I want to do chronic pain right this time

"The man with the burden", illustration from John Bunyan's dream story (based on Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress) (p. 18) abridged by James Baldwin (1841-1925) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't want to do chronic pain at all. But since it looks like that's God's will for my life at this time, I don't want to mess it up. I don't want to miss the blessing God has in mind for me in it.

 I've failed to seek His best in my pain plenty of times.  My first battle with chronic pain began when I was eight years old , when spinal deformity began grinding my vertebrae down into the wedge shapes that would result eventually in permanent kyphosis. You can read more about the story here if you like.

 Pain has been a pretty constant companion ever since then, some times worse than others.  And so I learned to study, knit, crochet, and write to my heart's content...sedentary activities which I thoroughly loved and which became my focus.

Activities that caused more pain...or that I feared might cause more pain, became anathema.

In the past several years, thanks to medical interventions of various types for various problems, the pain had become a lot less … until peripheral neuropathy entered the scene. My search for the right medicine continues, as the pain invades more and more of my life.

 But I don't want this to be a depressing article, nor should it be.  You see, I've been reading Jerry Sittser's helpful book, "When God Doesn't Answer Your Prayers." In it I found this mind-blowing, paradigm-shifting quote:

"If we pray for healing, it will be to render better service to God. But if we continue to be sick, we will strive to honor God all the same, 'whether we live or die,' as the apostle Paul put it.  If we pray for a job, it will be to use our position and resources to build his kingdom and not our own. If we can’t find a job, we will use our time and struggles to glorify God. We will put God first in everything."

 That quote stopped me in my tracks. When I pray for healing, is it so that I can render better service to God? I have to admit, it's not. I pray for healing so that I can be free from pain, for no other reason than that I don't like pain. And to be honest, when I imagine my desired pain-free life, it looks like a whole lot more self-indulgence.

After all, that's what my life tends to look like anyway. I have the luxury of being allowed to indulge my appetite for study and for craft work, at the expense of (at the very least) my homemaking.  And I'd like to continue to focus on those things without pain, thank you Lord.

But... "If we pray for healing, it will be to render better service to God."

Last night I bowed out of doing AWANA because my feet and legs hurt so badly.  But I couldn't help wondering, shouldn't I have tried?  What if I had gone and served, despite my pain?  I can think of a limited number of possible outcomes:

• The pain might have increased until it was unbearable, and I might have had to give up and go home.  But I would have known that I had done my best. And, at least for a time, God and others would have been lovingly served.
• The pain might have been lessened or even removed by an act of God's grace, and I would have had a wonderful testimony of His mercy.  And both God and others would have been lovingly served.
• The pain might have stayed the same, or even gotten worse, but I might have felt God strengthening me to endure it, and I would have had joy in that gift of grace.  And yes, God and others would have been lovingly served.

Now don't worry...it's not my intent to say that no one should ever bow out of things because of pain.  Sometimes there's really no choice.  Nor do I mean to imply that God is calloused to our pain, and frowningly expects us to "buck up."  Of course our tender, loving Father cares!

But what if, in His great mercy and wisdom, He has decreed our "thorn in the flesh" to keep us humbly dependent on Him while we, by His grace, pursue Kingdom goals?  What if the "Good works which God prepared in advance for us to do" (Eph 2:10) include works done in pain?

What if God sees that the rewards, joys, and glories that await us in heaven are far more worthy of our pursuit than anything we try to acquire for our own fading, earthly kingdoms? 

The Apostle Paul certainly believed that!

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. (Romans 8:18)

I know myself, and how I default to comfort, to ease, to pursuing my own interests in my own tiny, self-indulgent world.  Frankly, if I'm not careful, I can easily turn even "serving others" into a self-indulgent pursuit of pharisaical notches in my spiritual belt, rather than as the joyful privilege it truly is. And as soon as serving becomes inconvenient or painful, comfort takes precedence with me, almost every time . 

As a point of doctrine, I believe that the rewards of heaven are infinitely worth whatever we suffer on this earth. But when I take a painfully honest look at how I live, I am forced to conclude that that belief hasn't infiltrated my life. 

Can you relate?  God help us!

 The only way out is to be changed by the Spirit of God into people who truly seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness...and to do that for His sake, not for our own religious pride.  When His Kingdom and righteousness are our true goal and focus, we can honestly pray for healing in order to render better service to God and others … and we can more often find the strength to serve even when the pain persists.

 If you're in the same boat with me, please join me in prayer.  (And yes, this prayer DOES scare me to death...)

 Father, I repent of holding my own comfort up as the ultimate good in my life. Help me to believe all the way to my fingertips, and to the ends of my burning toes, that serving You and others in love is a far greater joy and privilege than the comforts I so doggedly seek.  Help me to have the courage to step out in faith and do as much as You enable me to do; by Your grace rather than by my grit, with joy rather than complaint, and with love rather than a martyr complex. Make me more like Jesus! In Jesus name, amen.

P.S.  Another excellent book that I can't recommend highly enough is Joni Eareckson Tada's "A Place of Healing."  Get it and soak in it if you can!

I Can Do What Things?

English: Saint paul arrested (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The great Apostle Paul said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

So why didn't he pray up an earthquake to rescue himself from prison every time he was in there, like the one that rescued him and Silas in Philippi?

Why didn't he power his way out of floggings and stonings?

Why didn't he just keep those ships afloat instead of suffering shipwreck two times?

Why didn't he pull together a slick presentation that wowed everybody's socks off and made everybody fawn over him, instead of being slandered, beaten, hated, and drummed out of town all the time?

C'mon, Paul, why didn't you do those things?  Don't you know what you wrote?  Don't you know "all things" means ALL THINGS?  You should be healthy, wealthy, and loved everywhere you go!

You should be enjoying your best life now!

But what if "all things" doesn't mean "everything we want?"  Everything we think is best?

Does "all" always mean "Anything in the universe," or does God say "all" within pre-defined parameters?

When I took my little kids to the store and (on rare occasions) pointed to the candy display and said, "Pick whatever you want," was I inviting them to rush away to the sporting goods section and pick out a bike?  Of course not!

What are our parameters?  What are the limits of God's "all?"

Paul knew what God's power in his life was for.

I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me (Php 4:11-13).

Paul knew that God's power was there to enable him to suffer well.  He also knew that God's power was there to enable him to receive God's pleasant gifts unselfishly, and to use them for ministry rather than for his own luxury.

And where did he get this perspective?  Do you remember what God promised when He told Ananias about His decision to save Paul and use him for gospel ministry?

