“Oh Yahweh, who may abide in Thy tent? Who may dwell in Thy holy hill? He who walks with integrity, and works righteousness, and speaks truth in his heart.” ~Psalm 15:1-2
“Are you purging again?” Lydia groaned, standing in our bedroom doorway. “You’re always purging. Don’t touch my stuff.”
First, my defense: that’s an exaggeration. I’m not always purging. Quite. I have been trashing and getting rid of rather a lot lately. Well, I think it’s a disease I caught several years ago that has just been growing in intensity. I just don’t like stuff. It makes me feel tied down. Heavy. Like being fifty pounds overweight. But don’t worry. I’m not obsessive. I still have a bed. And a few keep-sakes. And a box of old letters from friends. Yes, the keep sakes and old letters are fewer than they used to be, but still.
Second, my confession: I was purging. I was cleaning out my file cabinet and trashing old documentation that I simply don’t need. I hadn’t meant to start purging. I was actually looking for the files of writing and speech classes that I’d taught and noticed that, well, there were a lot of other files full of papers that I really didn’t need.
Oh yeah! And third: I wasn’t purging Lydia’s stuff. Although I probably could do a splendid job of it, if she’d ever let me.
Among one poor, neglected file of awards and accomplishments, I discovered a couple of pages from 1994. My baptism request, submitted to the elders of Topeka Bible Church, and a letter from a dear, old lady in the congregation, encouraging me afterwards. Both made me chuckle. The baptism request was filled out in Papa’s handwriting, but there was no doubt as to the originality of the word choice. My favorite verse? Psalm 15 which we were memorizing as a family at the time and which was a very important Psalm to me, since I wanted to dwell in the hill of the Lord. And my testimony? It went like this: “When I was 4 I heard my Mom and Nathaniel talking about his baptism. Then I decided to ask Jesus into my heart—to take control. I’ve been happier ever since. Now I don’t wish that I had everything that I don’t have.” Signed with my full name.
A covetous little urchin, apparently.
But even those simple little words brought conviction to me. I decided to let Jesus take control. And I’ve been battling to do the same every day since. And the words of Psalm 15 came back to mind, still firmly embedded in my memory, and still shaping the measure to which I hold myself. And fall short. The one who may dwell with Yahweh is the one who walks with integrity, works righteousness and speaks truth in his heart…he swears to his own hurt and does not change. I remember how aware I was of the necessity to be righteous before God and my inability to achieve it. That’s why I needed Jesus to take control.
Sometimes I forget the simplicity of the truth that I so clearly grasped when my mind and life were so much simpler.
“Now I don’t wish that I had everything that I don’t have.”
Right now I wish I had contentment. And trust. And integrity.
Because I don’t have them.
And I should.
Lord, who may stand before Thy throne,
Or dare to call Thy temple home?
For all of us have missed the mark
And stand before Thee, naked, stark.
Integrity, we don’t possess,
Our hearts are home to wickedness.
Our tongues speak evil, greed and pride.
Our fig-leaf works can never hide
Our desecration of Thy name,
And so we hang our heads in shame.
Yet this Thou dost, for broken man,
Thou broke Thyself to make us stand,
Thy holy name and grace to bless,
Enrobed in spotless righteousness.
Showing posts with label salvation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label salvation. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
This morning at breakfast Papa announced, “I’m on vacation today. Let’s make silly putty.”
After breakfast, I strapped on a carpenter's belt and followed Josiah outside for a deck-building day. The poor guy has quite the motley crew--mostly me--but he's pulling off an outstanding deck building project. Sometimes I step back and realize that I'm proud of my baby brother. He's turned into a man I respect--for the ability God has blessed him with, and for his heart of service to God. My mind drifts back on the days when I worried and cried for his soul--before Nathaniel called him to repentance. The work God does is profound.
As we worked, we talked, and I vented.
I’m such a negative person.
