What is the difference between having a pity party and feeling sad about a circumstance?
A friend just asked this in an email, and I'm intrigued.
I'm not very good at either one, I admit. I tend to soldier on no matter what, but I've been learning that this is not a healthy or helpful response to difficulty.
And I'm in pain right now. Real, physical pain. It sounds like I have an ulcer, though I tested negative for the H pylori bacteria. So it was probably caused by my preference for an ibuprofen and an aspirin whenever I get a headache, which is a couple times a week. Here I thought I was safeguarding my liver by not taking acetimenophen--although it never worked as well for me--but now my duodenum is paying for it. Sigh.
But I'm not just having abdominal pain; the referred pain to my back is actually worse most of the time. And since coffee, tea and caffeine are stomach acid triggers, I've been having terrible headaches getting weaned off them. And feeling tired, of course. Fatigue and pain don't mix well; they set off alarms in my body that make all my muscles tense up. Then I get tension headaches to add to the caffeine withdrawal headaches.
And I'm getting tired of soup.
And I badly want some of my kids' Halloween candy.
Waaaaaahhh! I think I would like a pity party, after all, please.
But I just keep going. Work distracts me from the pain, and besides, the world would end if I slowed down, right? Part of me wants to just go to bed and read all day, but I can't. Too many events and visitors and obligations and responsibilities.
I just realized that I've barely prayed for myself, for healing or any other need, since this pain began. I have prayed for others, though, more diligently than usual. What's that about?
I remember another time of great pain. It was psychic, not physical, and all I could pray during that time was "Lord, have mercy on me." I had no other words than that. I look back and I still don't see what good came out of those events, except that I learned to lean into Jesus in a way I never had before. I wasn't able to soldier on as usual during that time. I stopped reading my Bible, stopped journalling, slowed way down on the blogging, said no to many good things, and in some ways, I'm still not recovered. But every week during that time, it was another free fall into Jesus' arms, and He caught me each time. Despite my lack of words to tell Him what I was feeling.
I think this time I've spoken too many words about my pain. My friends, my parents, my in-laws, they all know about it and are praying, and that lifts me up. I feel it. But I've probably turned to them instead of turning to Jesus and resting in Him. The other time, I had to keep my pain to myself. It wasn't something I could share with very many people. It drove me to Jesus' arms instead.
We need others, though. I have depended on the prayers of others when I could not pray for myself. I needed understanding when all around me, life was clouded with misunderstanding. I had grief to process, and it helped me to process it with others. But it wasn't pity that I sought or needed; it was strength. Strength in prayer, in encouragement, in perseverance.
Oswald Chambers said:
Why shouldn’t we experience heartbreak? Through those doorways God is opening up ways of fellowship with His Son. Most of us collapse at the first grip of pain. We sit down at the door of God’s purpose and enter a slow death through self-pity. And all the so-called Christian sympathy of others helps us to our deathbed. But God will not. He comes with the grip of the pierced hand of His Son, as if to say, “Enter into fellowship with Me; arise and shine.” If God can accomplish His purposes in this world through a broken heart, then why not thank Him for breaking yours?
I'm honestly not sure what that's saying about Christian sympathy and prayer, but I know that suffering is something to be received from God's hand just as much as blessing, and that in this life, we will have trials. And yes, trials will build godly Christian character like James says. But more importantly, they push us toward God.
So we feel the pain. We don't push it away or deny it's there. We feel it, and we see the pierced hand of Christ extended to us, and we take it.
And we tell our friends what we are going through. Their job is to take our hand, and place it in His hand. Maybe they do that gently, or maybe they do it with a swift kick in the pants, if we need it 'cause we're lookin' for a pity party. Maybe the swift kick is the simple question, "Are you taking care of yourself?" We need our friends to speak truth to us, to be mirrors for us to see ourselves...good and bad. Sometimes we need a meal, or a night out, or someone to hold our hand, but as long as it point us to Jesus and not poor li'l me, it's not a pity party. We need each other.
But we need Jesus more.
Showing posts with label devotional. Show all posts
Showing posts with label devotional. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Joseph, the Problem of Evil, and a Book Review
"Come closer to me," Joseph said to his brothers. They came closer. "I am Joseph your brother whom you sold into Egypt. But don't feel badly, don't blame yourselves for selling me. God was behind it. God sent me here ahead of you to save lives. There has been a famine in the land now for two years; the famine will continue for five more years—neither plowing nor harvesting. God sent me on ahead to pave the way and make sure there was a remnant in the land, to save your lives in an amazing act of deliverance. So you see, it wasn't you who sent me here but God.
This past summer, while I was in the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, I read Joseph's story in Genesis from my new copy of The Message. It's one of my very favorite Bible stories.
I admit to some unsettling thoughts, though, as I read the passage above. I was expecting the famous "What you meant for evil, God intended for good" line; it actually comes later, after Jacob dies and the brothers worry that with their father gone, Joseph will now take his revenge. Instead, Joseph is all excited about how God is saving a remnant from the terrible famine that has only just begun...and all I could think was, if I were Joseph, wouldn't I be wondering why God didn't just send rain?
Of course, from my vantage point, I can see the bigger picture of how God used the famine to get the whole nation of Israel relocated to Egypt, so that they could eventually become enslaved and then rescued from bondage. It's the most significant incident in Jewish history and identity, and the informing metaphor of salvation.
I can see that, but Joseph?
From the typical American perspective, it's hard not to imagine Joseph's suffering during those lost years, imprisoned, enslaved, ripped away from his family and home before he was even old enough to join his brothers in the fields. All that time gone, all those potential childhood memories, opportunities, education erased from his youth. Sure, he ended up in a position of power and what he had lost was restored, but at what personal cost? He could never have those years back.
Couldn't God just have sent some rain?
These are the kinds of questions my kids ask me all the time. Couldn't God just (fill in the blank)? Our perspective is so small.
Around the same time, I read Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, by N.D. Wilson. It's a kaleidoscopic look at the world, at God, at good and evil and faith and suffering--and it's extremely well-written and exceedingly funny. I haven't enjoyed a non-fiction book so much in ages, although half the time I was only guessing at what he was saying. It's helpful if you've had at least an introduction to philosophy, and like all philosophy, it's helpful if you read it fast, and then go back for the finer points.
As he says in the preface: "This book does not go straight. It is not a road in Wyoming. ...It attempts to find unity in cacophony. The barrage of elements (philosophy, poetry, theology, narrative, ad nauseum) may at times feel random. ...It is intended to be symphonic: dissimilar voices and instruments moving from dissonance to harmony. ...Like the earth and the Tilt-A-Whirl, you will end at a beginning."
And it refreshed my faith that in the midst of suffering, we don't have to understand why or obsess about the personal cost to ourselves. In fact, we take ourselves way too seriously. Like hobbits, he says, we are in the midst of an epic story, and we can trust the Author of the story. Just like Joseph.
N.D Wilson wraps up a section exploring different views of God and death:
On our role in the story:
And a lot of the rest of the book is about how small we really are, and how grateful we can be for that, and how much we can trust the Creator of it all, the Author of the story. The book is also full of wonder and appreciation for the amazing and miraculous world we live in, the story that is played out all around us in creation and in our everyday lives. It echoed Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts in its emphasis on seeing, sensing and appreciating the world around us. Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl is zanier and funnier, but heart-stopping in a similar way in its breathtaking descriptions of beauty in the world.
So, back to Joseph. I think Joseph trusted God completely with the big picture. Sure, God could have sent rain. He could have thought of some other way to get the nation of Israel down to Egypt. But the Author of the story wrote this role for Joseph...and Joe didn't balk at playing his part, even if he was a victim.
Do we really want to skip straight to the last chapter? Or do we want the whole novel, tension, struggle, conflict and all?
God didn't leave him there.
~Genesis 45:4-8, The Message
This past summer, while I was in the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, I read Joseph's story in Genesis from my new copy of The Message. It's one of my very favorite Bible stories.
I admit to some unsettling thoughts, though, as I read the passage above. I was expecting the famous "What you meant for evil, God intended for good" line; it actually comes later, after Jacob dies and the brothers worry that with their father gone, Joseph will now take his revenge. Instead, Joseph is all excited about how God is saving a remnant from the terrible famine that has only just begun...and all I could think was, if I were Joseph, wouldn't I be wondering why God didn't just send rain?
Of course, from my vantage point, I can see the bigger picture of how God used the famine to get the whole nation of Israel relocated to Egypt, so that they could eventually become enslaved and then rescued from bondage. It's the most significant incident in Jewish history and identity, and the informing metaphor of salvation.
I can see that, but Joseph?
From the typical American perspective, it's hard not to imagine Joseph's suffering during those lost years, imprisoned, enslaved, ripped away from his family and home before he was even old enough to join his brothers in the fields. All that time gone, all those potential childhood memories, opportunities, education erased from his youth. Sure, he ended up in a position of power and what he had lost was restored, but at what personal cost? He could never have those years back.
Couldn't God just have sent some rain?
These are the kinds of questions my kids ask me all the time. Couldn't God just (fill in the blank)? Our perspective is so small.
Around the same time, I read Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, by N.D. Wilson. It's a kaleidoscopic look at the world, at God, at good and evil and faith and suffering--and it's extremely well-written and exceedingly funny. I haven't enjoyed a non-fiction book so much in ages, although half the time I was only guessing at what he was saying. It's helpful if you've had at least an introduction to philosophy, and like all philosophy, it's helpful if you read it fast, and then go back for the finer points.