"I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” (Acts 9:16)

"Well that's all well and good for Paul," you may say, "but God never said anything like that to me!"

Didn't he?  Have you ever read Luke 6:20-36?  Were His disciples lying to the suffering Christians in Acts 14:22?

Jesus probably hasn't told any of us what we're going to suffer, but He has promised us that we will suffer (John 16:33).

So if "all things" doesn't mean delivering ourselves from suffering, then what good is it?

It means that whatever God has put in your life, whether suffering or pleasure, He will enable you to turn both of these temporary things into eternal treasures as you endure or enjoy them with contentment.

"I have learned to be content in all circumstances...I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Christian power doesn't come by rebuking so-called "demons of whatever I don't like" (which we'd better be cautious about doing anyway, Jude 1:8-10).  It doesn't come by "naming it and claiming it" (2 Co 12:8-9).  

Christian power comes through the immovable strength of contentment in Christ Himself.  Contentment, in fact, is nothing more than the peace which comes from faith in a good and loving God who will "work all things (including suffering) together for the good of those who love Him" (Rom 8:28).

Contentment strengthened Paul to go back to minister in places where his life was threatened.

Contentment strengthened Paul to sit in a dank, filthy prison, chained to guards night and day, with his back lacerated by brutal whippings, and to write epistles which overflowed with love, praise, and joy.  And every time we read Paul's epistles, we who love God are still receiving the promised "good" which God brought from those incredible sufferings.

Will you pray for the faith-filled contentment which is the only thing that will empower you to love and serve and praise and rejoice in the midst of your tears and tiredness?

Godliness with contentment is great gain indeed (1 Tim 6:6).

When God's Covenant Looks Like It Died

I'm on bedrest again. 3rd time in a decade.

Between a heart attack (2004), hysterectomy and repair of prolapses (2011), and now deteriorating disks pinching nerves and causing foot pain, my body has betrayed me often.  (Spinal surgery may be necessary. Prayers appreciated!)

I know I am a child of the Covenant of Grace, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I also know that this covenant has nothing to do with making my life a bed of roses.

Considering that this life is microscopic compared to eternity, I don't want my best life to be NOW!  So I have a lot of peace about this... certainly much more than I had in 2004 when I only had religion, and no relationship with Christ!

But still, it's easy for us to feel we can excuse a certain amount of spiritual wandering at times of hardship, isn't it?  God promises grace to endure, but I'd rather have escape than endurance, thank you. 

So the old familiar idol of escapism rears its many seductive heads, tempting me to forget my troubles... and to forget seeking to love God and my neighbor, too!  How easy to want everything to revolve around my quest for comfort!

Looking at Genesis today, I was struck by the bizarre-seeming covenant-cutting ritual in chapter 15. Could there be anything more foreign to modern Western eyes?

But as I think about it, I am even more struck by the image of Abram chasing away carrion birds which kept trying to pick apart the animal carcasses... those bloody, nasty carcasses which God had ordained to be signs of the covenant (Gen.15:11). 

Carrion birds are often used to represent satanic forces.  And don't the enemy's minions love to swoop down and tear up all visible evidences of God's promises to us?

How often do God's promises look like ugly, dead things to us? What beauty or hope did Abram have to look upon in those mutilated animal carcasses? And how relentless would those carrion birds have been! How frustrating and discouraging to have to keep chasing them, non stop, for who knows how long!

I would have been tempted to walk away, but Abram stayed and chased the birds away, over and over again.

If Abram had allowed the birds to pick apart the bodies, wouldn't the signs of the covenant have become hideous and loathsome in his eyes?

So, when he chased them away, he preserved the integrity of what he had to look at. 

Do I have carrion birds in my life? What do they look like?  I believe I know.  

Doubt, distraction, anger, self-rule, lusts of various kinds, discouragement, fear, irritability... these things don't merely indicate understandable human weakness. No, if unrepented of, they can distort my view of God and His covenant promises, until even the physical evidences of His truth can begin to seem like ugly, worthless corpses.  The carrion birds tear them apart.

But in Abram's story, even without carrion birds, the dead bodies would have become loathsome on their own, just through the process of decay while he waited for God. In the same way, the process of waiting for God makes the promises lose luster in our eyes, unless we continue to see them through the eyes of faith.

Lord, help us to recognize those carrion birds as they appear in our own lives, and help us to resist them tirelessly by Your Spirit (because we can never do it in our flesh).  Help us to remember that Your covenant promises are all about resurrection, so even when things seem dead, there's hope!

Help us to seek to love You with all our hearts and souls and minds, and with all our strength, no matter how long You see fit to delay, or how many carrion birds of temptation we have to fight off. In Jesus' name, amen!

For Those Who Can't Walk on Water Either

Sarah Trimmer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?"

Was Jesus rebuking Peter for lacking the faith to keep walking on the water?

That's the way I've always heard it, but now I wonder.

You see, I've had a life full of sinkings.  So many sinkings that I rarely get out of the boat.  And I'm less likely to get out of it if I think that my next drubbing will be rebuked by Jesus because... terrible failure that I am... I can't do the impossible.

Is the Christian life a process of learning to walk on the water?

I wonder.

Years ago I wrote something that I knew I needed to read again this morning.  (I hope you'll read it too, and I'll link to it so you can.)  I said,  "What if 'arrival' has nothing to do with reaching a certain level of perfection, and everything to do with maintaining the kind of humble, childlike faith that expects nothing from itself and relies totally on God?"

I really believe that that's true.  Please do read the article I linked to above, for more reasons WHY I believe it.

Whole sermons have been written about Peter's lack of faith causing him to sink.  Because of that mindset, people strive to grow stronger faith, and when they're faced with stormy seas or risky situations, they can only see two options.

• Proudly step out, believing their faith to be mighty enough
• Stay in the boat, believing that they haven't yet achieved a strong enough faith.

What if neither of those options are right?  What if the "proudly stepping out" is just that...religious pride rather than true faith in Christ? And what if the "staying in the boat" is a sign of spiritual failure?  What if both are wrong, and neither is right?

UGH!  Before long you can start running in circles like a terrified rabbit, and you give up on this "faith thing" because it just drives you nuts.  You can't do it.  You can't figure out which is right!  You can't figure out your own motives!  You can't see any way to step out in faith or to stay in faith, because you can see sin in yourself either way.  So you get paralyzed.  

To that I say (both to you and to myself):

STOP IT!

Right now, just STOP IT!

