I've been mulling on some difficult truths this weekend...actually over the past few weeks. I feel like I'm being followed by complacency...like that neighborhood dog that comes running alongside of you every morning and everybody assumes is yours. (Or isn't it?) To be honest I've been a little heartsick over things I've encountered regarding the church. It's like the bride went and set herself up as an emaciated supermodel. Yeah, the trappings look really good, but the body is undernourished for want of real food. We think we're righteous, and we portray righteousness in a certain way so that those to whom we wish to portray Christ think that's what Christianity means. Good behavior. Clean living. It's not. Salvation comes from the Lord. Righteousness comes from living for Him. Esther lived for Him in the harem of a King. Isaiah lived for Him and went naked a year.
Those seem a little peripheral to where I was going, but what I'm trying to say is that I can no longer concern myself with what Christianity looks like. I've recently realized the absolute necessity of concerning myself with what Christianity lives like. It's been at the back of my mind for weeks now, and tonight, after trying to focus on "important" things like writing papers and keeping up on facebook, I found myself heaving great snuffly unladylike sobs on my staircase. Have I been so concerned with making sure that others feel "love" from me that I haven't given them a chance to see what that love actually is? Is it possible that somebody I care for is unaware of my God because I was afraid to speak His name? Have I watched them suffer without offering the Healer of my own wounds?
At this thought I blew my nose, dried my tears, (proceeded to sniffle and cry just a little) and came to the following:
I don't want to live a powerless life. I'm done compromising. I'm determined to love fiercely. I'm going all out- giving everything I have, and going until I drop. I'm going to war, and I'm going under His banner. I refuse to hang back at the barracks while a giant taunts my God because I find empty words fearsome. Because of the Life He has given me and the Love He has shown me I will fight death itself in the name of the Champion of Life by the power of His Spirit and I will sow in tears on the off chance that I might reap in joy.
There is too much at risk- too much to loose to be satisfied any longer with armchair theology and religious platitudes. People are dying. Hearts are being ravaged by a smiling enemy that numbs them into leprous complacency. It's time to move. It's time to speak. It's time to break up the fallow ground and to cry out to our God on behalf of those who are suffering for want of a Savior.
I'm starting on my knees. I'm praying for His power and strength so that others can come to know His peace and grace. I'm praying for boldness and endurance. I'm praying that He'll give me enough of His own love that I'll forget my pride and my comfortable position in favor of speaking His truth.
Join me?
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Beauty...In which I considered berating John Keats, but then forgot.
I was shopping for a birthday present for my niece this weekend when I suddenly became irate. Well...not THAT suddenly. I went out to buy a gift, which I usually enjoy, but I somehow stumbled across singles hour in the entire community of local shopping venues. Cranky. I don't like being looked at. Especially when I'm cranky. And shopping. Vicious cycle.
At any rate, I ventured into the children's literature section, thinking a creative girl like the sweet one I was shopping for might like something interactive and fun. The only interactive books were plastered with Barbie. I looked for a similar alternative, and came up dry, although I did manage to find a Bible that somebody had seen fit to reduce to a whopping 18 pages long. And this after I had removed a filthy magazine from the floor level shelf of coloring books. Seething.
I moved on to the toy aisle, only to find dolls with impossible curves and ridiculous clothing taunting me from their sports cars and mini-mansions. I do not envy the decisions that parents are faced with in consideration of the shallow pool of amusements made available to their children. I ultimately left the store with a collection of coloring/school supplies that seemed appropriately pink and sparkly, but upon arriving home, I discovered that bubbles I had thrown in on a whim were actually tubes of sparkly lip gloss. This was ridiculous. Covered in tiarras and glitter, there was no way that these tubes were marketed for anybody but an especially small someone. Scandalized.
This sent me into a mull amongst mullings. I don't want to give my niece presents that encourage her to think that lip gloss makes her beautiful or special. She is both of those things already. Psalm 139 indicates that (beyond the shadow of a doubt) we all are. But what about me (other than the words that I speak) communicates that to the people in my life? Do I live like I believe that? Honestly, I considered this even as I dabbed on my own lip gloss and mascera this morning. Do these things define me? Am I a slave to them? I eventually concluded that it was just good grooming to try and present oneself as clean and put together. BUT, I do think that there is a line between self-expression and creating an identity for oneself. I like purple. Today I wore an eggplantish top. Expression. When my appearance, or the identity I'm trying to project starts to define my schedule or behavior, I'd say that the line has been crossed. But that's beside the point.