As he says in the preface: "This book does not go straight. It is not a road in Wyoming. ...It attempts to find unity in cacophony. The barrage of elements (philosophy, poetry, theology, narrative, ad nauseum) may at times feel random. ...It is intended to be symphonic: dissimilar voices and instruments moving from dissonance to harmony. ...Like the earth and the Tilt-A-Whirl, you will end at a beginning."
And it refreshed my faith that in the midst of suffering, we don't have to understand why or obsess about the personal cost to ourselves. In fact, we take ourselves way too seriously. Like hobbits, he says, we are in the midst of an epic story, and we can trust the Author of the story. Just like Joseph.
N.D Wilson wraps up a section exploring different views of God and death:
Three postcards await our perusal, yea, three visions of the world.
One: I see a theme park where there are lots of rides, but there is nobody who can control them and nobody who knows how the rides end. Grief counseling, however, is included in the price of admission.
Two: I see an accident. An explosion of some kind inhabited by happenstantial life forms. A milk spill gone bacterial, only with more flame. It has no meaning or purpose or master. It simply is.
Three: I see a stage, a world where every scene is crafted. Where men act out their lives within a tapestry, where meaning and beauty exist, where right and wrong are more than imagined constructs. There is evil. There is darkness. There is the Winter of tragedy, every life ending, churned back in the soil. But the tragedy leads to Spring. The story does not end in frozen death. The fields are sown in grief. The harvest will be reaped in joy. I see a Master's painting. I listen to a Master's prose.
On our role in the story:
Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?
...Who sinned, this little bit of black oil paint or its parent elements, that it would be used by Rembrandt to do the dark scary bits beneath the windmill?
If you are a glop of blue paint, blessed to be sitting in the sky overlooking Van Gogh's sunflowers, are you there by any effort or righteousness of your own? Why are you not more grateful?
...The problem of evil is a genuine problem, an enemy with sharp pointy teeth. But it is not a logical problem. It is an emotional one, an argument from Hamlet's heartache and from ours. It appeals to our pride and our nerve endings. We do not want to hear an answer that puts us so low. But the answer is this: we are very small.
And a lot of the rest of the book is about how small we really are, and how grateful we can be for that, and how much we can trust the Creator of it all, the Author of the story. The book is also full of wonder and appreciation for the amazing and miraculous world we live in, the story that is played out all around us in creation and in our everyday lives. It echoed Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts in its emphasis on seeing, sensing and appreciating the world around us. Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl is zanier and funnier, but heart-stopping in a similar way in its breathtaking descriptions of beauty in the world.
So, back to Joseph. I think Joseph trusted God completely with the big picture. Sure, God could have sent rain. He could have thought of some other way to get the nation of Israel down to Egypt. But the Author of the story wrote this role for Joseph...and Joe didn't balk at playing his part, even if he was a victim.
Do we really want to skip straight to the last chapter? Or do we want the whole novel, tension, struggle, conflict and all?
God didn't leave him there.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Unhealthy Guilt
I think God has been trying to get something through to me.
It's in books I'm reading, sermons I'm hearing, video ads I'm viewing, conversations I'm having, counsel I am receiving. I am beginning to get the message, I think, although it has a ways to go to sink down from head to heart. I'm not even certain of all the implications. But I think God is telling me I'm looking at myself the wrong way.
I'm not a sinner, in need of God's mercy and grace. I'm a sinner, already saved by grace.
The distinction is subtle, but critical. The first perspective puts the burden on me, the sinner, to come to God, to repent, to ask for what I need. The second viewpoint puts the emphasis on God, on what He has already done, and not just for me, but for all sinners who have put their trust in Him. It's not even something that "I just need to embrace," as I wanted to write just now. It's already embracing me. If there is anything I need to do, it's just to be thankful.
As Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel:
The saved sinner is prostrate in adoration, lost in wonder and praise. He knows repentance is not what we do in order to earn forgiveness; it is what we do because we have been forgiven. It serves as an expression of gratitude rather than an effort to earn forgiveness. Thus the sequence of forgiveness and then repentance, rather than repentance and then forgiveness, is crucial for understanding the gospel of grace.
Growing up in a tradition that didn't emphasize regular repentance, there was something about weekly confession in the liturgical service that appealed to me, that felt right and good. I'd like to say that it was an expression of gratitude, as Manning says, but in hindsight, I'm thinking it appealed more to the "good girl" in me, looking for ways to please God and earn his approval...and my own.
I'm not sure what it is in me that thinks I must earn what I could just have...or thinks I need to judge whether I deserve it or not. But it's been a revelation to discover that in fact, that's what I've been doing...when I could just delight in what is already mine.
For those who feel their lives are a grave disappointment to God, it requires enormous trust and reckless, raging confidence to accept that the love of Christ knows no shadow of alteration or change. (Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel)
More pleasing to Me than all your prayers, works and penances is that you would believe I love you. ~Jesus' words to Marjory Kempe in 1667 (quoted by Manning, TRG)
Preoccupation with self is always a major component of unhealthy guilt and recrimination. It stirs our emotions, churning in self-destructive ways, closes us in upon the mighty citadel of self, leads to depression and despair, and preempts the presence of a compassionate God. The language of unhealthy guilt is harsh. It is demanding, abusing, criticizing, rejecting, accusing, blaming, condemning, reproaching, and scolding. It is one of impatience and chastisement. Christians are shocked and horrified because they have failed. (Manning, TRG)
That's me...so upset with myself because I fail on a daily basis. I fail to be the wife, the mother, the daughter, the neighbor, the pastor's wife, the parent, the teacher I feel I could and should be. And how else am I going to be any better, I think, if I don't reproach and scold myself about the ways I fall short?
Turns out there is a way of grace and freedom that I'm only beginning to glimpse.
The moment the focus of your life shifts from your badness to his goodness and the question becomes not "What have I done?" but "What can he do?" release from remorse can happen; miracle of miracles, you can forgive yourself because you have been forgiven, accept yourself because you are accepted, and begin to start building up the very places you once tore down. There is grace to help in every time of trouble. That grace is the secret to being able to forgive ourselves. Trust it. ~John R Claypool (quoted by Manning, TRG)
I think that's where I'll leave it. I'm not very far down this road yet. I'm only just beginning to heal, to build up a layer or two in those places I've been tearing down for so long. And I'm grateful, in a way I haven't quite experienced before.
Thank you, Lord.
It's in books I'm reading, sermons I'm hearing, video ads I'm viewing, conversations I'm having, counsel I am receiving. I am beginning to get the message, I think, although it has a ways to go to sink down from head to heart. I'm not even certain of all the implications. But I think God is telling me I'm looking at myself the wrong way.
I'm not a sinner, in need of God's mercy and grace. I'm a sinner, already saved by grace.
The distinction is subtle, but critical. The first perspective puts the burden on me, the sinner, to come to God, to repent, to ask for what I need. The second viewpoint puts the emphasis on God, on what He has already done, and not just for me, but for all sinners who have put their trust in Him. It's not even something that "I just need to embrace," as I wanted to write just now. It's already embracing me. If there is anything I need to do, it's just to be thankful.
As Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel:
The saved sinner is prostrate in adoration, lost in wonder and praise. He knows repentance is not what we do in order to earn forgiveness; it is what we do because we have been forgiven. It serves as an expression of gratitude rather than an effort to earn forgiveness. Thus the sequence of forgiveness and then repentance, rather than repentance and then forgiveness, is crucial for understanding the gospel of grace.
Growing up in a tradition that didn't emphasize regular repentance, there was something about weekly confession in the liturgical service that appealed to me, that felt right and good. I'd like to say that it was an expression of gratitude, as Manning says, but in hindsight, I'm thinking it appealed more to the "good girl" in me, looking for ways to please God and earn his approval...and my own.
I'm not sure what it is in me that thinks I must earn what I could just have...or thinks I need to judge whether I deserve it or not. But it's been a revelation to discover that in fact, that's what I've been doing...when I could just delight in what is already mine.
For those who feel their lives are a grave disappointment to God, it requires enormous trust and reckless, raging confidence to accept that the love of Christ knows no shadow of alteration or change. (Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel)
More pleasing to Me than all your prayers, works and penances is that you would believe I love you. ~Jesus' words to Marjory Kempe in 1667 (quoted by Manning, TRG)
Preoccupation with self is always a major component of unhealthy guilt and recrimination. It stirs our emotions, churning in self-destructive ways, closes us in upon the mighty citadel of self, leads to depression and despair, and preempts the presence of a compassionate God. The language of unhealthy guilt is harsh. It is demanding, abusing, criticizing, rejecting, accusing, blaming, condemning, reproaching, and scolding. It is one of impatience and chastisement. Christians are shocked and horrified because they have failed. (Manning, TRG)
That's me...so upset with myself because I fail on a daily basis. I fail to be the wife, the mother, the daughter, the neighbor, the pastor's wife, the parent, the teacher I feel I could and should be. And how else am I going to be any better, I think, if I don't reproach and scold myself about the ways I fall short?
Turns out there is a way of grace and freedom that I'm only beginning to glimpse.
The moment the focus of your life shifts from your badness to his goodness and the question becomes not "What have I done?" but "What can he do?" release from remorse can happen; miracle of miracles, you can forgive yourself because you have been forgiven, accept yourself because you are accepted, and begin to start building up the very places you once tore down. There is grace to help in every time of trouble. That grace is the secret to being able to forgive ourselves. Trust it. ~John R Claypool (quoted by Manning, TRG)
I think that's where I'll leave it. I'm not very far down this road yet. I'm only just beginning to heal, to build up a layer or two in those places I've been tearing down for so long. And I'm grateful, in a way I haven't quite experienced before.