Jesus didn't say to any of the disciples, "Why did you stay in the boat?"  And I don't believe he said to Peter, "Why did you sink?"

For what doubt did Jesus rebuke Peter?

Will He rebuke you, too, if you step out of your safe place, and you start to sink?

No, that's not my Jesus.  More importantly, that's not the Biblical Jesus...the Jesus who is tender towards the weakest, the lowliest, the most helpless.  He does not break the bruised reed (Matt 12:20).

There are several accounts in the Bible of Jesus saving the disciples from stormy seas.  In the one we've been looking at, Jesus walked on the water to the boat, and Peter walked out to meet him.  In another case, Jesus was asleep in the boat, and they came and woke him up.  In both cases, they were terrified.

And in both cases, the rebuke was the same.  "Why did you doubt?  Where is your faith?"

Maybe we've been asking the wrong question.  Maybe the question isn't, "Why did Peter sink?"

What if the right question is, "Why did Peter fear that Jesus wouldn't save him when he sank?"

Remember, in both stormy situations, for the disciples both in and out of the boat, the question was the same. The gentle, loving rebuke was the same.  "Why did you doubt?"

Why do you and I doubt that He will save us when we are sinking?  Why are we making "in vs. out of the boat" the issue?  Why are we making "on top of the water vs. going under the water" the issue?

Are we to fear, in either location?

Was half-dunked Peter filled with less faith than the ones in the boat?  I don't think so.  All of them were afraid of going under, regardless of where they were when it happened.

Joyful, free faith doesn't have to examine its own perfection to see whether it should get out of the boat or stay there.  It doesn't say, "I'm disqualified from getting out of the boat, because I can spot sin remaining in myself and in my motives." It doesn't say, "Oh no, my sinking must mean that my faith wasn't strong enough!"

Joyful, free faith trusts Jesus no matter where we feel the water threatening to overwhelm us, even though we're not yet perfected, because HE is our Savior.

Why must we keep relearning that HE saves us?  Why do we keep thinking that we save ourselves by making our faith perfect enough, instead of believing that He saves people of little faith?

He is the Savior...not of the perfected, but of sinners (Luke 5:31-32)!  Why do we doubt?  He who saves those in the boat, will he not save those who walk out on the water and then start to sink?

Where are you in your walk?  Does Jesus want you to believe that you could be anywhere, anywhere where He cannot save you?

The life of faith is not a life of staying always on top of the waves.  It's a life of believing that you are free to walk with Him in humble-but-imperfect ways, without doubting that His love will pull you out of the water no matter where you are when you start to sink.

Because you WILL sink sometimes.  I guarantee it.  Life's billows WILL overwhelm you.

Cancer.  Loss of a loved one.  Betrayal.  Failure.  Injury.  Job loss.  Moving to an unfamiliar place.

You WILL sink sometimes.

The question from Jesus, I believe, is not, "Why did you sink?"

It is, "Why did you fear I would not be here to lift you up when you sank?"

So step out if you feel that's what God is calling you to do.  Don't question if you have enough faith to stay on the water.  Just believe that He will save you when you get wet.

And here's a final word of love to those who are currently under the waves, and have been there, perhaps, for a long time.  I am NOT preaching a despicable "prosperity gospel" (which I hate) here.  I am not saying that Jesus will always take the waves away.  His salvation is sometimes through the trials, not from the trials. Your pain does not mean He loves you less, or that you are a failure.  Trust Him, trust Him, that He will pull you out of the water when the time is right, when that part of your life's story has been written to perfection (even if that relief doesn't come in this lifetime).  Trust that He is your Savior, no matter where you are in relation to the boat, the water, or the other disciples. He will bring you to the right place because of your continued, trusting obedience.  Remember, as long as we're on this earth, it's a Christian walk, not a Christian arrival.

Trust Him, trust Him, trust Him, wherever you are, no matter how far you've gone under life's overwhelming forces.

That's a stronger faith than one which skips lightly across the waves.

Discovering New Enemies Lately?

I live in what is, for the most part, a very civilized country.  And I am blessed to live in a beautiful city, one that consistently hits the top of the "Best of the US" lists.  I admit that I'm spoiled.

But as someone once stated, "civilization" is a thin veneer, and under the right pressures, it can disappear instantly.  I'm not talking about the occasional madman, like the one who massacred moviegoers last week just an hour south of here.  I'm talking about "normal" people, and what they...what WE can become at a moment's notice.  And it's sobering.  Humbling.  Alarming.

We see it when people are trampled to death in a stampede to get the newest toy for the kids for Christmas.

We see it it in popular movements where tens of thousands gather to protest injustices (real or perceived) in self-righteous indignation, while treating their fellow man with utter contempt in the process.

We see it in dusty black-and-white photos in our history books, when ordinary people...former friends, neighbors, and co-workers of the dead... avert their eyes from the endless piles of corpses in the concentration camps and wonder, "How did I let this happen in my back yard?"

How indeed?

Until recently, this was an academic subject for me...but not any more.  I'm willing to bet that many Christians are feeling it hitting closer to home lately.  We see friends, neighbors, co-workers, even family members snarling, snapping, insulting, hating us for simply loving the purity and beauty of God and His ways (in this case, God's design for marriage).  We are called all manner of awful things, and are left standing in bewilderment as we wipe the flecks of froth off our faces from their spitting rage.  We see our reason and gentleness twisted by their hatred and thrown back in our faces as they curse and scream at us that we are the "haters."  We see them applauding as government leaders threaten to strip away the very pillars of our Constitution in order to unleash their hatred on us for our beliefs.

We feel shell-shocked, confused, betrayed.

Now, I know full well that there are plenty who claim to support God's pure and beautiful ways, but who fight for it with attitudes and actions so ugly that they reveal themselves to be wolves in sheep's clothing.  People who love to hate their neighbor.  I'm not speaking of them.

I'm speaking of ordinary Christians of good will having venomous hostility poured out on us, not for our real faults (of which we have many), but purely because of our belief in what God has defined as Right and Wrong.

In short, though we don't desire enemies, we're finding that we have more and more of them.

What is happening?

For the mystery of lawlessness is already at work. 

Only he who now restrains it will do so until he is out of the way.

(2 Thess 2:7)

"He who restrains lawlessness..." who is that?