What I'm wondering is this: How can I reflect real (gentle& quiet spirit) beauty in my own behavior and appearance? What is God's idea of beauty?
*I'd really like to have this conversation, so if you have any experiences or thoughts you want to throw out here or on the facebook link have at it, friends.
At any rate, I ventured into the children's literature section, thinking a creative girl like the sweet one I was shopping for might like something interactive and fun. The only interactive books were plastered with Barbie. I looked for a similar alternative, and came up dry, although I did manage to find a Bible that somebody had seen fit to reduce to a whopping 18 pages long. And this after I had removed a filthy magazine from the floor level shelf of coloring books. Seething.
I moved on to the toy aisle, only to find dolls with impossible curves and ridiculous clothing taunting me from their sports cars and mini-mansions. I do not envy the decisions that parents are faced with in consideration of the shallow pool of amusements made available to their children. I ultimately left the store with a collection of coloring/school supplies that seemed appropriately pink and sparkly, but upon arriving home, I discovered that bubbles I had thrown in on a whim were actually tubes of sparkly lip gloss. This was ridiculous. Covered in tiarras and glitter, there was no way that these tubes were marketed for anybody but an especially small someone. Scandalized.
This sent me into a mull amongst mullings. I don't want to give my niece presents that encourage her to think that lip gloss makes her beautiful or special. She is both of those things already. Psalm 139 indicates that (beyond the shadow of a doubt) we all are. But what about me (other than the words that I speak) communicates that to the people in my life? Do I live like I believe that? Honestly, I considered this even as I dabbed on my own lip gloss and mascera this morning. Do these things define me? Am I a slave to them? I eventually concluded that it was just good grooming to try and present oneself as clean and put together. BUT, I do think that there is a line between self-expression and creating an identity for oneself. I like purple. Today I wore an eggplantish top. Expression. When my appearance, or the identity I'm trying to project starts to define my schedule or behavior, I'd say that the line has been crossed. But that's beside the point.
What I'm wondering is this: How can I reflect real (gentle& quiet spirit) beauty in my own behavior and appearance? What is God's idea of beauty?
*I'd really like to have this conversation, so if you have any experiences or thoughts you want to throw out here or on the facebook link have at it, friends.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
The Blessing...in which Beauty is revealed in some ashes
In my initial posts, I discussed some of my heartaches and struggles regarding my single, childless state. I'd like to take a moment to share a bit about some of the blessings that have accompanied those experiences. Because God is good. And He works all things for the good of those that love Him. And I love Him. A lot. Anyhow, during the times mentioned in those earlier blogs, I began to feel myself quite familiar with the pain associated with the curse in Genesis 3:16. Only I was in pain in spite of not bearing children or having a husband. I'm ashamed to say that, but I was wallowing and being selfish and ungrateful. So... there's that.
It was during this time that I became reaquainted with Isaiah 54....otherwise known as the "Song of the Spinster." Not just verse 5 "Your Maker is Your Husband, but also verse 1 "more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband..." is it twisted that I felt so hugely comforted just to hear the single woman described as desolate? I latched on to that word like a leech on a rare flank steak. Yeah. Leech on a flank steak. I said it. Don't be derailed by my obscure (and almost certainly inaccurate) entymological reference! I was desolate! And God recognized it when nobody else seemed to understand or anticipate it as a reasonable feeling on my part. It's that "High Priest who understands us" promise from Hebrews that I overlook all too often. Just seeing that He understood and acknowledged what I felt comforted me immensley. He knew. And He was with me. And He blessed me in the storm. Desolate I was, but cerainly not alone or childless.
My life is full of amazing, completely unique people. I have seen God's love in my church family. I am accepted and loved there, just as I love and cherish each one of those people. God has graciously put me in places like children's ministry and youth group, where I can catch a glimpse of what it would be like to have the family life that I was so torn up over for so long. I thank God for "my kids"every week. Each one is a testament to God's artistry.