Thank you, Lord.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
You Crown the Year with Your Goodness
Humor me today with a little poetry exposition, okay?
| The Midday Psalm (Psalm 65:6–14) |
| You make fast the mountains by your power;* they are girded about with might. Wow, what an image. It is God's power that roots and supports the mountains! You still the roaring seas,* the roaring of their waves, and the clamor of their peoples. "Be still and know that I am God." Those who dwell at the ends of the earth will tremble at your marvelous signs;* This makes me think of tsunamis and earthquakes and the Northern Lights. you make the dawn and the dusk to sing for joy. This reminds me of the characters in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader who are really stars who sing at dawn and at dusk. I bet C.S. Lewis had this verse (among others) in mind. You visit the earth and water it abundantly; you make it very plenteous;* We've had so much rain here in Wisconsin this spring that it's good to reminded that it is a sign of fruitfulness and blessing. the river of God is full of water. What an image of abundance! We often use the expression "dry" to refer to our spiritual lives when we have failed to replenish ourselves regularly from the Source of all we need, and this image of a river, FULL of water, reminds me that God is never lacking. You prepare the grain,* for so you provide for the earth. This reminds me of Isaiah 55: "As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth. It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." Rain and grain are achieve God's purposes just as His word does! You drench the furrows and smooth out the ridges;* with heavy rain you soften the ground and bless its increase. I grew up on a farm, and I have seen cracks in the ground when a field is very dry. I have seen the softening effect of rain as it smooths out ridges and as it pools in the furrows. When I am feeling "dry," I imagine God's love raining down on my cracked and barren heart and softening it in a similar way. You crown the year with your goodness,* This struck me. He doesn't crown nature or creation, but "the year." What does that mean? The seasons? The life-cyle? Harvest time? It is clear that his goodness to us or to the earth is a great honor and blessing. and your paths overflow with plenty. Even when God's paths take us through places of trial or suffering, He is more than we need. May the fields of the wilderness be rich for grazing,* The "wilderness" image in the Psalms usually implies a place of danger or trial, so this statement seems to remind us that even in the difficult places, God's provision and abundance are to be found. and the hills be clothed with joy. May the meadows cover themselves with flocks, and the valleys cloak themselves with grain;* let them shout for joy and sing. I love these images of nature putting on garments of praise and abundance! I find it whimsical to imagine a cloak made of grain, or a covering made of sheep or cattle. Also, this whole section seems to keep pointing to God's provision of food for the earth as something we should praise and worship him for--and yet we so often take our daily bread for granted. Yet it is God who sustains everything and everyone, whether they worship Him or not. What a love He has for us all.... |
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Reading
I've been waiting eagerly for the last of my Christmas gifts from Papa Rooster to arrive...
a pre-ordered copy of this long-awaited book.
Ann is the friend and blogger at Holy Experience that I've been recommending for years! And I'm lovin' the book even more, if that's possible, than her blog.
It's longer. It tells more about her life and her story, tying together events and ideas she's posted on her blog.
And the content...it is touching the deepest longings of my heart! Here's a taste.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Grace
I heard a sermon last week that gave me a picture of grace. Some concepts my head knows, but my heart has trouble grasping, and one of the most troubling questions to my mind and heart has always been that problem of falling short.
"For all have sinned and fallen short," I learned as a kid. And I learned that only Jesus measures up, and in his perfection and sinless sacrifice, there is salvation for me. So I cling to Him...but still I see between us that chasm of sin that separates. I confess my failures over and over, I receive His forgiveness without measure, but I despair sometimes. I want to "be holy as He is holy." I want the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness and self-control. I want to "be transformed by the renewing of my mind." I want to see some improvement!
But still the chasm looms. I know Christ is the bridge across it, but it's hard to keep my eyes off the awful, ever-present separation.
So last week, this friend, Paul R., preached at church. We think of the distance between God's holiness and our sinfulness as a chasm, he said. But imagine, he suggested, that separation as the distance between the places where a string is attached on either end of a violin.
There is tension created along that string, just as there is tension between who we are and who we want to be, between holiness and sinfulness, between how we view ourselves and how God views us. But there is grace in realizing this: A bow can be drawn along that distance bridged by one tense string, and music can be created!
That metaphor struck a chord with me. I knew it was truth. Out of my very failures and lackings, God can draw forth music. Because I cannot measure up, I need Christ to be that string connecting me to God, bridging that gap, and even heightening that tension in my soul between what I so often am and what He lovingly wants me to be. But the grace is in the music He creates from the tension.
And it's in the dance He invites me to join--the dance of grace instead of self-condemnation. "For there is therefore now no condemnation." "In thy presence is fullness of joy!"
Attune my ears to hear that music, Lord.
Thank you for the music you've already drawn from my life, even when I did not have ears to hear it (to my sorrow). You are always gracious with me, though I am not. Draw me close, Lord. Let my need of you be the peg that tightens the string and holds it there, ready to be played.
And may my soul rejoice in the music you draw forth!
"For all have sinned and fallen short," I learned as a kid. And I learned that only Jesus measures up, and in his perfection and sinless sacrifice, there is salvation for me. So I cling to Him...but still I see between us that chasm of sin that separates. I confess my failures over and over, I receive His forgiveness without measure, but I despair sometimes. I want to "be holy as He is holy." I want the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness and self-control. I want to "be transformed by the renewing of my mind." I want to see some improvement!
But still the chasm looms. I know Christ is the bridge across it, but it's hard to keep my eyes off the awful, ever-present separation.
So last week, this friend, Paul R., preached at church. We think of the distance between God's holiness and our sinfulness as a chasm, he said. But imagine, he suggested, that separation as the distance between the places where a string is attached on either end of a violin.
There is tension created along that string, just as there is tension between who we are and who we want to be, between holiness and sinfulness, between how we view ourselves and how God views us. But there is grace in realizing this: A bow can be drawn along that distance bridged by one tense string, and music can be created!
That metaphor struck a chord with me. I knew it was truth. Out of my very failures and lackings, God can draw forth music. Because I cannot measure up, I need Christ to be that string connecting me to God, bridging that gap, and even heightening that tension in my soul between what I so often am and what He lovingly wants me to be. But the grace is in the music He creates from the tension.
And it's in the dance He invites me to join--the dance of grace instead of self-condemnation. "For there is therefore now no condemnation." "In thy presence is fullness of joy!"
Attune my ears to hear that music, Lord.
Thank you for the music you've already drawn from my life, even when I did not have ears to hear it (to my sorrow). You are always gracious with me, though I am not. Draw me close, Lord. Let my need of you be the peg that tightens the string and holds it there, ready to be played.
And may my soul rejoice in the music you draw forth!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Pentecost Musings
Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of Pentecost! It's a day--no, a whole season--for remembering that after Christ ascended, He did not leave us alone. He told the disciples to go to Jerusalem and wait for the Holy Spirit to come, and when He came, He came in power with the sound of a mighty rushing wind. Before He ascended, Christ assured his disciples that they would do even greater works than His, once He had gone, because of the power of the Holy Spirit in them.
We receive the Holy Spirit as one of the gifts of salvation, and He is always with us. Yet it is also possible to grieve the Spirit, quench the Spirit and be depleted of the Spirit, for Paul tells us, "Be continually filled with the Spirit." Christ taught, "Apart from Me, you can do nothing," and Paul proclaimed, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Christ is with us and strengthens us through the power of the Holy Spirit.
Sometimes it's hard to see the line between doing in my own strength, and acting in the power of the Holy Spirit. My intention is to be committed to God--to His will, His plans, His purposes and His direction. I try to choose my course--my actions, my plans, my attitudes--to line up with His. I pray for His continual strength to do what I believe He's called me to do, and I think He does empower me to do so much more good than I could do if the plans were only my own.
Yet I know I get off course at times. My good intentions fail in moments of anger, frustration and disappointment when something interferes with the plans, and it is in those moments that I most need the fruits of the Spirit--love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness and self-control. It is in those instances that I realize how much more Spirit-filled and Spirit-controlled I want to be.
So what helps? Today, I need to remind myself.
1) Waiting expectantly, just like the disciples in Jerusalem on the first Pentecost. The expectation is key; I think it is an exercise of faith to believe that if I ask, I shall receive. Exercise strengthens!
2) Explicitly giving Christ the rule of my heart. I envision the throne of my heart and ask myself, "Who is spending more time there, me or Christ?" I confess that I often put myself there, and I ask Him once more to seat Himself on that throne. I put myself once again under His rule.
3) Reminding myself that apart from Christ, I can do nothing, or "no good thing," as some translations render the verse.
4) Consciously trying to love. What would be the loving action, the loving word, the loving response?
5) Living by this verse: "Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and Spiritual songs with gratitude in Your hearts to God- And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."
To unpack: Reading God's word, listening/singing songs of worship, giving thanks, and dedicating all my works and words to God.
In this year of great busy-ness, I have not much time for doing the things of God--for reading my Bible, for journalling, for devoted prayer times. It feels, in some ways, like I have been crossing the desert, with minimal provisions to sustain me. But by God's grace (and in answer to my prayers for mercy, I'm certain), I have been able to maintain many of the attitudes on this list. As I look it over, I see that it's more about being than doing, more about choices than actions.