I believe it is the Holy Spirit.  He holds evil back, only allowing it to express itself in the ways that conform to His ultimate plan for our good and God's glory.  God is not the author of evil, ever.  But He can, does, and MUST shape, restrain, and control our evil to make sure that it all "works together for good to those who love God," and to make sure it fulfills prophecy.  Look how He shaped and controlled the evil of Judas to bring about the greatest good that ever happened, exactly when and how the prophets said it would happen.

And I believe that there are times when He steps back a bit.  No, He won't be "out of the way" completely until the very end of the age, for He never leaves His people.  So as long as His people are here, He will be here.

And no, He never loses control.  He is God, always and ever.

But there are times when He gives evil a looser grip, just to let it show itself for what it really is.  You see, evil under a civilized veneer can fool a lot of people.  But when the veneer is stripped away, and evil gets freer rein, people may begin to recognize and loathe it more easily (though even that takes a miraculous work of the Spirit).  And those who are committed to evil are left without even the lie of "civilization" as an excuse.

So now, in this moment of American history, evil snarls in my complacent face much more than it used to.  Yours too, I'll bet.

And, in response, evil snarls in our hearts much more than it used to.  We are not purely innocent in these matters, are we?  If we think we are, we're fooling ourselves.

If you're like me, you want to triumph over evil in these days.  But I have to tell you, I don't define "triumph" the same way that I used to.

To triumph over evil is NOT to whitewash it, whether in our own hearts or in society.  Triumph is NOT a victory of mere legislation, or social pressure, or convincing rhetoric.  Triumph is NOT "winning God's wars for Him" by using the weapons of evil.  Triumph is NOT stockpiling enough to hunker down while the world goes to Hell around us.  Triumphing is NOT out-snarling the snarlers, out-shouting the shouters, out-hating the haters.

How can the Church triumph over evil in our day?

I'll post my thoughts on that question in the next entry.  But in the meantime, I'll be happy to post any comments which seek to answer that question, as long as they fall within certain guidelines.

• I will not post hateful comments
• I will not debate whether or not Scripture clearly calls homosexual activity "sin."  It does.  It also calls a lot of other things "sin."  We need to agree with God on ALL of it.
• I will not post comments which attempt to encourage worldly responses to sin.

Within the above guidelines, I look forward to hearing your thoughts!

Are You Preparing for Terrorism?

Photo credit: 

Public Domain - Wikipedia 

The headline greeted me over breakfast this morning.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Al-Qaeda Calls for PA*-Style Arson in America

Al-Qaeda’s Inspire magazine calls on readers to “unleash hell”

with arson attacks similar to decades of attacks targeting Israel.
(*PA = "Palestinian Authority")

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Am I ready?  Are you?  Just how does one prepare for an enemy like militant Islam?

The Web is full of advice of all sorts.

There are those who will tell you to stockpile food and weapons.

There are those who will tell you to move to a remote location to protect your family and your worldly wealth.

There are those who will tell you that you should refuse to believe anything negative about the "Religion of Peace," because it's all a bunch of propaganda.  They say you should love your neighbor by refusing to believe even their stated plans to annihilate you.

Paranoia versus rose-colored delusion.

"Hate your neighbor" versus "Ignore your real neighbor and love the imaginary neighbor you'd prefer to believe you have."

Are those the only two choices?

Are you preparing for terrorism?

You'd better be.  But how?

How did Jesus prepare for the onslaught He knew was coming?

We can ask ourselves, “Does this attitude, this approach, this action look like Jesus on the cross?” If our attitude, approach, and action cannot be reasonably compared to the image of the cruciform, we need to abandon it. Caesar may adopt it, it may be practical, it may even be “successful,” but if it’s not Christlike, then it’s not our pattern. Without a radical commitment to the shape of the cruciform, the process of deformation will continue year after year, and our beauty will be lost.

Zahnd, Brian (2012-01-03). Beauty Will Save the World: Rediscovering the allure and mystery of Christianity (pp. 18-19). Strang Communications. Kindle Edition.

What did Jesus do when He knew His own personal "terrorist" enemies would soon kill Him?

He refused to confuse His kingdom with worldly kingdoms, and therefore he rejected worldly tactics, priorities, and goals.

So Pilate entered his headquarters again and called Jesus and said to him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

Jesus answered,  “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.”

Then Pilate said to him, “So you are a king?”

Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world— to bear witness to the truth." (Excerpted from John 18:33-37)

Jesus knew who He was, He knew His purpose, He knew how to achieve it.  And He submitted to His Father all the way to death, "even death on a cross" (Php 2:8).

How many revolutionaries from Jesus' era can you name?  How many who took up arms still have kingdoms?  Which arms changed the world most...arms of warfare, or arms outstretched to receive the nails? Which arms do you believe in? Which arms saved you (if indeed you are saved)? Which can save your neighbor?

Who reigns?  More specifically, who reigns over YOU?  In which kingdom do you live...the kingdom of Satan or the kingdom of God?

Be careful how you answer, because your choice of kingdom and King will determine what goals and priorities you pursue, and what tactics you will use to achieve them.

How did Jesus prepare?

He stayed firmly in the Kingdom of God, in total submission to His Father, in humility, in death to all that the world offers, in love for His friends, and in love for His enemies.  He prayed in agony for deliverance, but chose the Father's will over His own.

He went about doing good to all (Acts 10:38), even though He knew many would turn away from Him (John 6:66).

He washed the feet of Judas (John 13:1-19).

He healed a man in the mob who arrested Him, while rebuking the disciple who attacked the man (John 18:10-11)

He prayed for those who persecuted Him, just as He commanded us to do.

There they crucified him, and the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  (Luke 23:34)

But His preparation didn't begin on those last agonizing days.  He'd been preparing all along. Washing Judas' feet was not a one-time, token act done for illustrative purposes.  He loved His enemies all along (though sometimes with a tough love that they probably didn't perceive as such). He lived in humble submission to His Father since before Day One.  He renounced the kingdoms of this world in a dramatic fashion when Satan offered them to Him (Luke 4:5-8), but also in an everyday fashion when He refused a life of ease and comfort (Matt 8:20).

How do we prepare for persecution?

We prepare the same way Jesus did...by trusting, obedient faith.

We love the Father with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.

We love our neighbor as ourselves (Matt 22:36-39), even if they're our enemies (Matt 5:44-48).  We love them in whatever small ways are available to us now, so that we'll be ready when the "big ways" are required of us.  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.  (If you don't believe that, ask yourself this question:  "What keeps me aloof from the people I see in Muslim garb?"  The answer that probably comes immediately to your mind is, "I don't have any way of knowing if they're the peaceful kind or the militant kind."  Well, what if they are the militant kind?  What if they are?  If you're not committed to obeying Christ in loving your enemy, then you won't be able to love the stranger who "just might be" your enemy.)