Maybe this is just how life is going to be. I know that the oddities of my person and my situation make it pretty likely. If this is what my life looks like for the duration, I think I'm alright with that. I go home to an empty house, but my life is stuffed with blessings. I get to pray with and over my kids. I get to share joys and sorrows and watch them grow into amazing young people. I get to see God faithful in a thousand different ways in those hearts, and I'm thankful. I'm thankful that my "solitude" has drawn me closer into my relationship with God and I'm thankful that He has shown me mercy and given me plenty of people to love. I'm thankful for the window He has given me into the lives around me, and I'm eager to see what He will do in and through them. That's all.
It was during this time that I became reaquainted with Isaiah 54....otherwise known as the "Song of the Spinster." Not just verse 5 "Your Maker is Your Husband, but also verse 1 "more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband..." is it twisted that I felt so hugely comforted just to hear the single woman described as desolate? I latched on to that word like a leech on a rare flank steak. Yeah. Leech on a flank steak. I said it. Don't be derailed by my obscure (and almost certainly inaccurate) entymological reference! I was desolate! And God recognized it when nobody else seemed to understand or anticipate it as a reasonable feeling on my part. It's that "High Priest who understands us" promise from Hebrews that I overlook all too often. Just seeing that He understood and acknowledged what I felt comforted me immensley. He knew. And He was with me. And He blessed me in the storm. Desolate I was, but cerainly not alone or childless.
My life is full of amazing, completely unique people. I have seen God's love in my church family. I am accepted and loved there, just as I love and cherish each one of those people. God has graciously put me in places like children's ministry and youth group, where I can catch a glimpse of what it would be like to have the family life that I was so torn up over for so long. I thank God for "my kids"every week. Each one is a testament to God's artistry.
Maybe this is just how life is going to be. I know that the oddities of my person and my situation make it pretty likely. If this is what my life looks like for the duration, I think I'm alright with that. I go home to an empty house, but my life is stuffed with blessings. I get to pray with and over my kids. I get to share joys and sorrows and watch them grow into amazing young people. I get to see God faithful in a thousand different ways in those hearts, and I'm thankful. I'm thankful that my "solitude" has drawn me closer into my relationship with God and I'm thankful that He has shown me mercy and given me plenty of people to love. I'm thankful for the window He has given me into the lives around me, and I'm eager to see what He will do in and through them. That's all.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Altar...which I cried over
"I think the Lord is calling me to put (fill in the blank) on the altar."
Confession: I've abused this phrase more than I care to admit. As I've grappled with singleness and solitude, I've said it frequently. First with my husband, then with my children...sometimes both together. I've often thought of Abraham, binding Isaac to offer to the Lord. Did he look the long hoped for son in the eye as he did it? Did he maybe make the bindings loose in case the offering wanted to hop down and run away?
As a Christian, I know that I am called to forsake family, friends, comforts, and the like to follow Christ. I know that His will is stronger, wiser, and more pure than my own. I know that He sees what I can't see and that His plans and callings are perfect. I also know that I am prone to letting things seperate us. I pray for a husband who would challenge me in my walk and lead me nearer to God, but I often find myself focusing on the absent spouse rather than the present Redeemer. That's a problem. No matter how tender that place in my heart is, or how long I've treasured the hope of "someday," it must not be allowed to stand between me and my Saviour. Bad for all parties if it does. Anyhow...I came to the point where I no longer had the heart to hope (see The Hope) I didn't have it in me to think about the prospect of someday, when every day "someday" became less possible. I grieved for the children I would never have. I was so wrapped up in this sorrow that I think I can honestly call myself heartsick. I don't know if this will make sense to anybody who hasn't stood where I am, but those people...that man and those children, were precious to me. They are precious to me. My clinginess might make me sound spoiled and pouty. Maybe I had allowed myself to become so. I don't know. I'm not sure I have the perspective just yet to say one way or the other. I do know this. God was calling me to Himself. He was calling me to put my most precious dreams on the altar.