I remember I once placed a post-it on my mirror on which I had scrawled, "Who I am matters more than what I do." It feels like this past year, I've only had time to choose who I am--I've had little choice at all about what I do. Somehow, in this time of difficulty and stress, I think I've managed to grow in choosing who I am going to be, though my family knows how inconsistent I am. But overall, I am going to choose not to feel guilty, but to be thankful for the many times that I know the Holy Spirit has helped me, in His strength, to bite my tongue, to give a soft answer, to do it myself with a servant's heart, to stay up late and help, to not complain. I will encourage myself to keep asking, waiting, and expecting. I will keep trying to love, to submit, to give thanks, to worship and to dedicate my thoughts, words and deeds to God.
I look for an end to this difficult season, but I will be thankful for what it is teaching me!
We receive the Holy Spirit as one of the gifts of salvation, and He is always with us. Yet it is also possible to grieve the Spirit, quench the Spirit and be depleted of the Spirit, for Paul tells us, "Be continually filled with the Spirit." Christ taught, "Apart from Me, you can do nothing," and Paul proclaimed, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Christ is with us and strengthens us through the power of the Holy Spirit.
Sometimes it's hard to see the line between doing in my own strength, and acting in the power of the Holy Spirit. My intention is to be committed to God--to His will, His plans, His purposes and His direction. I try to choose my course--my actions, my plans, my attitudes--to line up with His. I pray for His continual strength to do what I believe He's called me to do, and I think He does empower me to do so much more good than I could do if the plans were only my own.
Yet I know I get off course at times. My good intentions fail in moments of anger, frustration and disappointment when something interferes with the plans, and it is in those moments that I most need the fruits of the Spirit--love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness and self-control. It is in those instances that I realize how much more Spirit-filled and Spirit-controlled I want to be.
So what helps? Today, I need to remind myself.
1) Waiting expectantly, just like the disciples in Jerusalem on the first Pentecost. The expectation is key; I think it is an exercise of faith to believe that if I ask, I shall receive. Exercise strengthens!
2) Explicitly giving Christ the rule of my heart. I envision the throne of my heart and ask myself, "Who is spending more time there, me or Christ?" I confess that I often put myself there, and I ask Him once more to seat Himself on that throne. I put myself once again under His rule.
3) Reminding myself that apart from Christ, I can do nothing, or "no good thing," as some translations render the verse.
4) Consciously trying to love. What would be the loving action, the loving word, the loving response?
5) Living by this verse: "Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and Spiritual songs with gratitude in Your hearts to God- And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."
To unpack: Reading God's word, listening/singing songs of worship, giving thanks, and dedicating all my works and words to God.
In this year of great busy-ness, I have not much time for doing the things of God--for reading my Bible, for journalling, for devoted prayer times. It feels, in some ways, like I have been crossing the desert, with minimal provisions to sustain me. But by God's grace (and in answer to my prayers for mercy, I'm certain), I have been able to maintain many of the attitudes on this list. As I look it over, I see that it's more about being than doing, more about choices than actions.
I remember I once placed a post-it on my mirror on which I had scrawled, "Who I am matters more than what I do." It feels like this past year, I've only had time to choose who I am--I've had little choice at all about what I do. Somehow, in this time of difficulty and stress, I think I've managed to grow in choosing who I am going to be, though my family knows how inconsistent I am. But overall, I am going to choose not to feel guilty, but to be thankful for the many times that I know the Holy Spirit has helped me, in His strength, to bite my tongue, to give a soft answer, to do it myself with a servant's heart, to stay up late and help, to not complain. I will encourage myself to keep asking, waiting, and expecting. I will keep trying to love, to submit, to give thanks, to worship and to dedicate my thoughts, words and deeds to God.
I look for an end to this difficult season, but I will be thankful for what it is teaching me!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Fifteen Minutes to Sainthood
A friend emailed me this quote from Teresa of Avila: (Thanks, Matt!)
"Give me a person who has fifteen minutes of mental (interior) prayer daily, and I will give you a saint."
"For mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us."
This is from the same saint who gave us the quote in my sidebar, to the effect that married people, because of their vocation, must understand that their spiritual progress will be slow. But they shouldn't beat themselves up; they should be "cheerful and free and not neglect recreation."
I get upset with myself and my life when I don't spend the time I should in Bible study, prayer and ministry. But I have gotten better at drawing near to God in my spare moments, in directing my thoughts and interior words toward Him who I know loves me, especially when I feel unloved and unlovable, or depressed and overwhelmed. Don't think I'm up to 15 minutes a day total yet! But I have been surprised at how sustaining those mental "glances" or moments of listening or just being with Him, even for a few seconds, can be. And five minutes of resting body and mind, "floating" in God's presence, has helped me get through more than one tough afternoon.
She continues, "The important thing is not to think much but to love much and so do that which best stirs you to love. Love is not great delight but desire to please God in everything."
I do desire to please God in everything, but fall so short so often. Too frequently, I aim to please myself in my activities. I think much instead of loving much. So I am pondering on doing "that which best stirs you to love," because honestly, I need to give more thought to this question.
But I love the 15 minutes as a goal. Fifteen minutes of "intimate sharing" with the One who knows me best and loves me anyway. I can try for that!
"Give me a person who has fifteen minutes of mental (interior) prayer daily, and I will give you a saint."
"For mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us."
This is from the same saint who gave us the quote in my sidebar, to the effect that married people, because of their vocation, must understand that their spiritual progress will be slow. But they shouldn't beat themselves up; they should be "cheerful and free and not neglect recreation."
I get upset with myself and my life when I don't spend the time I should in Bible study, prayer and ministry. But I have gotten better at drawing near to God in my spare moments, in directing my thoughts and interior words toward Him who I know loves me, especially when I feel unloved and unlovable, or depressed and overwhelmed. Don't think I'm up to 15 minutes a day total yet! But I have been surprised at how sustaining those mental "glances" or moments of listening or just being with Him, even for a few seconds, can be. And five minutes of resting body and mind, "floating" in God's presence, has helped me get through more than one tough afternoon.
She continues, "The important thing is not to think much but to love much and so do that which best stirs you to love. Love is not great delight but desire to please God in everything."
I do desire to please God in everything, but fall so short so often. Too frequently, I aim to please myself in my activities. I think much instead of loving much. So I am pondering on doing "that which best stirs you to love," because honestly, I need to give more thought to this question.
But I love the 15 minutes as a goal. Fifteen minutes of "intimate sharing" with the One who knows me best and loves me anyway. I can try for that!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Metronome
I had given it up for lost weeks ago.
I discovered it missing late one night, when I opened the metronome case to check a tempo...and the metronome would only click back and forth at one pace--a frenetic 220 beats per minute.
The movable weight which slows the tempo was missing. I recalled suddenly the moment I had found the case open, months ago, on top of the piano, and without noticing the missing piece, had moved it then to a higher shelf, out of reach of a curious 3-year-old.
That weight had been lost for a looooong time.
Yesterday I showed the metronome to my youngest kids, in the faint hope that one of them might know where it was.
No, they all shook their heads. They hadn't seen it.
Last night, Bantam9 appeared at my elbow as I was reading.
"Say thank you," he instructed.
"Thank you," I replied.
I looked deep into his solemn blue eyes. Then a smile spread across his face as he held out his hand and opened it. There on his palm, was the weight!
"I found it in a box when I was looking for my Lego guy's helmet," he said. "Aren't you happy?"
I was thrilled.
I held the tiny piece of metal in my hand, which would transform my useless metronome into a precision timepiece.
What weights do I want to throw off, to be free of--that might actually be part of who God created me to be...of what God is calling me to do? Feeding a family day after day, doing laundry, cleaning floors, helping with math problems--waste, or weight? Accepting limitations of time, money, energy, health, circumstances--burdens, or boundaries?
What weight is missing from my life? Time spent in Scripture reading and prayer? Too often, I skim through those at the same hectic 220 beats per minute as the rest of my day. The weight of care for the sick, the widowed, the orphaned, the destitute? It is so easy not to look farther than the needs of my own family. The weight of silence? Two hundred twenty beats per minute is a lot of noise, believe me.
I am so grateful for the lost weight that is found.
I thank God for the precise weights He has given me to bear. May He add precisely the weight I may need. And may I function as He intends me to.
I discovered it missing late one night, when I opened the metronome case to check a tempo...and the metronome would only click back and forth at one pace--a frenetic 220 beats per minute.
The movable weight which slows the tempo was missing. I recalled suddenly the moment I had found the case open, months ago, on top of the piano, and without noticing the missing piece, had moved it then to a higher shelf, out of reach of a curious 3-year-old.
That weight had been lost for a looooong time.
Yesterday I showed the metronome to my youngest kids, in the faint hope that one of them might know where it was.
No, they all shook their heads. They hadn't seen it.
***
Last night, Bantam9 appeared at my elbow as I was reading.
"Say thank you," he instructed.
"Thank you," I replied.
I looked deep into his solemn blue eyes. Then a smile spread across his face as he held out his hand and opened it. There on his palm, was the weight!
"I found it in a box when I was looking for my Lego guy's helmet," he said. "Aren't you happy?"
I was thrilled.
I held the tiny piece of metal in my hand, which would transform my useless metronome into a precision timepiece.
***
What weights do I want to throw off, to be free of--that might actually be part of who God created me to be...of what God is calling me to do? Feeding a family day after day, doing laundry, cleaning floors, helping with math problems--waste, or weight? Accepting limitations of time, money, energy, health, circumstances--burdens, or boundaries?