I’ve really been encouraged and growing and strengthened so much lately, but the last few days have overwhelmed me with negative thoughts. At night when I sit down to write, suddenly I am so frustrated that if my life were written on a page, I would wad it up and burn it, just to have it all gone. It seems like such a stark failure and so absolutely pointless—like everything I believe and stand for will never be proven to be right and will never bring God glory. And like I will never be perfected. I hate being negative. I want to trust and praise and worship God and to love and serve and forgive others. I know I’ve been raised as a critical thinker, but my heart is critical, too. How can I change it? How can I become someone who focuses on God and His goodness and tries to proclaim His mercy and empowerment to others, instead of just watching and evaluating and thinking hoards of harsh, judgmental and condemning thoughts? This is not what I want to be, yet I feel forever sucked into a garish mud-hole of criticism. I feel the critical influences all around me and I find myself shrinking from them—yet these are also sources from which I have learned so much wisdom. How do I learn wisdom without being negative, cynical and condemning of others?
All afternoon I despised myself for being so negative. Yet, that is negative, as well. Self-condemnation equals defeat. There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus. It’s in light of God’s mercy that I can renew my mind and offer myself a living sacrifice.
I need to start where I am, with simple obedience and rejoicing today. Tonight. Tomorrow. I need to quit trying to make what I know is right make sense or look right to others, quit worrying about how I make God look and just obey. He can take care of His own image. I’m just supposed to be seeking to be conformed to His image. Abigail, just obey. Just obey.
Sometimes I think I'm just a lump of silly putty, myself.
After breakfast, I strapped on a carpenter's belt and followed Josiah outside for a deck-building day. The poor guy has quite the motley crew--mostly me--but he's pulling off an outstanding deck building project. Sometimes I step back and realize that I'm proud of my baby brother. He's turned into a man I respect--for the ability God has blessed him with, and for his heart of service to God. My mind drifts back on the days when I worried and cried for his soul--before Nathaniel called him to repentance. The work God does is profound.
As we worked, we talked, and I vented.
I’m such a negative person.
I’ve really been encouraged and growing and strengthened so much lately, but the last few days have overwhelmed me with negative thoughts. At night when I sit down to write, suddenly I am so frustrated that if my life were written on a page, I would wad it up and burn it, just to have it all gone. It seems like such a stark failure and so absolutely pointless—like everything I believe and stand for will never be proven to be right and will never bring God glory. And like I will never be perfected. I hate being negative. I want to trust and praise and worship God and to love and serve and forgive others. I know I’ve been raised as a critical thinker, but my heart is critical, too. How can I change it? How can I become someone who focuses on God and His goodness and tries to proclaim His mercy and empowerment to others, instead of just watching and evaluating and thinking hoards of harsh, judgmental and condemning thoughts? This is not what I want to be, yet I feel forever sucked into a garish mud-hole of criticism. I feel the critical influences all around me and I find myself shrinking from them—yet these are also sources from which I have learned so much wisdom. How do I learn wisdom without being negative, cynical and condemning of others?
All afternoon I despised myself for being so negative. Yet, that is negative, as well. Self-condemnation equals defeat. There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus. It’s in light of God’s mercy that I can renew my mind and offer myself a living sacrifice.
I need to start where I am, with simple obedience and rejoicing today. Tonight. Tomorrow. I need to quit trying to make what I know is right make sense or look right to others, quit worrying about how I make God look and just obey. He can take care of His own image. I’m just supposed to be seeking to be conformed to His image. Abigail, just obey. Just obey.
Sometimes I think I'm just a lump of silly putty, myself.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
My training with Choices has been accelerated, to put it simply. Folks ask about my involvement and I almost feel embarrassed in my attempt to explain what I do and why and how. Almost a year ago I joined Christy and Daniel, a Crisis counselor and a local youth pastor, as part of a team to teach abstinence in the public schools. It was Papa’s suggestion; I had to warm up to the idea. By summer I’d applied as a volunteer at the clinic and been scheduled to come in on Tuesday for training. My training consisted of a quick introduction to the phone system, scheduling and reception procedures. In the previous sentence, we’ll define quick as five minutes. And that was that. Before I knew it I was not only handling reception work, but also designing promo literature, doing some fundraising and assisting the administration. Then a Bible study client dropped in my lap when Christy went on bed rest for her baby at Christmas time. It was about that time that the Lord started bringing more volunteers in and Sherry suddenly realized I’d fallen through the cracks. I joined a group for initial and mentor training and then began training others for office work. Ordinarily, the ladies come in and shadow a mentor in the non-crisis counseling for several weeks and then launch out with Earn While You Learn on their own. I was familiar with the curriculum after making scores of copies, but I’d still never managed to shadow a session when Becky turned to Sherry at a prayer meeting and said, “I was going to schedule Abigail for some Earn While You Learn clients. Is that okay?” Sherry’s face was blank as she replied, “We’ll talk about that later.”