The purpose of the altar is to remove the things that stand between God and man. To allow for fellowship between God and man, and to provide a means for man to glorify and offer thanks to God. In Christendom we often say that we need to put something on the altar. Rarely do we elaborate on what happens to the offering. Personally, I know that I put things on the altar, and far too often, my immediate action is to wait. There I'll stand, firewood ready, offering placed on the altar, torch in hand, and myself frozen, ear cocked to the thicket. I mean, this is the thing I really love and have waited a really long time for. This is my Isaac. Shouldn't I hear a ram rustling around somewhere? Shouldn't God be telling me to STOP right about now? I know that I've been guilty of stopping in this moment, thinking "Hmm. No ram. Better wait." So I take the offering down, and back into my arms until I'm reminded that it was supposed to go on the altar. So...reluctantly, back it goes. I (once again) take the torch and start loudly talking about how my dream is on the altar. I've repeated this part of the process multiple times, and have finally come to the point when it's time to let go. "It's on the altar, God. I'm really going to let you have it this time..." (listen for that ram one last time) "I'm REALLY going to light it this time God. so, if you want to save it, just say the word!"
The word was "surrender." And I wasn't doing it. Abraham had climbed the mountain with a surrendered heart. Mine was not. Mine was fearful. In a teaching years ago, my older brother (My Hope Lives On) put it quite succinctly. When you put something on the altar, it's meant to be consumed completely. I was afraid of putting my dreams on the altar because I loved them and I didn't want to lose them. When I finally did relinquish my grip and whisper my reluctant "Thy will be done," it was an act of submission more than an act of offering. I did it to obey rather than bless...a detail I wish I could change. I had forgotten that in offering something to God, it is completely consumed as much as it is completely given over to His trustworthy care. I didn't see yet that when I clutched my dreams to my heart, I covered it from His touch. I cried. A lot. Not something I like to admit, but there it is. However...as I mourned my dreams, I discovered that my empty hands could find new occupation. As I respond to the ministrations of my God, my hands are free to cling to His. When I lift them in praise, I am not afraid of what will slip through my fingers. I feel like freshly cultivated soil after the rain. Tilled under and churned up poured out on and ready for my Master's next move. I wonder what will come?
"Those who sow in tears Shall reap in joy. He who continually goes forth weeping, Bearing seed for sowing, Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, Bringing his sheaves with him."
Psalm 126:5&6
"For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life; Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning."
Psalm 30:5
Confession: I've abused this phrase more than I care to admit. As I've grappled with singleness and solitude, I've said it frequently. First with my husband, then with my children...sometimes both together. I've often thought of Abraham, binding Isaac to offer to the Lord. Did he look the long hoped for son in the eye as he did it? Did he maybe make the bindings loose in case the offering wanted to hop down and run away?
As a Christian, I know that I am called to forsake family, friends, comforts, and the like to follow Christ. I know that His will is stronger, wiser, and more pure than my own. I know that He sees what I can't see and that His plans and callings are perfect. I also know that I am prone to letting things seperate us. I pray for a husband who would challenge me in my walk and lead me nearer to God, but I often find myself focusing on the absent spouse rather than the present Redeemer. That's a problem. No matter how tender that place in my heart is, or how long I've treasured the hope of "someday," it must not be allowed to stand between me and my Saviour. Bad for all parties if it does. Anyhow...I came to the point where I no longer had the heart to hope (see The Hope) I didn't have it in me to think about the prospect of someday, when every day "someday" became less possible. I grieved for the children I would never have. I was so wrapped up in this sorrow that I think I can honestly call myself heartsick. I don't know if this will make sense to anybody who hasn't stood where I am, but those people...that man and those children, were precious to me. They are precious to me. My clinginess might make me sound spoiled and pouty. Maybe I had allowed myself to become so. I don't know. I'm not sure I have the perspective just yet to say one way or the other. I do know this. God was calling me to Himself. He was calling me to put my most precious dreams on the altar.