What weight is missing from my life? Time spent in Scripture reading and prayer? Too often, I skim through those at the same hectic 220 beats per minute as the rest of my day. The weight of care for the sick, the widowed, the orphaned, the destitute? It is so easy not to look farther than the needs of my own family. The weight of silence? Two hundred twenty beats per minute is a lot of noise, believe me.
I am so grateful for the lost weight that is found.
I thank God for the precise weights He has given me to bear. May He add precisely the weight I may need. And may I function as He intends me to.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
A Deep Breath
I feel like this blog has been hurtling along at a breathless pace for the last six months or so. So many new things in our lives to write about--new church, new house, new schools, new friends. Normally, I dislike melancholy Autumn, but with the first month of school behind us and everybody settling into their "new normal" routines, this October feels like a chance to finally take a deep breath.
I heard a story once that has never left me, about a mission organization that went into a third world jungle area to build an air strip. They hired natives to carry tools and wield machetes to clear their way through the jungle to the site, for so many hours each day in order to arrive at the site on the target date. The natives disapproved of the aggressive schedule, but they held to it for several days until one afternoon, when they stopped working suddenly, sat down and refused to budge. "What's the matter?" the Westerners wanted to know. "Why can't we go on?"
"We have to wait, " the natives explained, "for our souls to catch up to our bodies."
As I write that, I think about homeschooling and the more leisurely pace we are traveling this fall, compared to the curriculum- and schedule-driven pace we were keeping for the last several years. This summer, as I looked toward the fall, the one thing I KNEW was that I could not jump back on that treadmill again. I didn't think my boys could either. We needed to give our souls a chance to catch up to our bodies. It's been a good decision.
Spiritually, too, my life has been full of breathless quickie prayers and the merest sips of Scripture. I don't feel dry--God has really sustained me through all the busyness--but I'm overdue for letting my soul "catch up."
I'm not even sure how to go about it. Writing has always been, for me, a way of processing what's going on inside, so that will be part of it. Reading, too, has always enriched and nourished my mind and heart. I want to join the Gratitude Community, too.
But I wonder if I can also find some time for solitude, which Richard Foster, author of Celebration of Discipline, in a recent Christianity Today interview said is the discipline that evangelicals need to be exploring more:
My little story fits right in with his travel metaphors, I think! I highly recommend the whole interview.
And this short article which I just found while looking for the other, is so perfect that I must quote from it too:
So I'm feeling the need for some solitude, to let my soul catch up to my body...to take a deep breath. I doubt I'll be able to go on an extended retreat, but I'm hoping to find an hour here and there. I think even an hour will seem like a long time to me.
I heard a story once that has never left me, about a mission organization that went into a third world jungle area to build an air strip. They hired natives to carry tools and wield machetes to clear their way through the jungle to the site, for so many hours each day in order to arrive at the site on the target date. The natives disapproved of the aggressive schedule, but they held to it for several days until one afternoon, when they stopped working suddenly, sat down and refused to budge. "What's the matter?" the Westerners wanted to know. "Why can't we go on?"
"We have to wait, " the natives explained, "for our souls to catch up to our bodies."
As I write that, I think about homeschooling and the more leisurely pace we are traveling this fall, compared to the curriculum- and schedule-driven pace we were keeping for the last several years. This summer, as I looked toward the fall, the one thing I KNEW was that I could not jump back on that treadmill again. I didn't think my boys could either. We needed to give our souls a chance to catch up to our bodies. It's been a good decision.
Spiritually, too, my life has been full of breathless quickie prayers and the merest sips of Scripture. I don't feel dry--God has really sustained me through all the busyness--but I'm overdue for letting my soul "catch up."
I'm not even sure how to go about it. Writing has always been, for me, a way of processing what's going on inside, so that will be part of it. Reading, too, has always enriched and nourished my mind and heart. I want to join the Gratitude Community, too.
But I wonder if I can also find some time for solitude, which Richard Foster, author of Celebration of Discipline, in a recent Christianity Today interview said is the discipline that evangelicals need to be exploring more:
It is the most foundational of the disciplines of abstinence, the via negativa. The evangelical passion for engagement with the world is good. But as Thomas à Kempis says, the only person who's safe to travel is the person who's free to stay at home. And Pascal said that we would solve the world's problems if we just learned to sit in our room alone. Solitude is essential for right engagement.
My little story fits right in with his travel metaphors, I think! I highly recommend the whole interview.
And this short article which I just found while looking for the other, is so perfect that I must quote from it too:
In solitude, I was able to be with God and with what was true about me in utter privacy. There was time and space to attend to what was real in my own life — to celebrate the joys, grieve the losses, sit with my questions, attend to my loneliness, shed my tears — and allow God to be with me in those places.Go and read the rest--it's short!--especially if you are a church leader. (And I think her words to church leaders apply to Christian parents as well.)This was not primarily a time for problem-solving or fixing — because not everything can be fixed or solved. It was a time just to "keep still" and wait for God to accomplish what was most needed in my life. It was a very deep kind of rest indeed.
So I'm feeling the need for some solitude, to let my soul catch up to my body...to take a deep breath. I doubt I'll be able to go on an extended retreat, but I'm hoping to find an hour here and there. I think even an hour will seem like a long time to me.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The True Graces of Christian Character
Oh Thou in whose boundless being are laid up all treasures of wisdom and truth and holiness, grant that through constant fellowship with Thee the true graces of Christian character may more and more take shape within my soul:
The grace of a thankful and uncomplaining heart:
The grace to await Thy leisure patiently and to answer Thy call promptly:
The grace of courage, whether in suffering or in danger:
The grace to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ:
The grace of boldness in standing for what is right:
The grace of preparedness, lest I enter into temptation:
The grace of bodily discipline:
The grace of strict truthfulness:
The grace to treat others as I would have others treat me:
The grace of charity, that I may refrain from hasty judgment:
The grace of silence, that I may refrain from hasty speech:
The grace of forgiveness towards all who have wronged me:
The grace of tenderness towards all who are weaker than myself:
The grace of steadfastness in continuing to desire that Thou wilt do as now I pray.
~from A Diary of Private Prayer, by John Baillie
The grace of a thankful and uncomplaining heart:
The grace to await Thy leisure patiently and to answer Thy call promptly:
The grace of courage, whether in suffering or in danger:
The grace to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ:
The grace of boldness in standing for what is right:
The grace of preparedness, lest I enter into temptation:
The grace of bodily discipline:
The grace of strict truthfulness:
The grace to treat others as I would have others treat me:
The grace of charity, that I may refrain from hasty judgment:
The grace of silence, that I may refrain from hasty speech:
The grace of forgiveness towards all who have wronged me:
The grace of tenderness towards all who are weaker than myself:
The grace of steadfastness in continuing to desire that Thou wilt do as now I pray.
~from A Diary of Private Prayer, by John Baillie
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
A Prayer from Elizabeth Elliott
Lord, we give You thanks
for all that You in Your mercy have given us
to be and to do and to have.
Deliver us, Lord, from all greed
to be and to do and to have
anything not in accord with Your holy purposes.
Teach us to rest quietly
in Your promise to supply,
recognizing that if we don't have it,
we don't need it.
Teach us to desire Your will--
nothing more, nothing less,
and nothing else.
For Jesus' sake.
Amen
for all that You in Your mercy have given us
to be and to do and to have.
Deliver us, Lord, from all greed
to be and to do and to have
anything not in accord with Your holy purposes.
Teach us to rest quietly
in Your promise to supply,
recognizing that if we don't have it,
we don't need it.
Teach us to desire Your will--
nothing more, nothing less,
and nothing else.
For Jesus' sake.
Amen
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Must-Link
My real-life friend at Square Peg in a Round Hole has written an excellent post on what making the sign of the cross means to her:
Of course, many may ask, as I once did, - why is a physical action even necessary? Isn’t reflection upon these realities enough? And for you they may be. But physical action can often serve as a way of re-centering our mind, of speaking to deeper realities, and bringing our physical self in line with our heart and mind. In our culture there are many physical actions we perform as connections to deeper realities: shaking hands in greeting, arms in the air to cheer at sporting events, the peace sign at rallies, folded hands in prayer. For me, the physical act often breaks into my wandering mind. It’s hard to think of something else when you are physically doing something. And so making the sign will bring my mind back into active engagement into the action around me, and cause my heart to refocus on the Cross and the majesty & mystery of a personal triune God. If you’ve never tried it, I’d encourage you to do so. You may be as surprised as I was by how it can touch your life.
I recommend the whole post!
Of course, many may ask, as I once did, - why is a physical action even necessary? Isn’t reflection upon these realities enough? And for you they may be. But physical action can often serve as a way of re-centering our mind, of speaking to deeper realities, and bringing our physical self in line with our heart and mind. In our culture there are many physical actions we perform as connections to deeper realities: shaking hands in greeting, arms in the air to cheer at sporting events, the peace sign at rallies, folded hands in prayer. For me, the physical act often breaks into my wandering mind. It’s hard to think of something else when you are physically doing something. And so making the sign will bring my mind back into active engagement into the action around me, and cause my heart to refocus on the Cross and the majesty & mystery of a personal triune God. If you’ve never tried it, I’d encourage you to do so. You may be as surprised as I was by how it can touch your life.
I recommend the whole post!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Thoughts on Prince Caspian
Our family saw the movie Prince Caspian today, for Father's Day. I loved it.
No, it didn't perfectly copy the book. They left out some of my favorite lines and added several goofy ones. I had heard enough to be prepared for most of the changes, and they mostly weren't bothersome. But I wasn't prepared to be deeply moved by this movie--and I was.