We humbly serve (Luke 10:33-37).  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.

We reject all tactics, priorities, and goals that belong in Satan's kingdom, and pursue "righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit" (Romans 14:17).  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.

We seek FIRST the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and leave the care of our earthly lives to Him (Matt 6:33).  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.

We take up our cross daily and follow Him (Luke 9:23).  If we don't do it now, we won't do it when persecution comes.

"Following Jesus means preparing to die—daily. Every day we must deny ourselves the expectation of comfort and safety, and we must courageously face whatever persecution our allegiance to Jesus stirs up, even to the point of death." Sidders, Greg (2011-04-01). The Invitation (p. 57). Baker Book Group. Kindle Edition. 

I'm going to prepare for persecution today.  How?  By settling the question of kingdom allegiance in my mind, so that I can say along with Paul, "It is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death.  For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain (Php 1:20-21).

And then, with the kingdom of Christ as my priority, I will leave the question of persecution behind.  Forget about it.  Because either way, whether that Muslim at Sam's Club is peaceful or not, I'm determined that Christ will be honored in my body. To really live for Christ is all about humbly loving, serving, and submitting to Him.

And dying for Him is all about exactly the same thing.

So I'll prepare for persecution (without even thinking about persecution) by loving and serving in whatever ways He calls me to.  

I'll prepare for it (without even thinking about it) by loving my angry teen (and repenting when I fail to love him).  

I'll prepare for it (without even thinking about it) by repenting of my anger toward the driver who cuts me off, and choosing to pray for him instead.  

I'll prepare for it (without even thinking about it) by treasuring Christ above all.  I'll do it all very imperfectly, but even that will turn to His glory as He forgives and restores me.  And a thousand daily acts of loving obedience and service will change who I am.  (And Heaven knows, “who I am” needs a lot of changing!)

I'm eager to get to know a whole multitude of Christians who are learning to love, to smile, to be fearlessly humble, to serve, to fall but repent with joyful gratitude and seek the kingdom first again.

I want to live among the people who are growing to understand what Elisabeth Elliot (widow of martyr Jim Elliot) meant when she said,

"Is the distinction between living for Christ

and dying for Him, after all, so great?"

Are you with me?

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Please note:  I am not advocating a position of complete pacifism.  I do believe that there can be such a thing as a "just war."  I will not publish any comments which seek to create a debate over the concept of "just war."  This post is about how individuals in our day-to-day civilian lives are to live in The Kingdom.  Any dissenting views MUST be civil, and MUST be based on the common ground of submission to Christ.

When Shadows Aren't Enough

Image by The Rusty Projector via Flickr

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could have sworn I had already posted this poem here on my blog, but I just searched for it in vain.  And for some reason, I feel that I ought to post it now.

The Lord is bringing significant healing to my life, but I have a long way to go.  And sometimes, especially for the sake of those who are still "in the valley," it is good to revisit the pain.  Not for the sake of morbidity, but for encouragement.  Because if God can bring me out of this valley, as deep as it was, He can bring anyone out of their valley too.

I wrote this poem back in 2006, when I had already been in my "valley" for about seven years.  It took that long to be able to face the pain enough to put it into words.

The poem is about the time when my two-year-old son changed virtually overnight…from a seemingly normal toddler to an autistic stranger.  It is called:

------------------------------

When Shadows Aren't Enough

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…

My son is lost in that valley.
He died. He lives.
Two years old.
Toddling
Pointing
Tearing into Christmas presents
Voicing his thoughts with newly-learned words.
Adorable, squeezable, lovable, loved.
Phillip.

Gone.

His words give way to screaming.
Endless, throat-tearing screaming.
Little body stiff in my arms.
Twelve, fourteen, eighteen hours each day
His shrieks rake my ears, shred my soul
Screaming, and screaming, and screaming.
For months.

Hands forget how they once played.
Now they flap before a stranger’s eyes
No longer willing to meet my own.

Sleep mocks me.
Hope perishes.
Sanity flees.
Nothing exists but screaming, and screaming, and screaming
And three little faces who look to me
To give them life
While I am dying.

I reel in this valley of death that is not death.
Through? There is no “through.”
I sink to my knees
But find no comfort there.
No God
And no strength to rise again.

The air in this valley
Fills lungs with dust
Parches them with dread
Not the fear that death will come,
But that it will not.

“If You have any compassion at all
Be done with shadows which bring no relief!
Let this be simply the valley of death.
End it all. Please just end it all.”

Our breaths keep coming.
His rip the air with cries of torment.

Mine can only breathe, “I hate You, God. I hate You.”

Slowly the horror abates
But endless months in the shadow of death
Have transformed me into a shadow of life.
I am hollow.
Nothing remains of me.
I am without form, void, in darkness.

The Spirit hovers
He has little to work with.
The fragments He finds are seething with rage
At Him.

He sings, and I weep.
I don’t want to, but I do.
He praises, and I feel it.
Sometimes I can even join in, feebly
Pushing the words out past thick clouds of fury.

I am so glad I still can.
Because if He is life
Then a shadow of life is not enough
Not in a place such as this.

I stagger to my feet
And risk a few unsteady steps.
For I do not hate life
Or the One who is Life
But only the shadow that hides Him from me
Here in this valley.

----------------------------

Now, the post script.  Ten years after my son and I entered that valley together, God has restored both of us in ways I could never have imagined.  Yes, my son is still autistic and bipolar.  Barring a miracle, he always will be.  Yes, he relies on powerful medications to keep him at a functional level of emotional stability.  But he is a beacon of hope; a hopping, jumping, hand-flapping miracle who sings God's praises sometimes for hours on end.  His growing faith is precious and inspirational.  He is one of God's precious diamonds, and the gleam is already sparkling despite the surrounding coal.

What's more, God led me into that valley as a self-deceived lost person, someone who believed herself saved but had never been born again.  He led me out of it as His daughter.

For many years I would have told you that I hated the valley, and that it was proof that God hated me.  Now I would not trade it for anything.  I'm glad it's in the rearview mirror, and I hope I never have to walk through it, or one like it, again.  But if I do, may I remember God's faithfulness through it all, and may I be comforted by the knowledge that He brings the greatest good out of the worst trials.

And God grant that the same may be true for you.

The Faith of a Mustard Seed

 

"Assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you."  (Matt 17:20)

What is the faith of a mustard seed?