The purpose of the altar is to remove the things that stand between God and man. To allow for fellowship between God and man, and to provide a means for man to glorify and offer thanks to God. In Christendom we often say that we need to put something on the altar. Rarely do we elaborate on what happens to the offering. Personally, I know that I put things on the altar, and far too often, my immediate action is to wait. There I'll stand, firewood ready, offering placed on the altar, torch in hand, and myself frozen, ear cocked to the thicket. I mean, this is the thing I really love and have waited a really long time for. This is my Isaac. Shouldn't I hear a ram rustling around somewhere? Shouldn't God be telling me to STOP right about now? I know that I've been guilty of stopping in this moment, thinking "Hmm. No ram. Better wait." So I take the offering down, and back into my arms until I'm reminded that it was supposed to go on the altar. So...reluctantly, back it goes. I (once again) take the torch and start loudly talking about how my dream is on the altar. I've repeated this part of the process multiple times, and have finally come to the point when it's time to let go. "It's on the altar, God. I'm really going to let you have it this time..." (listen for that ram one last time) "I'm REALLY going to light it this time God. so, if you want to save it, just say the word!"
The word was "surrender." And I wasn't doing it. Abraham had climbed the mountain with a surrendered heart. Mine was not. Mine was fearful. In a teaching years ago, my older brother (My Hope Lives On) put it quite succinctly. When you put something on the altar, it's meant to be consumed completely. I was afraid of putting my dreams on the altar because I loved them and I didn't want to lose them. When I finally did relinquish my grip and whisper my reluctant "Thy will be done," it was an act of submission more than an act of offering. I did it to obey rather than bless...a detail I wish I could change. I had forgotten that in offering something to God, it is completely consumed as much as it is completely given over to His trustworthy care. I didn't see yet that when I clutched my dreams to my heart, I covered it from His touch. I cried. A lot. Not something I like to admit, but there it is. However...as I mourned my dreams, I discovered that my empty hands could find new occupation. As I respond to the ministrations of my God, my hands are free to cling to His. When I lift them in praise, I am not afraid of what will slip through my fingers. I feel like freshly cultivated soil after the rain. Tilled under and churned up poured out on and ready for my Master's next move. I wonder what will come?
"Those who sow in tears Shall reap in joy. He who continually goes forth weeping, Bearing seed for sowing, Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, Bringing his sheaves with him."
Psalm 126:5&6
"For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life; Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning."
Psalm 30:5
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Longing... for which I have no subtitle
Longing: a prolonged, persistent, unfulfilled desire or need
| "For He satisfies the longing soul, And fills the hungry soul with goodness." |
| Psalm 107:9 | NKJV |
"Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the LORD is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!"
Isaiah 30:18
I don't want to beleaguer the topic...but this is yet another blog about something I don't have. So please allow me to begin with the disclaimer that God is good, and that He has dealt bountifully with me. I acknowledge, revel in, and glorify God for that. I do. But through the longings of my heart, He has taught me a little about the longings of His. That's worthy of repeating...even at the risk of sounding like a wimpy whinerson. So please read past the whiny twang of my words to see the portrait that my God is painting in my life and heart. I want you to see, because what He's spoken into my life about His love has left me stunned at its beauty.
I've mentioned that I wanted kids. But did I say that I love them? I love kids. I love their innocence and joy and faith and unfettered perspectives. I love their frank words and trusting hearts. I love their guileless ways of showing affection and I love...I LOVE watching them grow and learn and step into their own personal walks with the Lord. I love watching them serve. I love watching the way that they know how to love. I love learning from them. I love it.
Ironically, I actually used to be afraid of kids. mostly just the little ones, but still... I preferred the soft glow of sliders and buttons in the safety of the sound booth to the toy minefield that is a church nursery. A sound system might feed back at you, but you just undo whatever you did most recently, and it stops. Just like that. This trick does not generally work with people. Thankfully, by God's grace I was thrown in to children's ministry, and ultimately found myself standing in front of a crowd of kids holding a guitar that I barely knew how to play. We talked about worship. We talked about WHO we worship, and what it can look like. We talked about why we worship and what it means in our lives. Sometimes we worshiped with music and sometimes we worshiped with our thanks and our prayers. Those Friday nights spent at Kids' Club mark one of the richest, most cherished times in my life. And yet, every week, my most precious and painful moment would fall just after I had strapped my guitar case to my back and fished my keys out of my bag. When all of the classes had dispersed to games, snack, or Bible time I would pause in the empty hallway by the church door to listen.