The sight of ruined Cair Paravel affected me.
Caspian's plight was more desperate and more noble than I remembered. The temptation to be like his wicked ancestors was more real; the higher good at stake seemed more emperiled by the temptation.
I was struck by the task given to the four children--summoned to help fight in a great battle, but without clear directions given. Had they been quieter, been better listeners, been able to put themselves aside, like Lucy, they would have seen Aslan too, and followed his guidance. Instead, they plunged into fruitless battle, doing what they thought they should do, what needed doing. So like me!
Though Caspian and Peter were tempted by the power and beauty of the White Witch, I loved that it was Edmund--the one who had once served her and been redeemed out of her bondage--who was able to see clearly and break the spell of Black Magic which had conjured her.
I remembered that Lucy, the gentle, the one who listens, who sees Aslan when no one else does, is also a healer.
She helps summon the trees to life. The line that has struck me most in the whole movie was hers, as she grieved, "They used to dance." I felt it again when she spoke, longingly, the word "Awake" to the trees. Though they seem "dead," she, in faith, speaks life in them.
As I was pondering the symbols of ruined Cair Paravel, the bound-up trees, Talking Animals who had become dumb, and Narnians in hiding for their lives, God led me to this Scripture passage, which I imagine must have informed C.S. Lewis' imagining of this story:
The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath ...sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified. And they shall build the old wastes, they shall raise up the former desolations, and they shall repair the waste cities, the desolations of many generations. (from Isaiah 61)
Is this not what all Christians are called to do? Not in our own strength--like Peter--but by listening for the still, small voice, by watching and waiting--like Lucy--for the Lord's leading and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. In that power, we can speak the words, pray the prayers, minister the message that will free those trapped in sin and call into life those who are spiritually dead. We are called to be agents of healing, of bondage-breaking, of life, of ruin-rebuilding--and when neccessary, of battle.
It's a high calling!
No, it didn't perfectly copy the book. They left out some of my favorite lines and added several goofy ones. I had heard enough to be prepared for most of the changes, and they mostly weren't bothersome. But I wasn't prepared to be deeply moved by this movie--and I was.
The sight of ruined Cair Paravel affected me.
Caspian's plight was more desperate and more noble than I remembered. The temptation to be like his wicked ancestors was more real; the higher good at stake seemed more emperiled by the temptation.
I was struck by the task given to the four children--summoned to help fight in a great battle, but without clear directions given. Had they been quieter, been better listeners, been able to put themselves aside, like Lucy, they would have seen Aslan too, and followed his guidance. Instead, they plunged into fruitless battle, doing what they thought they should do, what needed doing. So like me!
Though Caspian and Peter were tempted by the power and beauty of the White Witch, I loved that it was Edmund--the one who had once served her and been redeemed out of her bondage--who was able to see clearly and break the spell of Black Magic which had conjured her.
I remembered that Lucy, the gentle, the one who listens, who sees Aslan when no one else does, is also a healer.
She helps summon the trees to life. The line that has struck me most in the whole movie was hers, as she grieved, "They used to dance." I felt it again when she spoke, longingly, the word "Awake" to the trees. Though they seem "dead," she, in faith, speaks life in them.
As I was pondering the symbols of ruined Cair Paravel, the bound-up trees, Talking Animals who had become dumb, and Narnians in hiding for their lives, God led me to this Scripture passage, which I imagine must have informed C.S. Lewis' imagining of this story:
The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath ...sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified. And they shall build the old wastes, they shall raise up the former desolations, and they shall repair the waste cities, the desolations of many generations. (from Isaiah 61)
Is this not what all Christians are called to do? Not in our own strength--like Peter--but by listening for the still, small voice, by watching and waiting--like Lucy--for the Lord's leading and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. In that power, we can speak the words, pray the prayers, minister the message that will free those trapped in sin and call into life those who are spiritually dead. We are called to be agents of healing, of bondage-breaking, of life, of ruin-rebuilding--and when neccessary, of battle.
It's a high calling!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Thoughts on Earthly Perfection, Part Three
Part One
Part Two
So is earthly perfection worth striving for?
Of course we all know that it’s an impossible goal. On earth, the law of entropy is always at work. Moth and rust corrupt; whatever we do is soon undone.
I don't even know what this looks like for sure. Prayer, surely, takes me there; so does surrender of my goals to His on a regular basis. I need to regularly remind myself that "Who I am is more important than what I do." I must be careful not to get so caught up in task mode that I ignore relationship--something I struggle with, especially at stressful times like these. (We're moving in under three weeks!)
Yesterday morning I sat down with my older children and I asked for their forgiveness. Because I'm under great stress right now, I've been extra-impatient and demanding, I told them. I told them I hoped I could change and be different--that I want to--but I couldn't promise it. I asked them for grace to bear with me for a few more weeks, to forgive me as needed, to please take more responsibility for their schoolwork and chores as they can.
I know they're going to continue to behave childishly and irresponsibly. I know I'm going to continue to behave badly. But I'm drawing nearer, through all this, to a fount of grace. In this world of imperfection and unmet expectations, there is a refuge for my disappointed heart that is just a prayer away. In its shelter, the disappointment in myself and others is acknowledged--and dissolved. And when I leave that place, I find that my grip on my necessary expectations has been loosened. Having received grace, I am better prepared to extend it.
Now if I can just remember, in my busy-ness, to visit that place often.
Part Two
So is earthly perfection worth striving for?
Of course we all know that it’s an impossible goal. On earth, the law of entropy is always at work. Moth and rust corrupt; whatever we do is soon undone.
So why try, right?
Probably only the truly depressed among us would agree with that statement, however. Most of us have a God-given longing for order and beauty—for perfection, even--in our homes and in our souls. We willingly put forth great effort, day after day, to create little spaces--little moments of near-perfection--for ourselves and for our families, short-lived though they may be. And many of us find that our daily efforts are rewarded: We’re able to find things, our kids take over chores we’ve helped them learn, we have more peace.
But for some of us, how easily that good desire can become twisted into an irrational craving for perfection—and the sense of order and control that it may bring us. And most of us like to be in control. As a friend of mine says, “We want what we want when we want it.”
It’s human nature, it’s understandable, and there is a balance to be found. We’d like that floor to stay clean because we don’t want to wash it again real soon: Understandable. But it’s irrational, isn’t it, to expect it to stay clean forever? Naturally, we teach our families to remove or wipe off muddy shoes before they come in the house. But if they forget?
At the point where things go wrong, our reactions are telling. We all know the wrong responses—anger, frustration, blame, and overreaction. We’re too hard on our families, and then later, too hard on ourselves.
What’s missing is grace. We need grace to accept our earthly circumstances, in which imperfection is inevitable. Things get dirty, they break, they rust, they get lost. We lose our tempers, we yell at our kids, we argue with our spouses. If we accept—no, EXPECT--that these things will happen, how much more graciously we can live. But we experience a frustrating tension: On the one hand we strive for order and beauty; on the other, we must accept that they will not last.
It’s a lot like the tension we experience regarding our own souls. Our characters will always be deficient; our sin natures will always have a hold on us, this side of heaven. Yet is it a fruitless pursuit to seek to be more like our Lord? No, the fruits of the Holy Spirit are produced as we do! And though the journey begins on earth, this quest for perfection is one that will be satisfied one day in heaven.
Knowing we will fail and acknowledging our failures are part of a perfect response to our own imperfections:
"That man is perfect in faith who can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and desires, without a glow or aspiration, with the weight of low thoughts, failures, neglects and wandering forgetfulness, and say to him, 'Thou art my refuge.' " (George MacDonald)
I don't even know what this looks like for sure. Prayer, surely, takes me there; so does surrender of my goals to His on a regular basis. I need to regularly remind myself that "Who I am is more important than what I do." I must be careful not to get so caught up in task mode that I ignore relationship--something I struggle with, especially at stressful times like these. (We're moving in under three weeks!)
Yesterday morning I sat down with my older children and I asked for their forgiveness. Because I'm under great stress right now, I've been extra-impatient and demanding, I told them. I told them I hoped I could change and be different--that I want to--but I couldn't promise it. I asked them for grace to bear with me for a few more weeks, to forgive me as needed, to please take more responsibility for their schoolwork and chores as they can.
I know they're going to continue to behave childishly and irresponsibly. I know I'm going to continue to behave badly. But I'm drawing nearer, through all this, to a fount of grace. In this world of imperfection and unmet expectations, there is a refuge for my disappointed heart that is just a prayer away. In its shelter, the disappointment in myself and others is acknowledged--and dissolved. And when I leave that place, I find that my grip on my necessary expectations has been loosened. Having received grace, I am better prepared to extend it.
Now if I can just remember, in my busy-ness, to visit that place often.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thoughts on Earthly Perfection, Part Two
Part One
I have struggled a great deal in my life with perfectionism and trying to achieve its illusion by my own efforts. After all, it wasn’t so hard to be an overachiever in school or in the workplace—all it took was a little extra effort on my part to get the perfect score or leave the office with a clean desk.
But God really shook my perfection-seeking soul to the core when He sent me six imperfect children and—wonderful as Papa Rooster is—an imperfect spouse. Somehow, in family life, increasing my efforts didn't equal overachievement in my children or spouse. These other souls often seemed profoundly uninterested in my goals and plans or in putting forth the effort required to accomplish them. That’s when the control freak in me showed up. And what a freak she was (and is): angry, impatient, unloving, self-absorbed.