Sometimes people add a few words to this verse.  They say, "Faith the size of a mustard seed."  They take this verse to mean that even small faith can do large things.  And there may be truth in that.  But Jesus didn't say anything about the size of the seed in this passage.  He said, "If you have faith as a mustard seed."

So what is that?  Whatever it is, it is supposed to enable me to move mountains.

On a clear day, if I walk just a little way from my home, I can see the towering, perennially snowcapped twins called Long's Peak and Meeker.  Now, I am a person of growing faith, but I have no desire to "put God to the test" by ordering those giants to move (Mat 4:7).  If I did decide to try it, those mountains would doubtless stay put.  And it's a good thing, too.  Could you imagine the chaos if people went around literally rearranging geography all the time?

Prosperity preachers and their "Name it and claim it" devotees would tell me that if I had more faith, those folks in the mountains would have reason to tremble in their shoes.  But I must ask them, "Is that your definition of faith?  Does faith really mean getting all of your selfish whims and desires fulfilled, without any thought to God's plans for the world, for history, for the people who would be affected by your actions?  Does faith mean telling God to move over so you can sit on His throne and be in charge instead of Him?" 

God forbid that I should ever have such power!  Yes, my faith gives me the power to move mountains…but only the mountains that God wants me to move.  Aren't you glad to know that, mountain folk?

People of true faith in the one true God do not wish to move any mountains that the Lord wants left alone.  Oh, they might long for the day when those mountains move, but they are not willing to step an inch outside of God's will in order to satisfy their own desires.  (Or, if they do try to sinfully move those mountains themselves, God graciously refuses to let them succeed.)  People of faith trust God's plan for where things are supposed to be.  They do not want to usurp God's place, or to turn their religion into a maniacal power trip.

But if God tells them to move a mountain, they speak to it with confidence.

And it moves.

God gives us faith to accomplish His will, not our own.  And true faith wouldn't want it any other way.  True faith sees God on the throne, and is content to have Him there.

It is mustard-seed faith.

What is the faith of a mustard seed?  It's a faith that says, "Oh, I'm a mustard seed.  So that means that God wants me to be a mustard plant.  He gives me His rain, His sunshine, His dirt, and His air, and everything I need to grow into what He designed me to be.  And that's exactly what I want to do."  And it does it.

Mustard seeds do not try to be dandelions, roses, oaks, or eagles.  Nor do they transplant themselves from wherever God placed them, longing for some source of provision other than His.  They are content to use what God gives them in order to grow into what God designed them to be.

Some people have been planted in horrible soil.  Hard, rocky, and inconveniently located (say…right next to a blast-furnace, perhaps?)  Everything in them wants to be somewhere else, growing into something else. 

But let me say it again.  Despite the pain and tears, despite the longing for a better day, mustard seed faith is content to use what God gives it in order to grow into what God designed it to be. This is the kind of faith that our Lord commends.

God may have planned to make me a literal mountain-mover, but probably not.  I doubt that the residents of Meeker have anything to worry about.  So if I'm not supposed to be a mountain-mover, what did God design me to be?

At the very least, He designed me to be my husband's wife, and my children's mother…and to do so with a heart full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, and self-control.

Suddenly, moving mountains looks less impossible.  In fact, compared to my actual assignment, making Long's Peak tiptoe to the East might be relatively simple.

My heart is evil.  The amount of wickedness I've seen in my own heart has been sufficient to make me despair of it without an outright miracle.  And God tells me that my heart is a whole lot worse than even I realize (Jer 17:9).  I need divine help to become anything worth being.

Am I content to use what God gives me as I grow in this life?  Will I access His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, and self-control for my protection and strength?  Or will I seek to transplant myself into the world's soil, drawing up its hatred and rage and deceit and selfishness as my sources of power and safety?

Am I content to be what He designed me to be, or would I rather be something else, something modeled after my flesh's desires and cut from the world's pattern?  Am I content to grow into a mere mustard plant, unnoticed, on harsh ground?

Lest you accuse me of setting my sights too low, let me remind you that mustard seeds have no idea what is going to become of them.  In fact, Jesus did mention the size of mustard seeds in another passage.  He said that though they are very small seeds, yet they grow up and become larger than all the other plants in the garden (Mark 4:31-32).

And God's Word tells us that we, too, do not know what we're going to grow into.  But it gives us a hint…and if we let it sink in, it will blow our minds.

"Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is" (1 John 3:2 NKJV).

We shall be like Him. 

WE shall be like Him.  "We" means little folks like us, wholly undeserving little bits of matter that look like nothing in the world's eyes, but who are precious in the eyes of God because of our faith in Christ.

We SHALL be like Him.  "Shall" means it's going to happen.  It is a promise from the mouth of God, and it will not fail.

We shall BE like Him.  "Be" is a state of existence, and this particular "be" is eternal in its scope.  If we're drawing our life from the Vine (John 15:5-6), then our eternal state will be more glorious than we can imagine.  Heaven isn't just about what we will enjoy.  It's also about who we will become!

We shall be LIKE Him.  Restored to being flawless image-bearers, like Adam and Eve were, except even better…because we won't ever sin!

We shall be like HIM!  Like Jesus.  Like the One we are growing to love more than anyone or anything on earth.  Like the one whose glories will be the joy of Heaven forever.

This is the future that God had in mind when He fashioned the DNA of the little seeds called "you," fellow believers, and "me." It is the future that He planned for when He planted us in the soil we now find ourselves rooted in…and when He planted us in yesterday's soil, and in tomorrow's too.  It is the future He is preparing for us as He buffets us with every wind of adversity, tries us with every drought, and refreshes us with every Spring rain.  It is the future that He provides for, when He develops His likeness ever-so-slowly in us throughout this life (See Gal 5:22-23).

God grant us mustard-seed faith, a faith that is content to use what He provides (scorning other sources), in order to become what He designed us to be (scorning other outcomes).

I don't know about you, but at the end of this day I'd rather be able to look back and see increasing love in my heart, increasing joy, increasing peace (and all the other fruits), than to look back at any feats of geographical gerrymandering. 

To know that the pains and heartaches and joys and efforts of today are preparing me to be like Him for eternity…what could be more glorious?

Heaven's Chariots

Image via Wikipedia

   

“It has been well said that ‘earthly cares are a heavenly discipline.'  But they are even something better than discipline - they are God’s chariots, sent to take the soul to its high places of triumph.  They do not look like chariots.  They look instead like enemies, sufferings, trials, defeats, misunderstandings, disappointments, unkindness.”