By this time I was also handling finances, after a quick training session with our secretary, Maggie, who started the clinic with Sherry seventeen years ago and is about to move to Idaho. In the previous sentence, quick is defined as half an hour.
The rest of the afternoon I worried, fretted and racked my mind to figure out what I was lacking, why Sherry wouldn’t be comfortable with me being a mentor. Before I left that night she caught me and I sensed an explanation was on the way. “As you know, several of the ladies are retiring and several are taking extended vacations. In February we’ll be down to one Crisis counselor. I need Crisis counselors. I’m working on a date for some training for you and a couple of the mentors so that we can hopefully get you ladies onto the pregnancy tests as soon as possible. I know that’s where your heart really is and since you’re so much younger, you’ll be able to relate well to many of our younger clients.” I probably didn't hear anything else she said. So that’s how I happened to skip the typical year or so of mentoring and waltzed through five weeks of intensive Crisis Peer Counseling training. I couldn’t believe how perfectly everything we were learning fit into what the Lord had been teaching me for the last year or two: the difference between goals and desires, learning to obey and leave the results to God, learning to gently confront and listening, truly listening to a person’s heart behind their words.
Tonight it all came together as I waded through my first sets of intake forms, pregnancy tests and Earn While You Learn applications. How ironic that, as the youngest Crisis counselor at Choices, supposedly especially able to relate to the younger clients, my first client should be a woman with a daughter my age. Sometimes irony can be the very finger of God.
During the past five weeks of training, while the seasoned counselors were gone in a dozen directions, we had very few calls. But as Sherry left for a trip to Georgia, she dashed me off an e-mail saying, “You have clients this week.” I'd have been nervously nauseated if I'd known what she really meant. Clients: I was booked solid. As were the rest of the new counselors. Now I feel intensely guilty for having booked the ladies with a client every hour. I walked dreamily from one appointment to the next, hardly able to clear my mind in between. From the lady who was forty-one, knew the Lord and was ecstatic about being pregnant to the young teen who thought there might be Someone “up there” but had never heard of Jesus and declared she was painfully shy (though she talked a million miles an hour to me) to the young lady who already had a little girl and was certain she was pregnant again, but who couldn’t contain her wonder as I led her through a pictoral description of the baby’s growth inside her womb, I loved every minute of every session.
They were all easy situations, I know, but I marvel at the wonder of it: walking into a small, dimly lit room with a woman I’ve never met before and loving her, for whatever crazy reason. Knowing that the Lord knows every detail of her life. Hearing the story of someone God created and desires to know Him fully even as He fully knows them. Seeing the nervous hands twiddling or the eyes that dare to look up and make eye-contact for the first time and watching the fear drain from her as she relaxes and opens up. What forever amazes me is the response to confrontation. “I see you were using condoms…did you know about the holes in condoms?” Her interest is peaked as she sees that I must be telling her the truth—since she’s pregnant. And the door is open for me to bring up another issue, “Did you know about some of the studies about living together?” No anger, rejection or scoffing. That’s what amazes me. Whether or not she’ll take to heart and put into practice my recommendations, she receives them as though they have value. An hour ago I was a complete stranger. Then I listened to her. Now she’s ready to listen to me. It’s the remarkable truths that Sherry told us: loving equals listening which equals respect and treating someone with respect earns their respect in return. That’s why I see in hundreds of exit forms that come through our filing system, “I was scared when I came here, but now I feel much better.”
