feel the searing pain of broken limbs, dreams, and desires. But, He does promise to set my feet on solid ground, to create in me something drastically new, and to steer me towards the rising sun of the shore."
How beautiful to find that our captain, our God, is in the business of saving us from self-inflicted storms? How merciful, how gracious, how mighty is He!? Clinging to our Lord amidst the afflictions of our life, whether self-inflicted or not, is our calling. At times, we are the misguided fisherwoman and at other times we are the wounded crewmates. No matter the storm, our Captain desires that we look to Him in this fallen world. When we are weary, broken, afraid, hurt, lonely…He is the only one who will give us the sense that this world is not our hope. Our hope does not lie in situations, occupations, people, or possessions. Our hope lies in a God who will and does abundantly more than we can ask or think.
Shattered Promises - July 2011
Shattered Promises
A glance in the rear-view mirror screams
Dark alleys of accusation and crime
Blinded by a pulsating ache for recognition
Turning to anything to numb the pain
Don’t fear
You are not alone
I am with you
Trust me
Take the next step
Turn my darkness into light
Hold my hand along these unfamiliar paths
Overcome with sobs for love
Neglecting to turn to the one who fulfills
Don’t fear
You are mine
You are passing through rough waters
You will not drown
Grasp me tighter
The burn of shame and regret sear
You are precious to meThe heat of consequence glistens on my forehead
Forget the former thingsThe flames of failure rise higher
See, I’m making a way in the desertImmobilized by pride
Call upon meWeary with pain
You will find streams in your wastelandFear of failure
Your dark alleys will become smooth pathsBlinded by regret
Open your eyesPervasive potholes
I will walk with youEmpty longings
I will show you love like you’ve never known beforeSave me
For your sake I will rescue you.
Isaiah 43When You're Between a Rock and a Hard Place
1-4 But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel:
"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.
I've called your name. You're mine.
When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you.
When you're in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you're between a rock and a hard place,
it won't be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That's how much you mean to me!
That's how much I love you!
I'd sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.
Dark alleys of accusation and crime
Blinded by a pulsating ache for recognition
Turning to anything to numb the pain
Don’t fear
You are not alone
I am with you
Trust me
Take the next step
Turn my darkness into light
Hold my hand along these unfamiliar paths
Overcome with sobs for love
Neglecting to turn to the one who fulfills
Don’t fear
You are mine
You are passing through rough waters
You will not drown
Grasp me tighter
The burn of shame and regret sear
You are precious to meThe heat of consequence glistens on my forehead
Forget the former thingsThe flames of failure rise higher
See, I’m making a way in the desertImmobilized by pride
Call upon meWeary with pain
You will find streams in your wastelandFear of failure
Your dark alleys will become smooth pathsBlinded by regret
Open your eyesPervasive potholes
I will walk with youEmpty longings
I will show you love like you’ve never known beforeSave me
For your sake I will rescue you.
Isaiah 43When You're Between a Rock and a Hard Place
1-4 But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel:
"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.
I've called your name. You're mine.
When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you.
When you're in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you're between a rock and a hard place,
it won't be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That's how much you mean to me!
That's how much I love you!
I'd sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.
The Year of The Lord's Favor - August 2011
The Year of
the Lord's Favor
61:1 The Spirit
of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
3 to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
3 to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.
My
morning commute travels down a picturesque landscape of the Deep South. Most days, I try to capture a mental snapshot
of the sun sliding upwards over the floating docks of the Ashley River estuaries. The warmth of morning light glistens through
rippling water reeds and the smooth strokes of a wading, snowy heron calm my
morning jitters. A glance further up the
highway flickers a picket fence pasture full of life; geese gathering speed as
they ascend into a soaring V, red cows munching breakfast while small egret weave
in and around foraging for insect prey disturbed by the thud of hooves. These are the moments I must catalog into my
soul album; precious glimpses of God’s intention for his world; harmony and
holiness.
Above
all others, the snapshot I treasure most extends overhead in a canopy of mossy
oaks sent to console my aching heart. The
beauty of these trees is a deep-down in your bones stirring comfort; the trunks
tout strength, the curving limbs careen grace, and the branches drape a refuge
in my soul. It’s hard for me to fathom
that these trees could be any less magnificent than at this very moment, yet these
strong oaks were susceptible to the destruction of Hurricane Hugo in the ‘80s. The hurricane left much devastation and
despair in its wake, including my mighty oaks. What are you telling me
Lord? My first thought is I own no sense
of nostalgic connection with what these trees used to be, but then I pause. I can relate.
I ache with a wistful desire to erase the devastation of the past year. After which, I am left painfully aware of my
powerlessness in the midst of circumstance.
The Spirit connects to me through nature. These grand oaks allow me to revel in nostalgia
for the girl I lost. Yet, lived through
the lives of oak trees, I unearth a renewed hope in the available promises of
beauty and restoration after disaster.
My
thoughts gather momentum as I contemplate the oak to self. I discovered the life and quality of an oak
is greatly influenced by pruning. The
tallest and most arching trees are often the ones pruned at a young age. Most
oaks develop mechanical growth problems caused by self-inflicted wounding
usually due to neglect, which can become a haven for insects or a potential
disease infection. Self-inflicted
wounding sounds too familiar. My heart
is diseased, but I long to be a magnificent oak. The reality is I have failed to turn to my
Healer for pruning. In the absence of pruning shears my senses deadened and thus,
disease could flourish; a sickness resulting in heart wilt and devastating darkness. Pruning for my heart was way past due. Christ was sent for this very reason; to open
my eyes, to mend my broken heart, and to release me from sin’s bondage. The
great healer is going to work pruning my wounds: self-inflicted and neglect ridden.
It’s
a matter of survival for a live oak to have optimal irrigation and I have an
eerily similar parched thirst. Recently,
I’ve gulped from Christ’s cup of divine justice for he has already satisfied
the debt for my sin. The weathered, mature oaks tower over my tree stump and whisper
comfort that God will restore the scorched places within me. The oaks encourage, insist I take swallows of
undeserved grace, and that I rest as incessant mercy hydrates my drought filled
heart. My heart is crowded with disease
like an oak’s decaying branches and must be trimmed immediately or else death
is certain. My broken heart meets God’s forgiveness in the
midst of despair and hopelessness. Everyday
his Spirit lobs off branches of my evil desires and vices. Removing an oak’s dead branches helps the
tree’s overall health by pushing the growth to upper branches, which provides
better growth structure to the highest canopy.
And there I am again, mirrored in an oak. He is removing my dead, self-centered
branches, helping to push my growth to the upper branches of humility. His strength begins to circulate hope through
my limbs as he reminds me that he has conquered Satan, destroyed the disease
manufacturer, and has provided me with grace sufficient to shear off
sin-infected branches.
