Category Archive

faith for my deliverance is not faith in God. faith means, whether i am visibly delivered or not, i will stick to my belief that God is love.

-oswald chambers

__________________________

before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
-john greenleaf whittier

__________________________

the longer i live the more i believe that the overarching longing we feel in this life is that of grief– mourning something we no longer have, wishing that what we have was different, or missing something we never had at all.

the deepest grief, however, is concerning something more than our possessions or circumstances. our deepest grief is wrapped around our very being– mourning who we are, wishing we were different, or often wishing we could be someone else that we might not know at all.

what proof that our possessions, our circumstances, even our identity are not truly our own to achieve or decide! they are solely Christ’s to give, allow and conform. our deepest grief can only truly be abolished when our identity completely rests in the One who not only gave us the desire to know who we are, but above all, to know Him. only in Him can we find the truth about ourselves.

-anon

“this is my place to worship,” i heard a lady say as i walked in the door. this bank-now-coffee-franchise has very few people in it. the workers outnumber the customers. it is obvious however, that these group of attenders are regulars as the baristas confirm their orders before they even walk to the counter.

i sit in a side room alone, listening to beans being ground and a woman giggle as she apologizes for spilling creamer on the counter. the smell of the dark roast is enough to lift my eyelids without my even tasting it. it’s too bitter for me. the coffee, without drinking it, is effective.

(i haven’t been able to sleep lately.)

so, why isn’t this particular church-goer at her typical place of worship this morning? did i decide to skip sunday school for a cup of chai?

no.

i just needed a place to pray.

i needed to get away from my house. from busy-ness. i needed to go somewhere where i wouldn’t be interrupted by anything or anyone. phone calls. chores and burdens. even sermons. does that sound super-unspiritual?

i find myself on a nice leather-looking couch. it is quiet here. it is here that, instead of continuing a sunday school series on daniel, i practice my casting. laying bare all my cares before my Father like a gigantic storyboard. saying, “see this circumstance? see this thought? see this fear? see this weakness? and this one? and this one? see how everyone thinks i’m so strong? they’re wrong. i’m too weak for this . . . it’s too much.”

casting family and friends. and let me tell you, that sounds like only two things, but the layers behind them. . . the two words are much more complex than the arrangement of consonants and vowels can convey, i assure you . . .

i realized something as i prayed this morning. i realize how exceedingly small my faith is. i am praying . . . for everything. and don’t get me wrong, i could list requests upon requests that He has answered– with both clear yeses and nos. but these heavy burdens–these ones that particularly press–are of the ongoing variety. the i’ve-prayed-forever-about-this-are-you-ever-going-to-answer-me kind. i mean, even paul had some form of closure when God directly said to him that the apostle was going to keep his earthly weaknesses. paul knew his answer. could deal with it.

but as i prayed, the story about the woman with the issue of blood kept coming to mind. here was this thing– a burden, her own personal plague– that she had for twelve years going on forever. trying everything else, the rumored-Messiah was her last attempt. she reached out and found herself healed.

now, don’t get me wrong. i am not promoting the idea of health/wealth– the “you do not have _____________ because you haven’t been able to manufacture enough faith” or “you don’t have good things happening to you because you aren’t good enough” mentality is not what i’m talking about. unfortunately, this Christianized version of kharma is becoming more and more mainstream. there’s no recognition in that belief that maybe, even if the hem of His garment is touched and nothing happens, that is Him . . . speaking. glorifying Himself in a different way than we expect or might even want.

i realized this morning while i was praying that i’m not sure that i am even trying to get ahold of His hem anymore. do i believe He has power? yes. not just a head knowledge– it has trickled from my brain to my heart. but i flirt with His garment, hand out, but not grabbing hold, because i am afraid. i’m afraid that instead of feeling the instantaneous relief of my prayers being answered, i will find the burden even more painful and aching because they, somehow in God’s providence, are meant to remain.

i don’t feel that i’m strong enough, smart enough, courageous enough to have these things be a permanent fixture on my shoulders. i don’t feel that i’m even strong enough to consider the possibility of them staying indefinitely. so, instead of hearing something i don’t want, i never grab hold.

my faith is so weak. it’s not that i don’t believe that He can heal . . . i find that i struggle in trusting that He can and will sustain me if He chooses not to. i’m afraid, like so many other people have, that He’ll fail me. and that thought– that somehow has slipped in my thinking, affected my attitude towards life, caused false thoughts about my Father– sickens me.

so, i grab hold today. and i will hang on. and even if i don’t hear “daughter, your faith has healed you,” hanging on to His hem unhealed is somehow better. He will console me there. provide for me there. love me there, weaknesses and all.