By this unhappy circumstance, my own imperfections became glaringly obvious. At school, at work, at church, it had always been easy to maintain my façade of niceness and capability; but in family life, it all came crashing down. Though I could look good in public and when things were going my way, I couldn’t be good when they weren’t.
A turning point came when I realized that my perfectionism had a spiritual component as well. Deep down I had a problem with pride. I thought I could get my act together--overachieve spiritually even--by my own efforts and willpower. I didn't want to need God; instead I held Him off at arm’s length. It was as if I was saying, “Hold on, Lord, while I try to be good enough on my own. I’m sure that I try hard enough, I can come close to perfect by my own efforts. Maybe You can just sort of...fill in the cracks when I'm done.” As with a house, one is never finished. There was always more work I needed to do before I could feel good enough for God.
It was only when we began attending a church that practiced corporate confession every Sunday that I began to let God come near. As I began to honestly admit my faults and sins every week, I confessed not only my guilt, but my need of God. I needed his forgiveness; I needed his help to do better; I needed his salvation. It began to sink in that I could never become good enough--holy and righteous--by my own efforts. My soul could only be made perfect by the grace and the love of God, extended to me through Christ’s blood, and the only response to that was to receive it.
Though I’d known these truths since I was a child, with my head, it was this heart encounter through confession that began to change me. I began to truly grasp and be grateful that, “Apart from You, I can do nothing…I am weak, You are strong…Not I, but Christ...You are the vine, I am just a branch; apart from You I can bear not a single fruit.”
My grasp on these truths continues to be elusive. I often forget to rely on Him instead of on my own strength. I am easily deceived into thinking that I can produce fruit on my own. I can achieve near-perfection in certain areas with enough effort; I am a very capable person. I get great satisfaction from accomplishing goals—and by and large, my goals are in line with what I believe God wants. But it’s like I Corinthians 13 says: If I do all these good things, but have not love, what is it worth?
For that is the kind of fruit God wants this branch to bear—the fruits of faith, hope, love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness, self-control and the other virtues. My perfect house isn’t fruit to him, if it took anger and impatience with my kids to get it looking that way. A perfect day of school—all subjects completed in a timely manner—is a sour fruit indeed, if I was a ruthless slavedriver all day to make it happen. Scripture memory, intercessory prayer and a daily quiet time may be no real fruit at all if I'm not completely relying on the Lord for righteousness and strength.
(To be continued....)
Part Three
I have struggled a great deal in my life with perfectionism and trying to achieve its illusion by my own efforts. After all, it wasn’t so hard to be an overachiever in school or in the workplace—all it took was a little extra effort on my part to get the perfect score or leave the office with a clean desk.
But God really shook my perfection-seeking soul to the core when He sent me six imperfect children and—wonderful as Papa Rooster is—an imperfect spouse. Somehow, in family life, increasing my efforts didn't equal overachievement in my children or spouse. These other souls often seemed profoundly uninterested in my goals and plans or in putting forth the effort required to accomplish them. That’s when the control freak in me showed up. And what a freak she was (and is): angry, impatient, unloving, self-absorbed.
By this unhappy circumstance, my own imperfections became glaringly obvious. At school, at work, at church, it had always been easy to maintain my façade of niceness and capability; but in family life, it all came crashing down. Though I could look good in public and when things were going my way, I couldn’t be good when they weren’t.
A turning point came when I realized that my perfectionism had a spiritual component as well. Deep down I had a problem with pride. I thought I could get my act together--overachieve spiritually even--by my own efforts and willpower. I didn't want to need God; instead I held Him off at arm’s length. It was as if I was saying, “Hold on, Lord, while I try to be good enough on my own. I’m sure that I try hard enough, I can come close to perfect by my own efforts. Maybe You can just sort of...fill in the cracks when I'm done.” As with a house, one is never finished. There was always more work I needed to do before I could feel good enough for God.
It was only when we began attending a church that practiced corporate confession every Sunday that I began to let God come near. As I began to honestly admit my faults and sins every week, I confessed not only my guilt, but my need of God. I needed his forgiveness; I needed his help to do better; I needed his salvation. It began to sink in that I could never become good enough--holy and righteous--by my own efforts. My soul could only be made perfect by the grace and the love of God, extended to me through Christ’s blood, and the only response to that was to receive it.
Though I’d known these truths since I was a child, with my head, it was this heart encounter through confession that began to change me. I began to truly grasp and be grateful that, “Apart from You, I can do nothing…I am weak, You are strong…Not I, but Christ...You are the vine, I am just a branch; apart from You I can bear not a single fruit.”
My grasp on these truths continues to be elusive. I often forget to rely on Him instead of on my own strength. I am easily deceived into thinking that I can produce fruit on my own. I can achieve near-perfection in certain areas with enough effort; I am a very capable person. I get great satisfaction from accomplishing goals—and by and large, my goals are in line with what I believe God wants. But it’s like I Corinthians 13 says: If I do all these good things, but have not love, what is it worth?
For that is the kind of fruit God wants this branch to bear—the fruits of faith, hope, love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness, self-control and the other virtues. My perfect house isn’t fruit to him, if it took anger and impatience with my kids to get it looking that way. A perfect day of school—all subjects completed in a timely manner—is a sour fruit indeed, if I was a ruthless slavedriver all day to make it happen. Scripture memory, intercessory prayer and a daily quiet time may be no real fruit at all if I'm not completely relying on the Lord for righteousness and strength.
(To be continued....)
Part Three
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thoughts on Earthly Perfection
My husband left first, with all our kids, to deliver them to a friend's house and an Oliver rehearsal. Bantam17 stayed behind to help vacuum, while I touched up the dusting, the bathroom, the mirrors and windows. We had just shown the house a few days earlier, so things were still in pretty good shape. Hey! I have time to Magic Eraser the marks off the basement walls, I bet, before this showing today....
Later, Bantam17 and I left at the same time, he on his way to the library on his bicycle and I heading to Panera for a well-earned cup of coffee. As I pulled out of the driveway, praying for favor with these potential buyers, I reflected with satisfaction that the house was about as perfect as I could make it.
And yet it was not perfect. There were a dozen more things I could have done if I’d had a couple more hours—dusting ceilings for cobwebs, using the attachment to vacuum the edges of the carpet by each wall, wiping down light switches and doorknobs. With a few more weeks, we could have power-washed and restained the deck, spread fresh mulch in the flower beds, re-organized the garage, re-sealed the driveway—maybe even finally finished doors and trim in the basement.
Does the pursuit of perfection ever end?
Is it an end worth pursuing?
I’ve been thinking a lot about these questions during this season of my life. In many ways, this is as close to housewifely perfection as I’ve ever come. My home has never looked better or more inviting. And yes, there is a certain satisfaction in enjoying the fruits of my labors.
But am I truly enjoying this near-perfection? No, I constantly worry about marks on my freshly painted walls and fingerprints on my freshly washed windows. I continually pick up crumbs from the freshly vacuumed floors. I obsessively dust and straighten pillows and books. When I look around, I see not a beautiful house to enjoy, but a demanding illusion of perfection to maintain.
(To be continued...)
Part Two
Part Three
Later, Bantam17 and I left at the same time, he on his way to the library on his bicycle and I heading to Panera for a well-earned cup of coffee. As I pulled out of the driveway, praying for favor with these potential buyers, I reflected with satisfaction that the house was about as perfect as I could make it.
And yet it was not perfect. There were a dozen more things I could have done if I’d had a couple more hours—dusting ceilings for cobwebs, using the attachment to vacuum the edges of the carpet by each wall, wiping down light switches and doorknobs. With a few more weeks, we could have power-washed and restained the deck, spread fresh mulch in the flower beds, re-organized the garage, re-sealed the driveway—maybe even finally finished doors and trim in the basement.
Does the pursuit of perfection ever end?
Is it an end worth pursuing?
I’ve been thinking a lot about these questions during this season of my life. In many ways, this is as close to housewifely perfection as I’ve ever come. My home has never looked better or more inviting. And yes, there is a certain satisfaction in enjoying the fruits of my labors.
But am I truly enjoying this near-perfection? No, I constantly worry about marks on my freshly painted walls and fingerprints on my freshly washed windows. I continually pick up crumbs from the freshly vacuumed floors. I obsessively dust and straighten pillows and books. When I look around, I see not a beautiful house to enjoy, but a demanding illusion of perfection to maintain.
(To be continued...)
Part Two
Part Three
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Choosing to Shout!
I'm not always very in touch with my emotions. I may know something is wrong, may even think I know what it is, but I often don't really know what is going on inside until I journal or talk about it.
And I've had a rough week. Even though it's been over a week since the D & C, I'm still feeling slightly nauseous (pregnancy hormone still in my system, my doctor said), physically weaker than usual, and emotional still from the loss and from the procedure. (General anesthesia always seems to traumatize me, somehow!)
We've had illness at our house--four different bugs, all consecutive and in some cases, overlapping. I've been blessedly unscathed by fever, but the Head Cold & Cough From Everlasting to Everlasting has missed no one, and though I've been on the mend for the last week or so, it's definitely still dragging me down.
With illness, though, we got another two days behind in school, and that's disappointing to me. I'm already dreading how many days we're going to have to make up this summer! I've never been a "we have to finish the curriculum" kind of gal before, but for high school, I feel more pressure. I think we do need to finish all the lessons in the Algebra book or the science book before they go on to the next course. So that's been kinda discouraging.
And on the house front, I had hoped we'd have it listed by now! We did get the basement and both upstairs bathrooms painted--just have one more bathroom with a perennial problem around the bottom of the shower that's got to be fixed and painted before we can list it, and we have someone coming to work on that next week.