Resistance
to wind is often the reason many oak limbs break. Isn’t that how I’ve been
broken? I’ve resisted God’s call and
blindly searched for healing in all the wrong places. Perhaps, the oak’s greatest pruning need is to
thin the large, heavy tufts of growth that form on the ends of the branches. If
these are left to grow, the limbs often break during storms because of the
great weight that causes them to sway back and forth. Did I foolishly think I had this God thing
down as tufts of self-righteousness weighed me down? I determined I could rule my own kingdom and
God was welcome to join me if he wanted. The weight of my foolishness pulls on
my heart. The knowledge that my desire
for control led to an envy of God’s omniscience and caused me to fearfully sway
from my Shepherd’s path is why I was eventually left, lost and broken. However, hope rises because the magnificent
oaks of saints past and present still stand to display a promised beauty
instead of a forever darkness clothed in ashes of mourning.
Captured
in the everyday are pictures of how God is at work in the events of history to
work out his purpose. Christ calls us
out of darkness to turn our sorrows into joy when we turn from sin and to him,
“ But ‘we’ are the ones chosen by God, chosen for the high calling of
priestly work, chosen to be a holy people, God's instruments to do his work and
speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for ‘us’—from
nothing to something, from rejected to accepted” (1 Peter 2:9-10 The Message). Our spirits of heaviness
will be blown away and winds of praise and thanksgiving will freely flow
through us and to others by his grace. Our
brokenness over sin is met with his promise to patiently eradicate the decay
that so easily infects life. We will be planted and pruned so that he may be
glorified through breathtaking branches of devotion. He will shear off sin’s
bondage, comfort in sorrow, and cure wounds. He will extend our canopy as a
refuge for others who are hurting, so that one day we will be called oaks of
righteousness—a keepsake photograph for the soul.
GRAVITY - September 2011
GRAVITY
The cycle of wilderness living begins: no breathing, voices surrounding, conversation floating, daily life going on around, and trying to focus. FOCUS. My senses are acute: pounding head, aching heart, and limb numbness. Every part of me feels raw, vulnerable, and exposed.
She says to me, "You aren't your normal chipper self." It's been awhile since I've felt ready to face the day, much less chipper, but this innocent remark slings a derisive laugh within. "Really, today?" sarcasm dripping in the sinful response I would like to project, but only retaliating in my own head. I incredulously think, "Today, my iPod is just malfunctioning. How about months ago when life seemingly took a turn for the worse and forever changed?"
I want to fix everything, but I can't.
I'm devastated, angry, sad, lonely, lost, and confused.
RAW EMOTIONS LADEN WITH GUILT
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life (Mumford and Sons, "Awake My Soul")
I want the overflowing, happy, hopeful, cheerful, bountiful, focused, clarity. Be still? How am I supposed to be still when everything is crashing. Know? How am I supposed to know when everything is foreign? God? How is my weakness his strength? I sense the nearness of evil the harder I press in towards Him, and I cry to Him for help to sync my heart with His will.
GRAVITY OF REALITY MEETING CLARITY
Awake my soul, awake my soul
Awake my soul
You were made to meet your maker (Mumford and Sons, "Awake My Soul")
He walked in the betrayal of his closest friend. He knows the gravity of being tired. He knows the collision of sorrow, anger, and frustration. He knows the weight of being overwhelmed, distressed, fearful, and exhausted by uncontrollable circumstances and temptation. He knows sorrow, pain, and the gravity of loss, "He said to them (disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane), my soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me." (Matthew 26:36)
Jesus was tempted, betrayed, hated, suffered, and died. He endured for me. He lived hard, so he could be with me in the gravity. Am I alone in loss, sin, or suffering? No, he knows. He knows. HE KNOWS. I must take hold and believe in his grace, wisdom, and love. I plead, "Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long." (Ps. 25: 4-5)
Matt Chandler's sermon "Gravity"
She says to me, "You aren't your normal chipper self." It's been awhile since I've felt ready to face the day, much less chipper, but this innocent remark slings a derisive laugh within. "Really, today?" sarcasm dripping in the sinful response I would like to project, but only retaliating in my own head. I incredulously think, "Today, my iPod is just malfunctioning. How about months ago when life seemingly took a turn for the worse and forever changed?"
I want to fix everything, but I can't.
I'm devastated, angry, sad, lonely, lost, and confused.
RAW EMOTIONS LADEN WITH GUILT
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life (Mumford and Sons, "Awake My Soul")
I want the overflowing, happy, hopeful, cheerful, bountiful, focused, clarity. Be still? How am I supposed to be still when everything is crashing. Know? How am I supposed to know when everything is foreign? God? How is my weakness his strength? I sense the nearness of evil the harder I press in towards Him, and I cry to Him for help to sync my heart with His will.
GRAVITY OF REALITY MEETING CLARITY
Awake my soul, awake my soul
Awake my soul
You were made to meet your maker (Mumford and Sons, "Awake My Soul")
He walked in the betrayal of his closest friend. He knows the gravity of being tired. He knows the collision of sorrow, anger, and frustration. He knows the weight of being overwhelmed, distressed, fearful, and exhausted by uncontrollable circumstances and temptation. He knows sorrow, pain, and the gravity of loss, "He said to them (disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane), my soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me." (Matthew 26:36)
Jesus was tempted, betrayed, hated, suffered, and died. He endured for me. He lived hard, so he could be with me in the gravity. Am I alone in loss, sin, or suffering? No, he knows. He knows. HE KNOWS. I must take hold and believe in his grace, wisdom, and love. I plead, "Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long." (Ps. 25: 4-5)
Matt Chandler's sermon "Gravity"
Teach Me - October 2011
Teach me
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
God teaches us so many things. Over the past year, I've begun to see how God introduces you to an idea and changes your mind. Lately, I've been feeling frustrated by my lack of heart understanding. Mentally, I can whip out what God is teaching me and why, but my heart has been undergoing major surgery for the past several months.
It's interesting how I can mentally grasp, Psalm 147:10-11 "His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in his unfailing love," yet my heart is having to feel every cut of the surgical knife.
God doesn't care about my strength, because it's not about me, but about his unfailing love in my weakness. I've been so scared to show vulnerability and weakness to my God and Savior, and he is slowly revealing to my heart that he is faithful to complete this work in me. The reality is that God is and was and will be aware of the complete failure that I am and was and will be. Isaiah 43:19 "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." Again, a verse that logically should seem to come naturally, "Trust God. He's doing more than you could ever imagine!"
But, faith is not brought about by Hello Kitty Band-Aids, but by surgical precision. God's enforcing the fact that his ultimate plan is good. His ultimate plan is not about me. His ultimate plan is about himself. "C'mon Liz, Can't you see it? I will show you that my love is beyond anything that this world can offer. I will show you that my plan is to use you, yes the sinner that you are, for my ultimate glory. I love you. I will deliver you from your sin. I am faithful. I don't leave you in your junk, but I redeem you."
Praise the mount, I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sung by flaming tongues above.
God teaches us so many things. Over the past year, I've begun to see how God introduces you to an idea and changes your mind. Lately, I've been feeling frustrated by my lack of heart understanding. Mentally, I can whip out what God is teaching me and why, but my heart has been undergoing major surgery for the past several months.