It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. It seemed like the whole building was filled with laughter and happy shouts and voices reading scripture and those odd snippets of conversation that you can never quite find a reasonable context for. It brings a smile to my heart just thinking about it...a smile to my heart and tears to my eyes. I would listen as long as I could stand it, then I would load my guitar and bags into my car and drive home to my dark empty house. I could go on...I could tell more embarrassing stories,or tell about the small delights I would love to share with a child. As much as I love chaos (That wasn't meant to sound ironic) I still daydream about quiet moments of singing a small somebody to sleep or taking hold of growing hands to pray over broken hearts, hopeful futures, and that ever elusive someday.
The point is that as I have longed for children and I have longed for my husband, I've learned a few things about the gauntlet of emotions that accompany longing. I've grappled with and come into accord with hope, and I've had a taste of the joy and sorrow and endurance that love necessitates. I've become acquainted with the feelings of discouragement when the longed for thing doesn't materialize. This was perhaps aggravated by my perception that I was relatively alone in my experience. I know, right? You didn't know I was such a wimpo. Not like anybody else has had to live with the sorrow of empty arms while watching others come by their dream with apparent ease. Hannah. Sarah. Rebekah. Leah longed for her husband's affection and Rachel longed for children, each watching her sister receive the gift she longed for. I don't pretend that my experience approaches or compares to theirs. I do know that every good and precious gift comes from above. I also know that God has a personal relationship with each of His children and consequently has a completely different plan for each one of us. A person is not broken because their path or design doesn't follow the anticipated route. The uniqueness of our lives shows that God does not design tritely.
I am thankful that God put me in the position of longing for a very specific reason. Because He longs for me. I never would have learned even a particle of what that meant had He given what I asked for years ago. But one day as I was driving, asking God why I had to live with the sorrow of longing- already loving something that wasn't there, and for what felt like such a long time, and He gently pressed it on my heart: That's how I long for you. I was simultaneously blessed and broken. There He was. Perfect. Beautiful. Loving me. Waiting for me...and I hadn't given Him the fullness of my own heart. I had let Him stand by, Faithful, while I cried out about a man who wouldn't come and children I couldn't see. Call me Gomer. Call me wretched. Call me ungrateful. I love God. I love Him, and it broke my heart to realize that I had waved Him aside and dismissed the significance of His love, which I could see in a whole new light. I marvelled at the new depth of love He was showing me. He longed for me. He lived His whole 33 years on Earth with the purpose of winning His Bride, and He never faltered in His faithfulness. I don't know that anybody has ever longed for me before. And here was the Ultimate Somebody, offering His blood and His love to cover me, wanting to walk with me and be my most precious companion. I felt humbled and treasured at the same time. Had God given me everything I asked for, back when I had asked the first time, I never would have grasped (especially within my very human understanding) the significance of longing. I would have heard the words and thought "God wants to be with me." And it would have been true. But now I see the richness and the weight of longing, and I know that because Jesus longs for me, I must give myself to Him. Because He longs for His church, I must do everything in my power to lead others to Him. I'm thankful for the years of longing behind me, and less afraid of the ones before me, because He has shown me His love.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The Hope (In which I use far too many fragments. I'm not sorry.)
A friend and I were recently talking about hope. Not in the normal "Isn't hope great?" way...really more in a desperate, hurt, "why is it so hard?" kind of way. Finally, staring at the floor, almost afraid to say it out loud, I let out the words I’d been thinking for some time. “Sometimes hope just feels…brutal.” I meant it. I really meant it. Did Solomon say hope deferred made the heart sick? Yeah…if by sick he meant pulverized. Obliterated. Exhausted. Taunted. Have I scandalized you yet? Hopefully, dear reader, you've already identified the problem...we were not talking about Jesus, nor were we talking about salvation and the hope of seeing heaven. We were talking about husbands and marriage. Well... we were griping. About Proverbs 13:12.
I'm reluctant to pinpoint the source of my sorrow because (1) it makes me feel mildly pathetic, and (2) I didn't want the specifics of my situation to become the topic of conversation. However, in order to understand where I was coming from, you might as well know. I’m not married. In fact, the last time I intentionally went on a date was…a really long time ago. And the invitation started with “you’re the only girl I know around here, so…” Details like this didn’t seem appropriate for the writer profile section of my blog, so I might as well go on to tell you that I’m childless, single and just slightly over the typical marrying age. At least so far as the American Christian sub-culture is concerned. That sub-culture seems to gauge eligibility and parenthood in a conversion scale strikingly similar to dog years. Many of my friends got married when they were 19 or 20 and are now blessed with beautiful children that fill their homes with precious laughter and the sort of chaos I used to dream of. I wanted a passel of kids to fill my life with adventures and a husband that I could come alongside of and serve God with. I still do. But God is leading my heart to see that the gifts that He has given me are precious as well.