But the frustrating part is that because of illness, my slow recovery, and schoolwork we need to focus on, it's been hard to do the Big De-Cluttering Project that is essential before we list it. Every room has got to be as stream-lined as possible, so that it can be straightened up and ready to show at a moment's notice. All the closets and shelves have got to be re-organized and de-cluttered again, because people WILL open them and you want them to look spacious, right? So we need to be filling more boxes to add to the towers of packed boxes that have resided in our garage all winter--and how does that look, to have your 2.5 car garage crammed full of boxes and extra furniture?
I'm overwhelmed.
I'm not feeling very joyful, myself. So I was struck by this Psalm when I read it yesterday:
Happy are the people who know the festal shout! They walk, O LORD, in the light of your presence. They rejoice daily in your Name; they are jubilant in your righteousness. For you are the glory of their strength, and by your favor our might is exalted. Truly, the LORD is our ruler; the Holy One of Israel is our King. ~Psalm 89:15–18
Oh Lord, I can rejoice daily in You. Not in my circumstances, which are always in flux and subject to sickness and death. Not in my own strength, which ebbs with age and health. But You are the glory of my strength. The light of your Presence is the sun in my winter blahs. You enlighten my dark mind; you meet me in the midst of my uncertain emotions. You comfort my grief and my fears. Though they may linger, I will cling to You, rejoicing in Your righteousness and in Your strength when my own is lacking. I don't always FEEL like it, Lord, but I CHOOSE to rejoice in you, to fix my mind on things above even as I go about my temporal occupations.
Remind me daily, Lord, to shout the festal shout!
And I've had a rough week. Even though it's been over a week since the D & C, I'm still feeling slightly nauseous (pregnancy hormone still in my system, my doctor said), physically weaker than usual, and emotional still from the loss and from the procedure. (General anesthesia always seems to traumatize me, somehow!)
We've had illness at our house--four different bugs, all consecutive and in some cases, overlapping. I've been blessedly unscathed by fever, but the Head Cold & Cough From Everlasting to Everlasting has missed no one, and though I've been on the mend for the last week or so, it's definitely still dragging me down.
With illness, though, we got another two days behind in school, and that's disappointing to me. I'm already dreading how many days we're going to have to make up this summer! I've never been a "we have to finish the curriculum" kind of gal before, but for high school, I feel more pressure. I think we do need to finish all the lessons in the Algebra book or the science book before they go on to the next course. So that's been kinda discouraging.
And on the house front, I had hoped we'd have it listed by now! We did get the basement and both upstairs bathrooms painted--just have one more bathroom with a perennial problem around the bottom of the shower that's got to be fixed and painted before we can list it, and we have someone coming to work on that next week.
But the frustrating part is that because of illness, my slow recovery, and schoolwork we need to focus on, it's been hard to do the Big De-Cluttering Project that is essential before we list it. Every room has got to be as stream-lined as possible, so that it can be straightened up and ready to show at a moment's notice. All the closets and shelves have got to be re-organized and de-cluttered again, because people WILL open them and you want them to look spacious, right? So we need to be filling more boxes to add to the towers of packed boxes that have resided in our garage all winter--and how does that look, to have your 2.5 car garage crammed full of boxes and extra furniture?
I'm overwhelmed.
I'm not feeling very joyful, myself. So I was struck by this Psalm when I read it yesterday:
Happy are the people who know the festal shout! They walk, O LORD, in the light of your presence. They rejoice daily in your Name; they are jubilant in your righteousness. For you are the glory of their strength, and by your favor our might is exalted. Truly, the LORD is our ruler; the Holy One of Israel is our King. ~Psalm 89:15–18
Oh Lord, I can rejoice daily in You. Not in my circumstances, which are always in flux and subject to sickness and death. Not in my own strength, which ebbs with age and health. But You are the glory of my strength. The light of your Presence is the sun in my winter blahs. You enlighten my dark mind; you meet me in the midst of my uncertain emotions. You comfort my grief and my fears. Though they may linger, I will cling to You, rejoicing in Your righteousness and in Your strength when my own is lacking. I don't always FEEL like it, Lord, but I CHOOSE to rejoice in you, to fix my mind on things above even as I go about my temporal occupations.
Remind me daily, Lord, to shout the festal shout!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Not in Control
It’s President’s Day, and we’re taking a much-needed day off. Papa Rooster is home with the kids, and on my way to get a pre-surgery bloodtest, I’m stopping off at Panera for coffee, a bagel and a little alone time.
On the way here I was praying about this surgery—a D & C—scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. I’ve been waiting, for over a month now, to miscarry our tiny baby who died about 6 weeks ago. I’ve been too busy with Godspell, stripping wallpaper and overseeing painting to schedule the surgery before this, and I haven’t been eager to anyway, still hoping that my body will take care of things naturally. I’d love not to miss the day of homeschooling, just when we need to regroup, and I wish my husband could keep his vacation day to use when we move. I’ve longed for the physical experience of closure, of completion, and for the chance to pray over our child’s tiny body, if it’s recognizable at all. The thought of it being suctioned out of me by a machine grieves my mother’s heart.
But it seems that my body has done what it could and it hasn’t quite finished the job. It must be confused, too, because I’m still experiencing first-trimester nausea--and when it’s for no happy purpose, that’s been difficult to bear. It’s definitely depressing my spirits as well as my physical sense of well-being. And with the risk of infection rising all the time, Papa Rooster and I felt it was time to go ahead and schedule surgery. God knows that deadline and He could still cause my body to do what it needs to before then. But I certainly cannot—though I’ve tried. The situation is completely out of my control.
That knowledge was sinking in as I drove here, praying. There are so many variables in my life that I can and do control, quite competently and independently, thank you very much. But I thought of the many, many months of my life that I’ve spent pregnant, with so many aspects of my body, my health, my hormones and emotions, and my energy levels completely out of my control—and how, as a result, I’ve grown in patience, in trust, in faith, and in waiting on the Lord. This last month and a half has been so hard…but it has deepened, once again, that place in me that trusts, that waits on the Lord to deliver me. It’s been good for me, once again, to have life taken out of my control.
A friend once told me that he was sort of lamenting the news that his wife was expecting again—an unexpected fifth child—and a woman who had just a year or two before lost a stillborn child at full-term said to him, “You know, only God controls birth and death.” I think of my friend who just lost her 17-year-old son in a car accident, who told me that she was experiencing the Lord’s presence as she had not since she was first saved. I think of John and Margie Fawcett, who I spoke to in church on Sunday; John is in so much pain from the cancerous lesions all over his bones. Margie told me, “I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone, but it has completely transformed us.” (Her blog is an amazing testimony of God's grace through suffering.)
In my own small trial, I am grieving. But I am grieving with God, placing myself, my body, my baby, my hopes and fears (general anesthesia!), in His hands. I would love to control the outcome here, but it is far better to find myself—to know myself—not in control.
He is, and I am under His mercy. I am covered by His grace. I am uplifted by His love.
On the way here I was praying about this surgery—a D & C—scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. I’ve been waiting, for over a month now, to miscarry our tiny baby who died about 6 weeks ago. I’ve been too busy with Godspell, stripping wallpaper and overseeing painting to schedule the surgery before this, and I haven’t been eager to anyway, still hoping that my body will take care of things naturally. I’d love not to miss the day of homeschooling, just when we need to regroup, and I wish my husband could keep his vacation day to use when we move. I’ve longed for the physical experience of closure, of completion, and for the chance to pray over our child’s tiny body, if it’s recognizable at all. The thought of it being suctioned out of me by a machine grieves my mother’s heart.
But it seems that my body has done what it could and it hasn’t quite finished the job. It must be confused, too, because I’m still experiencing first-trimester nausea--and when it’s for no happy purpose, that’s been difficult to bear. It’s definitely depressing my spirits as well as my physical sense of well-being. And with the risk of infection rising all the time, Papa Rooster and I felt it was time to go ahead and schedule surgery. God knows that deadline and He could still cause my body to do what it needs to before then. But I certainly cannot—though I’ve tried. The situation is completely out of my control.
That knowledge was sinking in as I drove here, praying. There are so many variables in my life that I can and do control, quite competently and independently, thank you very much. But I thought of the many, many months of my life that I’ve spent pregnant, with so many aspects of my body, my health, my hormones and emotions, and my energy levels completely out of my control—and how, as a result, I’ve grown in patience, in trust, in faith, and in waiting on the Lord. This last month and a half has been so hard…but it has deepened, once again, that place in me that trusts, that waits on the Lord to deliver me. It’s been good for me, once again, to have life taken out of my control.
A friend once told me that he was sort of lamenting the news that his wife was expecting again—an unexpected fifth child—and a woman who had just a year or two before lost a stillborn child at full-term said to him, “You know, only God controls birth and death.” I think of my friend who just lost her 17-year-old son in a car accident, who told me that she was experiencing the Lord’s presence as she had not since she was first saved. I think of John and Margie Fawcett, who I spoke to in church on Sunday; John is in so much pain from the cancerous lesions all over his bones. Margie told me, “I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone, but it has completely transformed us.” (Her blog is an amazing testimony of God's grace through suffering.)
In my own small trial, I am grieving. But I am grieving with God, placing myself, my body, my baby, my hopes and fears (general anesthesia!), in His hands. I would love to control the outcome here, but it is far better to find myself—to know myself—not in control.
He is, and I am under His mercy. I am covered by His grace. I am uplifted by His love.
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