It's interesting how I can mentally grasp, Psalm 147:10-11 "His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in his unfailing love," yet my heart is having to feel every cut of the surgical knife.
God doesn't care about my strength, because it's not about me, but about his unfailing love in my weakness. I've been so scared to show vulnerability and weakness to my God and Savior, and he is slowly revealing to my heart that he is faithful to complete this work in me. The reality is that God is and was and will be aware of the complete failure that I am and was and will be. Isaiah 43:19 "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." Again, a verse that logically should seem to come naturally, "Trust God. He's doing more than you could ever imagine!"
But, faith is not brought about by Hello Kitty Band-Aids, but by surgical precision. God's enforcing the fact that his ultimate plan is good. His ultimate plan is not about me. His ultimate plan is about himself. "C'mon Liz, Can't you see it? I will show you that my love is beyond anything that this world can offer. I will show you that my plan is to use you, yes the sinner that you are, for my ultimate glory. I love you. I will deliver you from your sin. I am faithful. I don't leave you in your junk, but I redeem you."
Praise the mount, I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Fount Ants of Blessing - October 2011
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Whispers of thanks fill my mind; manna in the wilderness is a precious thing if recognized. I wince down to stretch with my fellow runners, and I chuckle knowing that their ages combined match my own. Suddenly, stinging sensations prick my legs and arms; the red march of ants startles me into concealed panic. The shooting pain triggers my thoughts to ant piles of religious rituals that often hide my need for the mercy of my Savior. Thank you for planning my rescue before I even knew my need, "Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God, who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began" (II Timothy 1:8-9). Each prick of pain reminds me that he sees and knows every bit of me, "And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account. Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:13-15). Thank you for reminding me who I was yesterday does not dictate who I am today. The fire ants' venom punctures my skin and causes it to swell causing pain and irritation, much like the accuser trying to infect my faith. Thank you for never tiring in picking me up and defending me. The battle of fire ants can often leave scars, and sometimes its victims experience severe or life-threatening allergic reactions. I sense the same severe reactions to sinful failure and damning accusation: cutting chest pain, nausea, severe sweating, loss of breath, and serious emotional swelling. But, I also know the soothing balm promise of my Savior’s blood,"then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the LORD said to Satan, 'The LORD rebuke you, O Satan! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?' Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, 'Remove the filthy garments from him.' And to him he said, 'Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.'" (Zechariah 3:1-4) I stand accused and guilty, yet Christ erased my iniquity within a single day. Shouts of praise to my Savior for anthill reminders of undeserved grace, ever-flowing mercy, and conscience cleansing wholeness only made possible through his precious blood.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Whispers of thanks fill my mind; manna in the wilderness is a precious thing if recognized. I wince down to stretch with my fellow runners, and I chuckle knowing that their ages combined match my own. Suddenly, stinging sensations prick my legs and arms; the red march of ants startles me into concealed panic. The shooting pain triggers my thoughts to ant piles of religious rituals that often hide my need for the mercy of my Savior. Thank you for planning my rescue before I even knew my need, "Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God, who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began" (II Timothy 1:8-9). Each prick of pain reminds me that he sees and knows every bit of me, "And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account. Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:13-15). Thank you for reminding me who I was yesterday does not dictate who I am today. The fire ants' venom punctures my skin and causes it to swell causing pain and irritation, much like the accuser trying to infect my faith. Thank you for never tiring in picking me up and defending me. The battle of fire ants can often leave scars, and sometimes its victims experience severe or life-threatening allergic reactions. I sense the same severe reactions to sinful failure and damning accusation: cutting chest pain, nausea, severe sweating, loss of breath, and serious emotional swelling. But, I also know the soothing balm promise of my Savior’s blood,"then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the LORD said to Satan, 'The LORD rebuke you, O Satan! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?' Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, 'Remove the filthy garments from him.' And to him he said, 'Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.'" (Zechariah 3:1-4) I stand accused and guilty, yet Christ erased my iniquity within a single day. Shouts of praise to my Savior for anthill reminders of undeserved grace, ever-flowing mercy, and conscience cleansing wholeness only made possible through his precious blood.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Gospel Rhythm Breathing - November 2011
Gospel Rhythm Breathing
She groggily rolls over to tap her cell phone backlight and groans knowing she has overslept. Her next thought immediately detects the familiar pressing weight upon her. She tries to push herself out of bed, but the inner pull of reclusion lulls her to tug the covers tighter. The self-talk begins, "Days like this are inevitable. Shove back the weight. Force yourself to go. You will feel better after church." But, she knows despite all her positive mantras that today will be a battle for affections.
Fifteen minutes to look presentable will have to work, but every move she makes feels like she has been shot with a debilitating tranquilizer. Fifteen minutes becomes twenty and the negative mental chiding becomes fiercer, "If you would have gone to bed early you would be ready to go. This is typical of you; you can't do anything right these days. Why are you even bothering going to church when you know your state of mind?" She already feels weak, a mere twenty minutes into her Sunday, yet she presses heavier on the gas pedal and speeds down the road.
She pastes on an adequate smile while swiftly moving past the sanctuary greeters, and exhales a deep sigh of relief as she sees one of her dear mentors strategically placed in the back row with an empty seat beside. She shoots an upward prayer of thanks, the first taste of sweet gratitude this morning. An hour at the foot of the cross an in the cocoon of community reduces the numbness of the early waking hours, yet the reality of heavy living to be faced within an hour or two terrifies and lingers. The closing words of her pastor leave her hungry for more of the grace and mercy she craves, but emotionally she still feels distraught with failures, insecurities, and fear.The drapes are drawn in her home and she retreats into the darkness of her room. Fatigue falls upon her like a suffocating avalanche. Self-hate creates iciness in her heart, and she aches for her Savior to breathe his warming balm upon her soul. However, the numbness is returning with a stronger force and she prays for no one to call her, so she can spare them from the brutality of her stormy day. Mindlessly she watches the characters on the Netflix© screen until her eyes flutter shut for late afternoon hours of untainted sleep that flow into evening hours.
Abruptly she awakens at midnight to the reality that she has not escaped the avalanche, but she is still falling. She begins to scream with tears streaming and snot flowing. She keeps thinking the avalanche will soon halt, but the downward somersaults continue to bring her further down into the depths of the valley. Suddenly, in a split second, she feels the cold on her face; she doesn’t understand what is happening; she is confused but certain she has fallen off a cliff. She recalls a frightening documentary claiming ninety percent of all avalanche accidents are triggered by the victim, or someone in the victim's party and she knows this is true to life. She reflects on months of falling and feeling like a rag doll thrown by the snow. At times she remembers seeing the sky and the snow and the sky again and again as her body tumbled head over heels and from left to right. As she tries to lull herself back to sleep, dark flashbacks grip her and she feels powerless to thrash against the tightening straightjacket.
The next morning she awakens to the reality that she can't muster faith. She has to keep asking for his mercies and be obedient to his calling. Her hope is not in the now; buried in the avalanche of mistakes, or a rescue from present difficult circumstances. But, her hope is relying upon Christ in the darkest of days knowing that difficulty, suffering, and discipline are tools being used to dial her into His will and for his glory. She must remember and rejoice that God saved her, he changed her mind, he ended her selfish pursuits, and he enabled her to come near to him, "But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Eph. 2:13). She thanks him for taking away her sin through his blood and cancelling the record of her debt.