“this is my place of worship . . . ” lady, sitting at the counter, sipping whatever $4 drink you ordered, this starbucks, at least for this peculiar sunday, apparently is my place of worship, too.

i glance down at my phone and realize it’s 10:18. sunday school is officially over.

it’s time to go to church.

“let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt . . .” (esv)

“let your speech at all times be gracious (pleasant and winsome), seasoned [as it were] with salt . . .” (amplified)

“be gracious in your speech. the goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out.” (message)

to “bring out the best.” that’s the point of salt. to find the good in food and accentuate it. to make it taste the best it can. that– THAT– is the point of our speech. to use our voices as instruments of grace and as a means of edification.

i just got done reading pages of comments from people who i KNOW know this verse. in their conversation, feeding on each others’ comments, i had a very hard time seeing grace. i tried to see it. i tried to taste any grace that they might be depositing. but their words–typed weapons posted for people to see– left a very, very poor taste in my mouth.

now, am i of the belief that we shouldn’t talk about problems that we see? flaws in systems? mistakes in life? absolutely not. don’t cover things that can be improved. don’t ignore mistakes. bring them to the surface. FIX them. that is a means of grace– constructively deciding to expose in order to build better. in order to truly edify. to make grace clearer as the problems are seen and extracted.

this isn’t what i’m seeing. i’m not reading words that want to invoke change. i’m not noticing that conversations like these want to build anything. i’m hearing the clashing brass of graceless speech determining to damage.

it saddens me. it really does.

generally, i believe the old proverb that speech, truly, is like silver. it’s a good, precious thing. but there’s another half to this old saying that i believe applies to this salt-lacking speech situation and others like it and that is that . . .

silence, absolute silence, is golden.

“the new christians.”

now, in my circles, “new christian” is synonymous with “new convert.” someone new to the Faith. someone who just confessed Christ as Savior.

this sign doesn’t declare that. it isn’t a marker for recently-saved people to find a devotional about Christian basics.

this table was full of new titles, hot off emergent presses. “in love with Jesus, but not the church?” one subtitle asks . . .

i find this all very interesting, as people complain about religion and long for relationships.

perhaps what’s intriguing is what the sign implies: not only new, but improved. almost like revamped salad dressing with a new logo design– “new look! better taste!”

as they say, “out with the old, in with the new . . . “

but what about those who aren’t old, but are definitely leery of the new? (a book on my personal beliefs on christianity probably wouldn’t find itself on the “new christian” table . . .)

if we (those of us who find ourselves in the land of inbetween) had a sign on a table at B&N on display, what would it say?

not quite finding the right words?

yeah.

me neither.

if you aren’t sure what i’m talking about, you don’t need to know. what’s done is done anyway.

besides, i’ve learned that there are things more important than the past.

what is important is how God uses the past to shape us into what He wants for the present and the future. it isn’t so much what happens to us in the past that is ultimately important (oh, that’s not to undermine what has happened–right or wrong); it’s our reaction to it. our response to the good or bad circumstances. our reaction to the pain or pleasure.

with that said, a lot can happen in a month.

wrong things happen. whether or not people do it intentionally sometimes doesn’t matter. the wrong still occurred. and with that, the wronged still feel hurt. still feel betrayed. still feel “bruised.”

(please note that the following is a metaphor.)

those who are bruised often try to cover it. they might be trying to protect the one who delivered the blow. they themselves might be denying that the incident happen. they might be assuming that if others can’t see the bruise, it might not hurt quite as badly.

no amount of foundation or cover-up can completely cover discoloration. it might fool a lot of people. however, there will be a few that look closely enough to notice the difference. and, as any make-up wearing girl can tell you, it is impossible to have flawless coverage all the time. it will wear off.

at some point, it has to be removed.

there were a few people, a month ago, that noticed my bruise. they could tell by my face that something wasn’t quite right. the coverage was more flawed at certain times and at certain places than others. some saw that there was something pained me.

but i don’t think that anyone, besides God Himself, knew how badly that bruise hurt me. perhaps it shook me more than it should have. whether or not someone means to inflict pain upon you, you cannot help but begin to take a second look at how that person treats you. you cannot help but be skeptical if they suddenly seem to grow too nice. you wonder about their sincerity. you wonder if/when another time will occur, all the while wanting the one “mishap” to simply be that– an accidental mistake that only happens once.