I know that we all have things we hope for. We hope for healing. We hope for pain to stop. We hope for happy things to start, and we hope a thousand things a day to that end. I spent my adolescence reading novels and attending studies, seminars, and camps that encouraged the practice of purity in consideration of the marriage we would someday have. So, as a teen I started investing in my marriage. Saving thoughts, experiences, and adventures to share with the husband that I knew God would bring one day. Years down the road, I was still alone. Wallowing. Because God hadn't given me what He'd given seemingly everybody around me. I'd spent all that time storing up the riches of my heart (poor as they are) for a hero that didn't appear. There was no precious heart to cherish and no heart waiting for me to trust with my own. I'm not generally mushy, but I think its necessary to communicate how extensively hope- hope for something precious and holy and pure, had left me sorrowful, hurt, and disheartened.
That's a pretty big problem. Hope hurt. I didn’t want it anymore. But I know my God. I know His love, and I know that He would never tell me to hope when He really meant despair. Determined to have it out with the problem of hope, I hit the Word. True, there were instances of hope being mentioned in a sorrowful or painful light, but those were largely from Job. And Solomon. That should have been my first hint. I kept on, looking up instance after instance of "hope" in Scripture. At first I found myself throwing back indignant answers to the verses I came upon, but as my Beloved continued to wash my heart with water through the Word, I felt myself soften towards Him.
I felt like the sun had risen in my heart. Scripture after Scripture reminded me that Jesus, my Precious Redeemer, my Companion and Mighty Warrior; He is my hope. He is the promise. My hope was defeated because it was deferred- misplaced in something human. Not even something human- something potentially human that might someday materialize. I wanted a good thing. But my desire was inferior to my Savior and His plan...whatever it is for me. He has given me His very self and promised me a life together with Him.That's pretty significant. When I think of hope in the light of His gift, I can see that true hope is given by Him as much as it is defined by Him.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Prolegomena: In which I prepare to bare my soul
Prolegomena: (plural) Introductory remarks to an essay or argument; preliminary discussion; from the Greek "prolegein" pro: before legein:to speak; literally "Before I speak"
It's my understanding that most blogs begin with an introductory blog or explanation of the blogger's reasons for writing whatever it is that they're about to write. This is mine. I'll begin with the title.
I'm Song. It's my name...one of them. Like everybody, I have sorrows, aches, angers, and longings that I don't necessarily broadcast to the general public. In recent years, God has been using some of these instances to minister amazing, precious things to my heart. However, thinking that I was largely alone in the need for these lessons, I didn't feel compelled to share too widely what I was learning. I was wrong. I was wrong because when God shares something precious with me, I should want other people to know it. Over the past year, God has laid it on my heart to start sharing these things. So, tentatively, I started talking... baring my soul. I learned a variety of things.
1. I am certainly NOT the only person thinking those thoughts, feeling those hurts, or hoping against any shred of reasonable hope.
2. Life is a lot easier when people know how to pray for you specifically.
3. My attitude about not sharing was limiting me. Limiting my conversations with my sisters in Christ and limiting how vulnerable and open I was willing to be in my relationship with my Savior....I was limiting my intimacy with God by not acknowledging what He was doing. It was NOT alright. Luckily- no, amazingly- miraculously, I have a God who cares too much about me to let me tritely limit my relationship with Him that way. So, HE starting talking.
About two months ago, no matter where I turned in my Bible- be it in my devotions, a study, or a passing conversation with a friend, God laid the same thing on my heart. It was like every verse was saying the same thing. Basically it boiled down to 1 Corinthians 16:14. Be brave. Be Strong. Let all that you do be done in love. It made me nervous. I didn't want to have a reason for being brave. I just wanted to be...taken care of. Safe.