The avalanche days filled with her dark lies or the whispers from authorities and principalities must be met with the reality that God has saved her (Col. 2:13-15). Jesus himself prayed for the Spirit to intercede for him during his dark, desert days when tempted by Satan. The Spirit enabled Christ to battle the devil and empowered him to be obedient to God’s will for his life. Likewise, she recalls that if she walks by the spirit, and believes in the promises of God then she will overcome the flesh (Gal. 5:15-25). She begins to rejoice because she knows that her failures do not take God by surprise, and he is faithful to complete his work in her life (Philippians 1:6). She rejoices because her identity is now being found in Christ and she belongs to him. He never abandons and she is not the point. God has chosen her, he will not give up on her, and he will finish his work in her. As it happens, struggling against the avalanche is a waste of time and energy. She knows she must stop panicking and trying to move herself. She thinks to herself: 'You must calm down, keep your energy and establish a gospel rhythm breathing if you want to survive.' It is then that she begins to see the glimpses of the blue sky above her and stops focusing upon the snow packed circumstances around her.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it;
Seal it for Thy courts above. (source)
Fifteen minutes to look presentable will have to work, but every move she makes feels like she has been shot with a debilitating tranquilizer. Fifteen minutes becomes twenty and the negative mental chiding becomes fiercer, "If you would have gone to bed early you would be ready to go. This is typical of you; you can't do anything right these days. Why are you even bothering going to church when you know your state of mind?" She already feels weak, a mere twenty minutes into her Sunday, yet she presses heavier on the gas pedal and speeds down the road.
She pastes on an adequate smile while swiftly moving past the sanctuary greeters, and exhales a deep sigh of relief as she sees one of her dear mentors strategically placed in the back row with an empty seat beside. She shoots an upward prayer of thanks, the first taste of sweet gratitude this morning. An hour at the foot of the cross an in the cocoon of community reduces the numbness of the early waking hours, yet the reality of heavy living to be faced within an hour or two terrifies and lingers. The closing words of her pastor leave her hungry for more of the grace and mercy she craves, but emotionally she still feels distraught with failures, insecurities, and fear.The drapes are drawn in her home and she retreats into the darkness of her room. Fatigue falls upon her like a suffocating avalanche. Self-hate creates iciness in her heart, and she aches for her Savior to breathe his warming balm upon her soul. However, the numbness is returning with a stronger force and she prays for no one to call her, so she can spare them from the brutality of her stormy day. Mindlessly she watches the characters on the Netflix© screen until her eyes flutter shut for late afternoon hours of untainted sleep that flow into evening hours.
Abruptly she awakens at midnight to the reality that she has not escaped the avalanche, but she is still falling. She begins to scream with tears streaming and snot flowing. She keeps thinking the avalanche will soon halt, but the downward somersaults continue to bring her further down into the depths of the valley. Suddenly, in a split second, she feels the cold on her face; she doesn’t understand what is happening; she is confused but certain she has fallen off a cliff. She recalls a frightening documentary claiming ninety percent of all avalanche accidents are triggered by the victim, or someone in the victim's party and she knows this is true to life. She reflects on months of falling and feeling like a rag doll thrown by the snow. At times she remembers seeing the sky and the snow and the sky again and again as her body tumbled head over heels and from left to right. As she tries to lull herself back to sleep, dark flashbacks grip her and she feels powerless to thrash against the tightening straightjacket.
The next morning she awakens to the reality that she can't muster faith. She has to keep asking for his mercies and be obedient to his calling. Her hope is not in the now; buried in the avalanche of mistakes, or a rescue from present difficult circumstances. But, her hope is relying upon Christ in the darkest of days knowing that difficulty, suffering, and discipline are tools being used to dial her into His will and for his glory. She must remember and rejoice that God saved her, he changed her mind, he ended her selfish pursuits, and he enabled her to come near to him, "But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Eph. 2:13). She thanks him for taking away her sin through his blood and cancelling the record of her debt.
The avalanche days filled with her dark lies or the whispers from authorities and principalities must be met with the reality that God has saved her (Col. 2:13-15). Jesus himself prayed for the Spirit to intercede for him during his dark, desert days when tempted by Satan. The Spirit enabled Christ to battle the devil and empowered him to be obedient to God’s will for his life. Likewise, she recalls that if she walks by the spirit, and believes in the promises of God then she will overcome the flesh (Gal. 5:15-25). She begins to rejoice because she knows that her failures do not take God by surprise, and he is faithful to complete his work in her life (Philippians 1:6). She rejoices because her identity is now being found in Christ and she belongs to him. He never abandons and she is not the point. God has chosen her, he will not give up on her, and he will finish his work in her. As it happens, struggling against the avalanche is a waste of time and energy. She knows she must stop panicking and trying to move herself. She thinks to herself: 'You must calm down, keep your energy and establish a gospel rhythm breathing if you want to survive.' It is then that she begins to see the glimpses of the blue sky above her and stops focusing upon the snow packed circumstances around her.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it;
Seal it for Thy courts above. (source)
How He Loves - January 2012
How He Loves
To you, O Lord, she lifts up her soul. In you she trusts. Make your ways known to her. Teach her your paths. Lead her in your truth and teach her, for you are the God of her salvation; for you she waits all the day. Remember, O Lord, your compassion and your loving kindness for they have been from of old. (Psalm 25:1-2, 4-6)
How long, Lord? Will you forget her forever? How long will you hide your face from her? How long must she wrestle with her thoughts and day after day have sorrow in her heart? How long will her enemy triumph over her? Look upon her and answer her Lord. Give light to her eyes. (Psalm 13:1-3)
Her anguish is just a heart skip away. She closes her eyes, feels the heaviness of yesterday, and cries out. But, he softly whispers her name, draws her back into his cleft, and gently says to cast it all upon Him. "My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely" (Song of Solomon 2:14). He tells her to drop her burdens and keep her gaze towards him. He says to open her ears and listen, "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what is promised you" (Genesis 28:15). I will restore your broken heart. I will mend the wounds of foolish mistakes and searing consequence. Keep running hard towards me, "...and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know" (Jeremiah 33:3). Bring yourself; your real self for I am the "God who sees you" (Genesis 16:13a). You don't have to pretend. "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5). You don't have to put up false pretenses. "Don’t be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name" (Isaiah 43:1-3). Cast your doubts, insecurities, and disillusionment upon me, and I will give you clarity. "Approach me with confidence, so that you may receive mercy and find grace in your time of need." (Hebrews 4:16). I will be your water in the desert heat. I have parted seas, calmed storms, and healed the sick. You are my child. I love you. I know who you are. I know who you have been. I know who you will be. Take heart and know my grace is sufficient. Take your hardship and place it in my hands; for I am the Lord your God who is and who was and who forever will be. Find peace. "Blessed are you my child when you trust in me, when you place your confidence in me. You will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. Do not fear when the heat comes. Your leaves will be green. Do not worry if you are in a year of drought; you will bear fruit" (Jeremiah 17:7-9). "Be still and know that I am God!" (Psalm 46:10). Stop trying to solve your problems on your own and realize that I've already battled for you. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing" (John 15:5). Do not try to figure out my plans, but trust that I am in control, "for nothing is impossible with me" (Luke 1:37). So, my precious one, "wait quietly before me, for victory comes from me...wait quietly before me, place your hope in me" (Psalm 62:1,5). My beloved, "rest secure, for I shield you all day long. I love you and you can rest between my shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). She lies all her longings open before Him (Psalm 38:9), and He satisfies all of her needs (Isaiah 58:11).