i will ever be thankful for the few who noticed something was wrong and went out of their way to help me get through that time. they will always, always be thought of so highly– my godly mentors and friends. there were so many lessons that i learned through that– very deep and personal lessons that i could never begin, especially in one post, to cover them all.

however, the only One that saw me and my hurt entirely– all makeup removed– was my Father; One who was wronged and wounded Himself in ways we never can and never will be.

i think that we are more willing to understand bruises that are man-inflicted. men make mistakes. i mean, aren’t we all sinners? don’t we all do wrong? aren’t we all, at one time or another victims of each other’s misunderstandings, bad days, wrong conclusions. besides, we all have deposited more than our share of injuries on each other. (for my rhetoric-inclined friends, think Burke’s comedy . . . )

but what’s hard for us– or at least me– are the pains that aren’t delivered by a person. there are other kinds of pains– unfulfilled desires, undesirable circumstances, an unforeseen change in plans– that we can’t pin on a person. these are things that only Providence is responsible for.

so what then?

i don’t know about you, but i react the same way to these perceived pains as i do with human-inflicted injuries. i turn skeptical. i feel wronged. i feel like some grand injustice has occurred. i turn away from the Father that i ran to before– because now He is the one responsible, not some sinful, unthoughtful, or mistaken individual.

how quick i am to click and drag attributes of man to GOD! how quick i am to place Him in the same category as fallible man! how quick i am to assume the worst about my Creator and mentally– oh, never outloud (i wouldn’t want others to see this . . .)– accuse Him of the very things i accuse other “pain-givers” with! i accuse Him and see Him as unloving, good-lacking, merciless. as if my Father is fickle, caring one second, disregarding the next . . .

how quick i am to forget that this same Father that creates beauty out of any ashes, that constructs good out of any/man’s evil, gives nothing outside of His character. The denied desires, the change in circumstances and plans, are always inline with who He is– Good. Sovereign. Gracious. Loving. Merciful.

what might be construed on my part to be a heaven-imposed bruise is a God-sent blessing.

My Father knows how hard certain things are for me to see this way . . . He understands. There were cups He prayed would pass Him by. The cups I would pass by, He sometimes takes my hand and forces me to sip.

That– that is the absolute best thing He could do.

this was a day (or 3) after instance.

the song we sang was “none like you.” for those who aren’t familiar with the lyrics, they go like this:

Creator of the moon and stars, of mountains reaching high
Creator of the galaxies who hears a baby’s cry
eternity with all its years stands present in Your view
Alpha and Omega, Lord
there is none like You

You make the wilderness to bloom
and in the desert sand provide the gentle soaking rain, refreshing thirsty land
You send the warming of the sun, the fragile snowflake too
we bow in gratitude O Lord
there is none like You

You paint the rainbow on the storm and tell the wind to cease
You reach out with tender hand, creation is at peace
You speak Your Word and it is done
the universe obeys
but we are free to choose
Your children sing Your praise

Creator of the moon and stars, of mountains reaching high
Creator of the galaxies who hears a baby’s cry
eternity with all its years stands present in Your view
Alpha and Omega, Lord
there is none like You
there is none like You

i am beginning to think that maybe i need to choose my songs more carefully, for it seems to me that the lesson of the song is soon carried out in my own life. this time was no exception.

all of us face circumstances beyond our control. they sneak up behind us and wait, us unsuspecting, and pounce. our breath escapes in surprise and we are left, often speechless, often gasping, not knowing how to respond. unpleasant surprises rock our world, turn it upside down, and leave us dizzy and nauseous.

today, the rug was pulled from under my feet, and i literally feel sick.

i agree with david in psalm 73: “truly God is good . . . but as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped.”

the message of the song, however, has replayed over and over again: the Creator of the galaxies hears a baby’s cry.

surely, He hears my cry today.   surely, He sees me as for what I am: a broken piece, doing my best to praise Him despite it all– my breathlessness, my gasping.

i believe that when He speaks his word, it is done– all of this could change in the flash of the eye.  it could.  the universe must obey.  there is no choice for it.

but there is a choice for me.

i am free to chose whether or not i will sing His praise.

my breath might be gone.  my voice may falter.  my song may be so weak that only His ears can hear and understand.

but despite it all– this broken piece, with her heart’s cry, chooses to sing.