Hannah Whitall Smith

I get so tired of the fight.

More than physical fatigue, it's a soul-weariness that sits like lead in my chest; a thick, sticky tar coating the wings of my spirit.

Endless, ugly sniping and bickering.  Tattling and accusing.  Rage thrown in the face of my efforts.  Grating futility.  Disobedience and disrespect so flagrant that they scorn my very existence.  Assaults on the dignity and worth of those I love, and of myself.   

Often I feel defeated before the first five minutes have passed, and yet the whole day stretches before me.  And the next day.  And the next.  And the years yawn like a chasm beyond them, their strength already sapped by the years that have gone before. 

In the face of all of this, I am not supposed to merely survive.  I am to love unselfishly, give devotedly, and rejoice in the Lord.  His love and grace and mercy and joy are freely available to be my strength.

I believe that, at least at some level.  But the lead still weighs heavy in my chest.  Other than its weight, it's more like flint than like lead.  Every time something strikes it, sparks of anger fly.

Here I stand, and it's such a strange place.  Because I do know.  I have tasted.  God has shown me.  All the many words I've written over the past year and a half have come from a place of sincerity inside of me.

And yet…

The joy and peace which fill my quiet moments often seem to flee away when reality claws at them.

I know the joy and peace are real, but the pain feels more so.  At least most of the time.

How can I find the strength to continue?

Part of the secret must lie in repentance.  The Lord has been showing me that my stubborn, faithless self-reliance is the core of my heartache and the cause of my failure.  He points out my self-pity, my bitterness, my self-centeredness, my pride.  He shows me, but I'm slow to learn.

Perhaps another part of the secret lies in the truth that Hannah Whitall Smith expressed above.  Perhaps I could bear the struggles more graciously if I stopped struggling against, and started striving toward.

Not against a child's autistic challenges, but toward God's best for him and for me.

Not against a child's bipolar excesses, but toward God's grace and blessing.

Not against the blows that pummel my soul, but toward the One whose grace is sufficient.

I am exhausted by against.  I can't feel love when I'm against. 

But toward…there's hope in that.  And there room for more love in that.  Not butting heads with others, but putting an arm around them as I set my sights upward.  Inviting them to join me in this journey toward a closer walk with the One who is our life.

Oh Lord, please help me climb into that chariot!

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This post was written in response to the "In Other Words" writing prompt for this week.  To see other writers' posts on this week's quote from Hannah Whitall Smith, please visit Kathryn’s blog, Expectant Hearts.

Grace that Empathizes

 

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. (Hebrews 4:15 NIV)

In His time on Earth, Jesus of course endured lots of temptations.  Hebrews tells us that He was tempted in all points, just as we are.  People rubbed Him the wrong way…no doubt even worse than they do to us, because His holy nature would be far more repulsed by sin than ours is.  There were days in his youth when the drudgery of the carpenter's shop must have been hard to bear, with all the wide world calling to Him.  As a man He doubtless saw the local prostitutes skulking in alleys, and heard their darkly alluring invitations.  Holy nature or not, He still wore human flesh, with all its weaknesses. 

He did not give in to it.  But He knows the pull, the yearnings, the hungers, the pain of unfulfilled desires that we all feel.

Is that the full extent of His sympathy?  Does He understand merely because He was tempted too?  Or is there even more to it than that?

Jesus bore our sins (1 Pet 2:24).  Was that just a legal transaction?  Or did He also bear the sufferings that our sins cause?

You know, I have been tempted to doubt Heb 4:15 on one point.  How could Jesus know my temptation to feel discouraged and quit because of personal failure?  He never failed.

But what if His understanding goes far beyond His personal life experiences?  What if part of the hell of Calvary for Him was the experience of every soul agony you and I ever felt?  Even the discouragement, the failure, the guilt?

Surely he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows (Isa 53:4).

Not just His own sorrows, as similar as they may have been to our own.  He bore our sorrows.

Ours.

Why not?  If the Lord could lay our iniquities on Him, could He not also lay our griefs and sorrows on Him? 

God's Word says He did.  Do you believe Him?

He says that believers are His body.  Is that just a metaphor, or is there some miraculous sense in which He has encompassed all who believe, and has made us a part of Himself? 

How closely has He identified Himself with us?

When you picture Him dying for you, do you see it as a transaction carried out from a distance?  Is it as if He were a philanthropist who heard that a stranger was wearing the chains of slavery, and sent money to have her freed?

Or do you see Him as one who loved so much that He came and married the slave, giving her His Name and completely identifying with her…even, shall we say, becoming one flesh with her, so that she became a part of His body? 

Did Jesus really leave His Father and come down to do that for me?  For you?

Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. (Eph 5:31-32)

Do you see Him as a husband who wraps Himself protectively around His wife as the whips lash at her, so that the blows fall on Him too?  Do you see Him wrapping us up in Himself in an embrace so firm that death itself could not break it?  Do you see Him bringing us with Him back out of the grave, resurrected with Him to a new life as part of His own body?

Is that really what it means to be "in Christ?"

For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. (Col 3:3)

If He has identified Himself that closely with us who believe, then isn't it true that our sufferings become His, just as His became ours?

But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed. (Isa 53:5)

Listen to these holy words from the Apostle Paul:

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church. (Col 1:24)

How could anything be lacking in Christ's sufferings?  Surely His sufferings were sufficient, weren't they?

Well of course they were.  Christ has done all of the paying for sin, and all of His part of the experiencing of our sorrows.  All that is lacking is our part of the experience.  And why do we have to suffer at all, if He suffered already?  So that we can experience the sweet fellowship with Him that only comes through suffering (Php 3:10), and so that we can comfort others (2 Co 1:3-5).

We may not be able to understand it all, but if we truly see how much He shares our afflictions and bears our burdens, and how much love accompanies all of the suffering that He allows into our lives, surely it will make our hurts more bearable, and our loving Father more precious in our sight.

He asks nothing of us that He has not already borne for us.  Go to Him, heavy-burdened one, and let Him give you rest.

Grace and the Fellowship of His Sufferings

Yesterday turned into a rough day.

Some of you already know that, because you saw my pleas for prayer on Facebook and Twitter.  (Thank you so much for your prayers and words of encouragement in response.  They meant so much!)

Most of the fault was my own.  Oh, it's true that my kids were acting up terribly (one in particular).  It's true that I had reached a certain tipping point of physical fatigue.  And it's true that I've reached a stage of life in which I can blame mid-life hormones for just about anything.  (That may come in handy for the next decade or so!)