How long, Lord? Will you forget her forever? How long will you hide your face from her? How long must she wrestle with her thoughts and day after day have sorrow in her heart? How long will her enemy triumph over her? Look upon her and answer her Lord. Give light to her eyes. (Psalm 13:1-3)
Her anguish is just a heart skip away. She closes her eyes, feels the heaviness of yesterday, and cries out. But, he softly whispers her name, draws her back into his cleft, and gently says to cast it all upon Him. "My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely" (Song of Solomon 2:14). He tells her to drop her burdens and keep her gaze towards him. He says to open her ears and listen, "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what is promised you" (Genesis 28:15). I will restore your broken heart. I will mend the wounds of foolish mistakes and searing consequence. Keep running hard towards me, "...and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know" (Jeremiah 33:3). Bring yourself; your real self for I am the "God who sees you" (Genesis 16:13a). You don't have to pretend. "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5). You don't have to put up false pretenses. "Don’t be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name" (Isaiah 43:1-3). Cast your doubts, insecurities, and disillusionment upon me, and I will give you clarity. "Approach me with confidence, so that you may receive mercy and find grace in your time of need." (Hebrews 4:16). I will be your water in the desert heat. I have parted seas, calmed storms, and healed the sick. You are my child. I love you. I know who you are. I know who you have been. I know who you will be. Take heart and know my grace is sufficient. Take your hardship and place it in my hands; for I am the Lord your God who is and who was and who forever will be. Find peace. "Blessed are you my child when you trust in me, when you place your confidence in me. You will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. Do not fear when the heat comes. Your leaves will be green. Do not worry if you are in a year of drought; you will bear fruit" (Jeremiah 17:7-9). "Be still and know that I am God!" (Psalm 46:10). Stop trying to solve your problems on your own and realize that I've already battled for you. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing" (John 15:5). Do not try to figure out my plans, but trust that I am in control, "for nothing is impossible with me" (Luke 1:37). So, my precious one, "wait quietly before me, for victory comes from me...wait quietly before me, place your hope in me" (Psalm 62:1,5). My beloved, "rest secure, for I shield you all day long. I love you and you can rest between my shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). She lies all her longings open before Him (Psalm 38:9), and He satisfies all of her needs (Isaiah 58:11).
An Excellent Wife - January 2012
An Excellent Wife
"An excellent wife who can find?" Proverbs 31:10
His words cut deeper than she ever imagined they could. This was the one thing he said would never happen. This is the one thing she was certain he would not do. They had been through years of struggle, but this would never be an obstacle. He had hurt her before. Oh, so many times his cruelty sliced to her core, and she fought back with her own malice. But, never did she think he would take it to this level. The past was the past, or was it? Had she been building icy walls of frustration and bitterness which in return he assaulted her with his own arrows of self-pity and resentment?
Within her begins to stir a rage. A rage against all that his actions implicate; a righteous rage, a selfish rage, a scream streams of profanities into the dark of the night until tears dissolve into body shake rage. The numbness of betrayal seeps into the once warm flow of her veins, but now all that remains is a glacial isolation never felt before. The questions and doubts begin to pound in her skull and she wants to sling mirrors towards her offenders and hear the satisfying shatter of destruction from her own hands instead of the helpless sobs erupting from within.
He asks her the impossible. She's a blind woman crawling. She feels the glass slash through her hands, and the ache of bloody knees stinging from the sinful decisions of others. She crawls on the engulfing shards of broken dreams and promises, and her mind screams for her to sprint to the solace of a locked closet away from the trauma that surrounds her. She wants to slide her battered and bruised body into the consoling darkness of retreat, but a sound plucks on what seems to be her last heart string. Her agony demands that she make a decision.
"Sleep and take your rest later on. See the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand." (Matthew 26:45-46)
Her humiliation threatens to send her hurling into hatred. She struggles with the mocking voices of insecurity that strip her of dignity and the deceiving lies revealed feel like spit in her face. Yesterday, she was a wife and today a victim. Her shame strips her down to the depths, and she cries out Christ's name. She extends her wounded heart towards the sky, and wails for her Savior to come and rescue her from the depths of despair. His light meets her darkness.
"And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37)
He begins to clean her wounds with clarity of the grace he has shown her through his own death. Her gashes run deep and he promises to heal them. She is unable to see beyond the darkness that absorbs her, but she believes that he is faithful like no other and can sustain her through the most gruesome afflictions. He died a mortifying death so cruel to show how violently he loves her. Nothing can stand in the way of his love he has shown her from the cross, and she chooses to not let anything stand in the way of her love.
"An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life." (Proverbs 31:10-12)
His words cut deeper than she ever imagined they could. This was the one thing he said would never happen. This is the one thing she was certain he would not do. They had been through years of struggle, but this would never be an obstacle. He had hurt her before. Oh, so many times his cruelty sliced to her core, and she fought back with her own malice. But, never did she think he would take it to this level. The past was the past, or was it? Had she been building icy walls of frustration and bitterness which in return he assaulted her with his own arrows of self-pity and resentment?
Within her begins to stir a rage. A rage against all that his actions implicate; a righteous rage, a selfish rage, a scream streams of profanities into the dark of the night until tears dissolve into body shake rage. The numbness of betrayal seeps into the once warm flow of her veins, but now all that remains is a glacial isolation never felt before. The questions and doubts begin to pound in her skull and she wants to sling mirrors towards her offenders and hear the satisfying shatter of destruction from her own hands instead of the helpless sobs erupting from within.
He asks her the impossible. She's a blind woman crawling. She feels the glass slash through her hands, and the ache of bloody knees stinging from the sinful decisions of others. She crawls on the engulfing shards of broken dreams and promises, and her mind screams for her to sprint to the solace of a locked closet away from the trauma that surrounds her. She wants to slide her battered and bruised body into the consoling darkness of retreat, but a sound plucks on what seems to be her last heart string. Her agony demands that she make a decision.
"Sleep and take your rest later on. See the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand." (Matthew 26:45-46)
Her humiliation threatens to send her hurling into hatred. She struggles with the mocking voices of insecurity that strip her of dignity and the deceiving lies revealed feel like spit in her face. Yesterday, she was a wife and today a victim. Her shame strips her down to the depths, and she cries out Christ's name. She extends her wounded heart towards the sky, and wails for her Savior to come and rescue her from the depths of despair. His light meets her darkness.