Don't get me wrong, I got saved when I was a wee thing and have been living with Christ in my heart somewhere around 24 years now. I love how exhilierating and free the Christian walk is. I'm passionate about Jesus. My relationship with Him is the thing that defines every other part of my life. I've lived with Him and loved Him and watched Him work miracles in my heart and life. But He wants more. He wants to be closer. He's calling me to draw near, and He's doing it so specifically and tenderly that pretending like I don't hear is no longer an option... if it ever was. He's giving me a chance to glorify Him in a new way. To speak out the huge, beyond me miracles that He's been working under the surface- those insurmountable heart things that could simmer away unnoticed if He were inclined to let them. Which He hasn't. While He is the proprieter and possessor of my heart, it is only He and I that know what He does there...unless one of us chooses to share. He's wrought victories and conquered fear and shown me amazing things and I want everybody to know how great He is. I want to tell the Mighty works that My God- Jehovah Rapha has done in me. As the sole spectator of His hand on my heart, mine is the voice that can tell of those specific whispers and lessons. So I will. Here. The words I've trembled to speak, the lessons I didn't want anybody to know I required, I intend to let loose now. I've purposed that the song I've kept in my heart should be unleashed that my God might be glorified, that my spirit might be humbled, and that possibly, somebody might be encouraged by what He has spoken into my life.
It's my understanding that most blogs begin with an introductory blog or explanation of the blogger's reasons for writing whatever it is that they're about to write. This is mine. I'll begin with the title.
I'm Song. It's my name...one of them. Like everybody, I have sorrows, aches, angers, and longings that I don't necessarily broadcast to the general public. In recent years, God has been using some of these instances to minister amazing, precious things to my heart. However, thinking that I was largely alone in the need for these lessons, I didn't feel compelled to share too widely what I was learning. I was wrong. I was wrong because when God shares something precious with me, I should want other people to know it. Over the past year, God has laid it on my heart to start sharing these things. So, tentatively, I started talking... baring my soul. I learned a variety of things.
1. I am certainly NOT the only person thinking those thoughts, feeling those hurts, or hoping against any shred of reasonable hope.
2. Life is a lot easier when people know how to pray for you specifically.
3. My attitude about not sharing was limiting me. Limiting my conversations with my sisters in Christ and limiting how vulnerable and open I was willing to be in my relationship with my Savior....I was limiting my intimacy with God by not acknowledging what He was doing. It was NOT alright. Luckily- no, amazingly- miraculously, I have a God who cares too much about me to let me tritely limit my relationship with Him that way. So, HE starting talking.
About two months ago, no matter where I turned in my Bible- be it in my devotions, a study, or a passing conversation with a friend, God laid the same thing on my heart. It was like every verse was saying the same thing. Basically it boiled down to 1 Corinthians 16:14. Be brave. Be Strong. Let all that you do be done in love. It made me nervous. I didn't want to have a reason for being brave. I just wanted to be...taken care of. Safe.
Don't get me wrong, I got saved when I was a wee thing and have been living with Christ in my heart somewhere around 24 years now. I love how exhilierating and free the Christian walk is. I'm passionate about Jesus. My relationship with Him is the thing that defines every other part of my life. I've lived with Him and loved Him and watched Him work miracles in my heart and life. But He wants more. He wants to be closer. He's calling me to draw near, and He's doing it so specifically and tenderly that pretending like I don't hear is no longer an option... if it ever was. He's giving me a chance to glorify Him in a new way. To speak out the huge, beyond me miracles that He's been working under the surface- those insurmountable heart things that could simmer away unnoticed if He were inclined to let them. Which He hasn't. While He is the proprieter and possessor of my heart, it is only He and I that know what He does there...unless one of us chooses to share. He's wrought victories and conquered fear and shown me amazing things and I want everybody to know how great He is. I want to tell the Mighty works that My God- Jehovah Rapha has done in me. As the sole spectator of His hand on my heart, mine is the voice that can tell of those specific whispers and lessons. So I will. Here. The words I've trembled to speak, the lessons I didn't want anybody to know I required, I intend to let loose now. I've purposed that the song I've kept in my heart should be unleashed that my God might be glorified, that my spirit might be humbled, and that possibly, somebody might be encouraged by what He has spoken into my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)