In all seriousness, there were a lot of extenuating circumstances.  Nevertheless, yesterday proved the truth of the statement I quoted a few days ago:

The trial is usually never as bad as the unbelief during the trial.

Yesterday became a day of unbelief for me.  Not the kind of unbelief that denies God entirely, but the kind that denies Him practically.  Unbelief which relies on self rather than God, which frets and fumes instead of resting, which seeks strength in anger rather than in the joy of the Lord.  And my unbelief hurt me far worse than any of my circumstances did.

When will I ever learn?

I pled for prayer because my heart felt hard towards God, and I needed others to come alongside.  After all, we don't ever arrive, right?  We just learn to depend more, love more, obey more.  Well, my friends did pray, far better than I could at that time, and the softening began even as the chaos of life rolled on. 

And, showing the kind of grace that just boggles this poor undeserving mind, the Lord deigned to speak a word of truth to me.

You don't want the fellowship of My sufferings as much as you want relief from your own.

Oh, ouch.

I was in no frame of mind for even shallow thought, much less the kind of meditation that such an insight deserves.  So all I could do was throw a prayer back upwards.  What is the fellowship of Your sufferings?  Help me to understand it and want it.

The Apostle Paul stated that this unique fellowship was one of his life's highest aims (read this verse in its context if you want to catch just how fervently Paul desired this):

that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death
(Php 3:10 NKJV)

Last night I crashed onto the pillow almost as soon as my kids did.  But one thought did come to me just before sleep overtook me:

The fellowship of His sufferings is the opposite of the aloofness of my own.

Are you like me?  Do you withdraw into a furiously stewing cauldron in the hidden depths of your soul when you're suffering?  I know I tend to.

What do I miss out on while I'm there?

A few days before, I had experienced a much more "victorious" time of suffering.  I described it to a friend as a day in which God's grace did not replace the pain, but came alongside it and made it bearable.  On that day, I tasted just a sip of the fellowship of His suffering.  Not because I deserved that fellowship (I could never do that), but because that's what His grace does.  He comes alongside and gives the kind of comfort the world cannot give.

"But is that really the fellowship of His sufferings?" you may ask.  "You weren't being persecuted for Jesus. You were just having a rough day with the kids, like lots of other moms.  How is that 'His sufferings?'"

Could it be that we don't have to suffer because of Jesus (such as being persecuted) in order to suffer for Him and with Him?  What makes any suffering a part of "His sufferings?"

Could it be that, just as Jesus' sufferings brought glory to God the Father, we too can bring glory to Him if we allow His Spirit to sustain us?  Do we share in His sufferings that way…the sufferings which declare His worth by refusing to abandon Him in favor of the relief that sin provides?

Could it be that His agony on the cross was not just bearing the eternal penalty of my sin, but even bearing the temporary earthly sufferings that all my sin brings?  Does He enter into my sufferings so deeply that they become His own, and I can share them with Him and call them His?

And could it be that the fellowship of His sufferings is something so inexpressibly sweet that we can begin to yearn for it as one of life's highest goals?

I don't think the Apostle Paul was a fool.  He had tasted something far richer than my spiritual palate has ever known.  I want to get better acquainted with this fellowship, even though it means giving up my treasured "stewing cauldron."

Faith says He will be infinitely worth the exchange.

More to come…

Gracious Hands That Hurt

He finds the places where I hurt, and he makes me hurt worse.

His hands find sensitive spots, and he presses, leans weight into them, almost takes my breath away sometimes.

Why do I pay for pain?  Why do I look forward to these sessions?  Because even though they hurt, they hurt good.  I love deep-tissue massages.  Nothing helps my back problems more.

My massage therapist has told me that much of my pain comes from tension and stress. 

He has also said, "I know great big men who can't handle the kind of pressure I put on you!" 

I reply, "I know the difference between good pain and bad pain, and this is the good stuff." 

The good pain relieves the bad.

After a lifetime of sometimes severe discomfort, I've learned very well to surrender myself in trust to those gracious hands that hurt.  It's a surrender so complete that I even cooperate, commanding my muscles to relax into the pain to gain maximum benefit.

After I came home from today's desperately-needed massage, I soon encountered a very different kind of pain.  The source?  One of my own children raging at me about homework, kicking at me (deliberately missing me, but still impacting my soul), and worst of all, being incapable of getting past his own autistic/bipolar mindset enough to actually do his homework.  Again.  A not-uncommon evening with my child who is frequently his own worst enemy and hates those who try to help him.

It hurts.

What will I do with the pain?

It all boils down to how much I trust my Physician, doesn't it?

Do I trust Him enough to relax into the pain, or will I grit my teeth and bear it resentfully?  Or will I insist upon escapism (as I usually do)?

Normally such an event would spell the end of any efforts I might have been making towards keeping house.  I'd feel too angry, too unappreciated, too soul-weary to face any more chores. 

But my gracious Physician keeps pressing on the places that hurt.  He's been doing it for years, and He's been relentless.  He's pinpoint-accurate, too.  And slowly, slowly, just a month away from my 45th birthday, I might actually be letting go of some of the knots in my soul.

By His grace, I was able to let the tears come when I could get some time alone, and I was able to give them to the Healer without resentment or demands. 

And then I made a conscious decision to do some more chores.

It wasn't an act of martyrdom.  It was an act of trust, of hope.  And it was an act of defiance against the slithering serpent of despair who has so often convinced me that I am alone in the universe and can't handle another thing.

I guess you could say that, for the first time in my life, I relaxed in the Great Physician's hands, trusting that the good pain would relieve the bad.

And of course it did.  Jesus knows how to heal better than anyone. 

As His child, I am assured that no pain comes to me except through His loving endowment (Lam 3:38).  And so, ultimately, all the pain that He brings into my life is gracious.  It is good.

I cause the "bad pain" by fighting, by resenting, by struggling, by fleeing and escaping. 

I'm reminded of a quote, and I'm afraid I don't know who said it.  But there's a lot of truth packed into this short sentence:

The trial is usually never as bad as the unbelief during the trial.

How much of my soul's pain comes from the tension and stress that God never intended me to have?  Tension and stress which, I must add, are multiplied by my lack of trust?

Let not your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God; believe also in Me.

(John 14:1)

Tonight I sit here with a quietness in my soul that I could never have expected on such an evening. 

I only have the good pain.  And it hurts so much less than the bad.