"And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37)
He begins to clean her wounds with clarity of the grace he has shown her through his own death. Her gashes run deep and he promises to heal them. She is unable to see beyond the darkness that absorbs her, but she believes that he is faithful like no other and can sustain her through the most gruesome afflictions. He died a mortifying death so cruel to show how violently he loves her. Nothing can stand in the way of his love he has shown her from the cross, and she chooses to not let anything stand in the way of her love.
"An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life." (Proverbs 31:10-12)
India Part 1 - December 2011
India
"God’s grace does not consist in anything we can hold in our hands but in whose hands we are held." Kelly Kapic
Culture shock is tame terminology for a small town mountain girl’s transition to Kolkata, India. A place that overflows with a total population of 16 million strewn with two million living on the streets. A 26-hour flight across the world has my nerves rattling and the somberness of a society void of grace strikes me like a bolt of lightning. The last leg of the flight from Qatar to Kolkata places me next to an Indian couple where it is apparent that the husband takes the dominant lead in every marital decision down to his voiceless wife’s "7UP® with no ice" drink choice. Groggily, I hobble down the airlines’ boarding steps to be hustled onto a bus that has seen better days and smells, and finally through the custom lines of my first encounter with a third world country.
As I sleepily shuffle through the sliding doors of an aged airport, I am caught up in the congregated gathering of inquisitive, piercing stares. I begin to practice averting my eyes from the men’s stares like I was taught in our training to avoid any misconceived notion of flirting. Eye contact or conversation with men can be taken as a sign of impropriety in this Indian culture. The intense stares are matched with a smell reminiscent of the pungent aroma surrounding an overflowing dumpster, but it comes in waves, and as I glance out into the sea of dark stares I huddle close to 12 companions who will become like sisters by the end of our journey.
Our missionary contacts are easy to spot with their fair skin in a sea of cocoa. The missionary girls are in their mid-20s and have spent the last two years making the city of Kolkata their home and mission field. I can already tell these girls have a supernatural confidence that emanates from within and soon find their assertiveness is a matter of survival in a country where the discrimination of women runs rampant. Our walk to the taxi is accompanied by men in uniform, while little hands and withered hands of beggars touch their parched mouths, motion to my American pockets, and pierce my heart. Vendors with chai tea in murky plastic pitchers roam the dirt parking lot jammed with cars and scattered trash. It's two in the morning, but the Muslim holiday Ashura, has droves of Muslims greeting relatives returning from a pilgrimage to commemorate and mourn the slaying of Imam Hussein, the grandson of Prophet Mohammad, who was killed in a battle in 680 AD. I’m already in sensory overload and merely two hundred steps onto Indian soil.
Men are everywhere in the streets at 4 A.M.; wandering, roaming, and carousing. Some are spitting words and throwing intoxicated punches. Others are driving bicycle carts with dead chickens stacked high doing their best to dodge shepherds who are navigating goats through darkened streets. Many taxi cabs are surging through the sleeping streets with no regard for traffic laws--not sure there are any actually. However, the most potent image that grips me within the first hour is a sidewalk lined with shanties and upwards to thirty people who cannot afford even the minimal accommodations of a roof, so they are sleeping side by side amidst the trash heaps. Even more telling are the individuals who wrap their arms tightly around their body in the fetal position because they have less than the blanket covered person beside them. My first encounter with poverty is staggering and is only a glimpse of what the rest of my time in India will unveil.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Christian theologian during Nazi control once wrote, "The first call in every Christian experience is the call to abandon the attachments of the world." My thoughts fly to these words as I venture into a part of our poverty-stricken world, stripped of physical and spiritual sustenance. According to the Census of India, 73% of the population in Kolkata is Hindu, 23% Muslim, 2% Christian, and 1% Jains. Other minorities such as Sikhs, Buddhist, Jews and Zoroastrian constitute the rest of the city's population. 1.5 million people, who constitute about a third of the city's population, live in 2,011 registered and 3,500 unregistered slums. The majority of these people have never heard the gospel; they offer animal sacrifices to Kali, their main worshipped goddess, and they will live and die without Christ if they are not told. David Platt pinpoints what burdens and grips my heart as I begin to soak up India, "Wake up. Wake up and realize that there are infinitely more important things in your life than football and a 401(k). Wake up and realize there are real battles to be fought, so different from the superficial meaningless 'battles' you focus on. Wake up to the countless multitudes who are currently destined for a Christless eternity."
The Lord begins to unveil his grace to me and uncover where I am trying to hold firm the gifts of the American Dream that are not meant to be my identity. Doesn't he challenge all of us with where we are finding our identity: our possessions, our children, our spouses, our reputations, or even our life--and then he confronts us with the path we choose to take when tragedies hit and any of these gifts are taken from us. These are the moments where God's ultimate gift can shine through, the unbreakable promise of belonging to him through the redemption of Christ. I see pockets of grace in a part of the world amassed in poverty, animal sacrifice to idols, children and women trafficking; a pocket of God’s people who are finding that his gift of relationship through his ultimate sacrifice is a hope of restoration and security in the midst of human error.
Culture shock is tame terminology for a small town mountain girl’s transition to Kolkata, India. A place that overflows with a total population of 16 million strewn with two million living on the streets. A 26-hour flight across the world has my nerves rattling and the somberness of a society void of grace strikes me like a bolt of lightning. The last leg of the flight from Qatar to Kolkata places me next to an Indian couple where it is apparent that the husband takes the dominant lead in every marital decision down to his voiceless wife’s "7UP® with no ice" drink choice. Groggily, I hobble down the airlines’ boarding steps to be hustled onto a bus that has seen better days and smells, and finally through the custom lines of my first encounter with a third world country.
As I sleepily shuffle through the sliding doors of an aged airport, I am caught up in the congregated gathering of inquisitive, piercing stares. I begin to practice averting my eyes from the men’s stares like I was taught in our training to avoid any misconceived notion of flirting. Eye contact or conversation with men can be taken as a sign of impropriety in this Indian culture. The intense stares are matched with a smell reminiscent of the pungent aroma surrounding an overflowing dumpster, but it comes in waves, and as I glance out into the sea of dark stares I huddle close to 12 companions who will become like sisters by the end of our journey.
Our missionary contacts are easy to spot with their fair skin in a sea of cocoa. The missionary girls are in their mid-20s and have spent the last two years making the city of Kolkata their home and mission field. I can already tell these girls have a supernatural confidence that emanates from within and soon find their assertiveness is a matter of survival in a country where the discrimination of women runs rampant. Our walk to the taxi is accompanied by men in uniform, while little hands and withered hands of beggars touch their parched mouths, motion to my American pockets, and pierce my heart. Vendors with chai tea in murky plastic pitchers roam the dirt parking lot jammed with cars and scattered trash. It's two in the morning, but the Muslim holiday Ashura, has droves of Muslims greeting relatives returning from a pilgrimage to commemorate and mourn the slaying of Imam Hussein, the grandson of Prophet Mohammad, who was killed in a battle in 680 AD. I’m already in sensory overload and merely two hundred steps onto Indian soil.
