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.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
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
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