Men are everywhere in the streets at 4 A.M.; wandering, roaming, and carousing. Some are spitting words and throwing intoxicated punches. Others are driving bicycle carts with dead chickens stacked high doing their best to dodge shepherds who are navigating goats through darkened streets. Many taxi cabs are surging through the sleeping streets with no regard for traffic laws--not sure there are any actually. However, the most potent image that grips me within the first hour is a sidewalk lined with shanties and upwards to thirty people who cannot afford even the minimal accommodations of a roof, so they are sleeping side by side amidst the trash heaps. Even more telling are the individuals who wrap their arms tightly around their body in the fetal position because they have less than the blanket covered person beside them. My first encounter with poverty is staggering and is only a glimpse of what the rest of my time in India will unveil.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Christian theologian during Nazi control once wrote, "The first call in every Christian experience is the call to abandon the attachments of the world." My thoughts fly to these words as I venture into a part of our poverty-stricken world, stripped of physical and spiritual sustenance. According to the Census of India, 73% of the population in Kolkata is Hindu, 23% Muslim, 2% Christian, and 1% Jains. Other minorities such as Sikhs, Buddhist, Jews and Zoroastrian constitute the rest of the city's population. 1.5 million people, who constitute about a third of the city's population, live in 2,011 registered and 3,500 unregistered slums. The majority of these people have never heard the gospel; they offer animal sacrifices to Kali, their main worshipped goddess, and they will live and die without Christ if they are not told. David Platt pinpoints what burdens and grips my heart as I begin to soak up India, "Wake up. Wake up and realize that there are infinitely more important things in your life than football and a 401(k). Wake up and realize there are real battles to be fought, so different from the superficial meaningless 'battles' you focus on. Wake up to the countless multitudes who are currently destined for a Christless eternity."
The Lord begins to unveil his grace to me and uncover where I am trying to hold firm the gifts of the American Dream that are not meant to be my identity. Doesn't he challenge all of us with where we are finding our identity: our possessions, our children, our spouses, our reputations, or even our life--and then he confronts us with the path we choose to take when tragedies hit and any of these gifts are taken from us. These are the moments where God's ultimate gift can shine through, the unbreakable promise of belonging to him through the redemption of Christ. I see pockets of grace in a part of the world amassed in poverty, animal sacrifice to idols, children and women trafficking; a pocket of God’s people who are finding that his gift of relationship through his ultimate sacrifice is a hope of restoration and security in the midst of human error.
India Part 3: Sari Bari - January 2012
India Part III: Sari Bari
The name "Sari Bari" comes from two symbols. A sari is the
traditional clothing worn by women in India. In India, a sari represents the
essence of womanhood. The word bari mean "house or home" in the
Bengali language. Sari Bari is a safe
place of employment where women who have been exploited in the sex trade or who
are vulnerable to trafficking can experience a new life in the making. Sari Bari is an organization that seeks the
sustainable restoration of red light communities and the prevention of the exploitation
of women and children in the commercial sex trade in Kolkata, India.
A somber spirit follows me from the temple out into the clamoring
confusion of city streets. The lame
approach with hands extended wheeled by children whose eyes speak of a hunger
not just for food. Yet, a dazed emotion lays
heavy upon my soul, and I walk as if in a drunken stupor with no real grasp on
what’s going on around me. Everything
has become slow motion as my mind tries to rationalize the blessings of sweet tea
and steeples on every corner in the Bible-belt, while the calamities of ailment
and altars in this foreign land stagger my foothold. Suddenly, the group’s pace quickens as dusk
approaches and we begin to deftly move through a winding tunnel of back street
businesses that slam-snaps my mind from its coma to a heightened sense of
awareness. Once again, I’m blindly
following a trusted leader into a darker alley that will prove to grip my heart
even tighter. We silently weave through
the stoops of marred wooden doors and toward a light amidst the darkness.
We approach an adobe, maybe 600 square feet of clay with a small
entryway and 3 small rooms. A girl in
her mid to late 20s, greets us with a warm, “so nice to see Americans”
face. Her excitement isn’t just in
seeing familiar faces, but it’s the opportunity to share her diamond in the
rough in this secluded, x-rated part of India.
All ten of us crowd into a haven tucked away from the harshness of
reality, and I feel as if I’ve entered into a secret society to which few are
privy. I huddle into a crouched,
cross-legged stance and begin to listen to the conception of Sari Bari. As the story unfolds I glance to the right to
a room occupied by two women and a child.
The women appear intent as they stitch a long swath of fabric and their
humble smiles dance upon the corners of their mouths as they keep their gaze
directed downward. To my left in another
10x10 room sit three other women upon the cool dirt floor; they also are steady
at work creating a masterpiece of distorted string. The colors are always so vibrant; bold reds,
oranges, and yellows contrasted by the worn brown hands of several Indian
woman. Colors that make me reflect on my
precious Savior’s blood that was shed, so that I and these women might
experience mukti. Mukti means freedom in Bengali and is the first name that
every woman at Sari Bari is given.
My heart intertwines with these women as they weave tapestries of
grace out of the scars from their past. Women from desperate depths who were
likely first trafficked in their teen years, and many are now middle-aged and
trapped by circumstances that have bound them since childhood. The struggles of poverty and lack of
empowerment whisked them from protection and into the darkness of isolation,
abuse, shame, fear, and hopelessness. Kolkata's red-light districts are home to
approximately 20,000 female commercial sex workers plus their families. It is
estimated that these women see an average of three to four clients daily, (so)
then between 60,000 to 80,000 men are visiting commercial sex workers every
day." (Guilty Without Trial). “The
majority of sex workers who come to Kolkata via trafficking are not kidnapped
but lured, coaxed and cajoled with false promises or some offer of help out of
a dead-end or crisis situation. Force is used later after the women (girls)
have already been sold. Mashis (brothel owners/older sex workers) use
friendship, sympathy, also veiled threats to convince the women that it is now
in their best interest to conform and begin working.” (Guilty Without Trial). How many can emotionally connect to these
feelings? How quickly can the effects of
our own sin, or the sin of others bring us to a place where we do not recognize
ourselves anymore? At times in our lives we are brought to a
place where the pain does not subside, but overflows like a sponge of salt in
open wounds. Lies, manipulation, neglect,
and the ramifications of the fall burn and singe the fiber of our lives. Yet, our hope in the midst of such affliction
is that the universe was created out of an overflow of love.
God created everything to have a higher purpose, to stir in us a
gratitude and worship for His name, yet where is the hope when the fracture of
the fall weaves a dark strand into our lives?
Our hope lies in the fact that He is in control of every life thread,
“for we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor. 5:7). We must live life based on the confident
trust in God’s promises for the future, even when we cannot yet see the
fullness of His glory. We must hold fast
like Joseph through our deepest, darkest pain and when everything goes wrong loudly
proclaim that our Savior is enough and be able to say,
“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it
about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today (Genesis
50:20). The Holy Spirit sustains us through
the mixture of bruised stains of sorrow and the vibrant hues that hint of
heaven. God says, “I’m here” (Matthew
28:19) through the difficulties; “I haven’t abandoned you through the valleys”
(Psalm 23:4); “I will carry you” (Romans 8:26) to the other side, do not fear
(Deut. 31:6). Things will befall us that
we may never know or must wait for a long time to see the implications of His
mighty hand at work, but he remains faithful, he is good, he does not betray,
abandon, or abuse. “And though the Lord
give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction yet your Teacher
will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you,
saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ when you turn to the right or to the
left.” (Isaiah 30:20-21)
Life is But a Weaving
Corrie Ten Boom (The Tapestry Poem)
Corrie Ten Boom (The Tapestry Poem)
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
India Part 2: Kali - January 2012
My first trip to a third world country has me
feeling like I’m on the set of a movie.
Our SUVS make zig-zag beelines through the ever flowing Kolkata traffic
and the buzz of horns builds a backdrop drone. A dull, skull pound builds in my
head while the scarf around my neck traps the upper 80s winter heat of
India. All the while my mental camera
reel captures a roll of film that distorts any understanding I previously
possessed of reality. Half-clad men fill
streets so small that only two smart cars can safely navigate. However, an
entire marketplace; vendors, buyers, cars, and buses, burst the seams of
pot-holed concrete to bargain for purchases.
This particular marketplace is encased within a massive city consisting
of shanty lean-tos constructed with whatever material was economical and
accessible at the time: bamboo poles, tin shingles, stones, or wood and
sometimes a mixture. Meanwhile, our
fearless guide blazes a pathway to the tune of his incessant beeping horn and
uses his former taxi driving expertise to dodge meandering stray dogs and holy
cows. To the Hindu, all animals are
sacred, yet to my distorted American mind I have seen pets in my country
elevated to pampering sessions that far outweigh my own personal grooming
budget. So these roaming cows seem to
lack prestige and worship as they walk neglected around city streets, living on
garbage from the gutters.
My thoughts collide with chaos as we abruptly arrive
at our destination. I plunge from our
SUV nest into the middle of the street on
the banks of a small canal called Adi Ganga that I was moments before filming
from the safe interior of our vehicle.
The walk of a minority can feel like a megaphone blare reverberating in
an abandoned warehouse. I feel as if the backdrop of India is now beginning to
spin around me as my legs wobble towards the Kalighat Kali Temple, a Hindu
temple dedicated to the goddess Kali, the Hindu goddess associated with power,
or shakti. The name Kali comes from kāla, which means black, time, death, lord
of death, and is considered the goddess of time and change. Suddenly, my vision begins to hone in on the
particulars of the marketplace streets around me now selling trinkets and
figurines of Kali instead of vegetables and rice. The blackness of despair
begins to seep through my veins as I walk through the security checkpoint of a
temple that is regarded as one of the holiest in India where the various parts
of Shakti’s body are said to have fallen. Kalighat represents the site where
the toes of the right foot of Shakti fell.
My soul pulses hopelessness as we approach the main attraction of this
temple, a graven image of the Goddess Kali that bears a long protruded tongue
made out of gold.
I
encounter Shakti Hindus in this temple who blindly offer animal sacrifices to
one goddess out of 330 million for an outcome that is uncertain in their
lives. Animal sacrifice is not practiced in contemporary
Vedantic or Brahminical Hinduism, but is practiced by the majority of Hindu
Castes in the Southern state of Tamil Nadu, in some Eastern states of India and
Nepal, and on the Indonesian island of Bali.
My eyes fill with tears as I stand in front of the Hari-Kath, two
sacrificial altars meant for sacrifice: the bigger one for buffalo sacrifices
and the smaller one for goats and sheep.
One woman lies face down before the altar and kisses the bloodied stones
murmuring words sounding of fear, pain, and suffering. My heart connects with her moans and feels
the weight of her struggle. I’m
overwhelmed by the juxtaposition of my faith that claims the ultimate sacrifice
has been made in Jesus and a Hindu faith that leaves its followers continually
searching for meaning. I send whispers
of thanks to God for the beauty of a Savior who lived the perfect life, and
died a violent death for my sins so that I could be forgiven and receive his
gift of peace and freedom. But,
Christianity isn’t all about me, but about Christ loving me so that He
communicates through me the beauty of his grace, mercy, salvation, forgiveness,
and healing to those in my sphere of influence.
My
Western eyes quickly detect the darkness of Eastern idol worship, yet so easily
miss the blackness of Western idols. Immediately, the Lord shines light into the dark corners of my
heart bringing to mind my own idols of self-sufficiency and the foolish
pursuits of the American Dream. Name
your dream. Flesh it out. Be honest.
Be real. Most of our thoughts are
centered around the money we want to make, the school we want to attend, the
person we want to marry, the job we want to have, the home we would like to
own, the number of kids we would like to show-off, the body we would like to
model, the reputation we would like to flaunt, the vacations we would like to
take, and the toys we would like to parade.
Have we somehow replaced seeking the Lord with stuff, success and human
approval? Has the idol-like pursuit of business, success, and the “good life”
left a gaping hole in our hearts? Have
we brought our filthy rags of achievements,
possessions, and reputations to the cross,
instead of Christ’s atoning sacrifice?
We
Americans have a tendency to hide what needs the most healing, or deny that we
need healing at all. We tend to think
we’ve got it all together and need nothing from God, but in actuality our hope
continues to be placed in people or things that will ultimately fail us. The reality is that every individual has
their own struggles that Christ is asking for us to lay upon his altar. But, it’s not about bringing Christ what I
want, but glorifying him. He asks us to
confess of struggles and sins that we are unwilling to leave at his feet. You name it; the enemy and our own minds hit
us hard: relationships, possessions, loss, suffering, addictions, the past,
generational sin, fears, ambition and wherever the enemy can manipulate us into
thinking that God has somehow cheated us, lacks love for us, or is holding out
on us. One of the most difficult realities to face is our own false belief that
we are always right, but God challenges us to surround ourselves with people who call us out, “It is
better for a man to hear the rebuke of the wise than to hear the song of fools”
(Ecclesiastes 7:5). God reveals that
foolish people surround themselves with individuals who never tell them they
are wrong, whereas wise people put those around them that will be frankly
honest about their shortcomings.
Christ
is calling us to empty our hands of fears and dreams, a discipline that
recognizes idols’ failure to fulfill. We
must dive deeper into his word and surround ourselves with a community of
believers that challenge us to soak up the knowledge of his tender mercy and
love. Jesus, the ultimate sacrifice,
didn’t die just to save us from hell and our sin, but to give us “life and to
have it to the full (John 10:10) Can we let our dreams go, and realize that
letting go means he will fulfill? He
calls us each day to follow him with unbridled abandonment, to lay down our
idols at the cross, and to walk in step with His will so that he might use us
for his ultimate glory. Remember, rejoice, and take heart; God has started this work
within us, and he will finish it (Philippians 1:6).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)