Sometimes I wonder what in the world I am doing at Choices. Sometimes I wonder if it's the right thing. I don't always agree with every aspect of how the clinic is run. I doubt my abilities. Which is just fine, since any good is accomplished through the Lord. I doubt my wisdom. Which certainly needs to be doubted. I doubt my choices, my decisions, my convictions. In truth, I doubt everything but my salvation. The Lord mercifully squared me away on that one several years back through proving His complete responsibility for my salvation. And, in truth, it's through my salvation that I have any hope of accomplishing anything of worth--only because Jesus bought me at the price of His own blood and will continue to perfect me and work through me. That's the only thing of which I feel confidently certain. It's the only true wisdom I have to share with anyone.
By this time I was also handling finances, after a quick training session with our secretary, Maggie, who started the clinic with Sherry seventeen years ago and is about to move to Idaho. In the previous sentence, quick is defined as half an hour.
The rest of the afternoon I worried, fretted and racked my mind to figure out what I was lacking, why Sherry wouldn’t be comfortable with me being a mentor. Before I left that night she caught me and I sensed an explanation was on the way. “As you know, several of the ladies are retiring and several are taking extended vacations. In February we’ll be down to one Crisis counselor. I need Crisis counselors. I’m working on a date for some training for you and a couple of the mentors so that we can hopefully get you ladies onto the pregnancy tests as soon as possible. I know that’s where your heart really is and since you’re so much younger, you’ll be able to relate well to many of our younger clients.” I probably didn't hear anything else she said. So that’s how I happened to skip the typical year or so of mentoring and waltzed through five weeks of intensive Crisis Peer Counseling training. I couldn’t believe how perfectly everything we were learning fit into what the Lord had been teaching me for the last year or two: the difference between goals and desires, learning to obey and leave the results to God, learning to gently confront and listening, truly listening to a person’s heart behind their words.
Tonight it all came together as I waded through my first sets of intake forms, pregnancy tests and Earn While You Learn applications. How ironic that, as the youngest Crisis counselor at Choices, supposedly especially able to relate to the younger clients, my first client should be a woman with a daughter my age. Sometimes irony can be the very finger of God.
During the past five weeks of training, while the seasoned counselors were gone in a dozen directions, we had very few calls. But as Sherry left for a trip to Georgia, she dashed me off an e-mail saying, “You have clients this week.” I'd have been nervously nauseated if I'd known what she really meant. Clients: I was booked solid. As were the rest of the new counselors. Now I feel intensely guilty for having booked the ladies with a client every hour. I walked dreamily from one appointment to the next, hardly able to clear my mind in between. From the lady who was forty-one, knew the Lord and was ecstatic about being pregnant to the young teen who thought there might be Someone “up there” but had never heard of Jesus and declared she was painfully shy (though she talked a million miles an hour to me) to the young lady who already had a little girl and was certain she was pregnant again, but who couldn’t contain her wonder as I led her through a pictoral description of the baby’s growth inside her womb, I loved every minute of every session.
They were all easy situations, I know, but I marvel at the wonder of it: walking into a small, dimly lit room with a woman I’ve never met before and loving her, for whatever crazy reason. Knowing that the Lord knows every detail of her life. Hearing the story of someone God created and desires to know Him fully even as He fully knows them. Seeing the nervous hands twiddling or the eyes that dare to look up and make eye-contact for the first time and watching the fear drain from her as she relaxes and opens up. What forever amazes me is the response to confrontation. “I see you were using condoms…did you know about the holes in condoms?” Her interest is peaked as she sees that I must be telling her the truth—since she’s pregnant. And the door is open for me to bring up another issue, “Did you know about some of the studies about living together?” No anger, rejection or scoffing. That’s what amazes me. Whether or not she’ll take to heart and put into practice my recommendations, she receives them as though they have value. An hour ago I was a complete stranger. Then I listened to her. Now she’s ready to listen to me. It’s the remarkable truths that Sherry told us: loving equals listening which equals respect and treating someone with respect earns their respect in return. That’s why I see in hundreds of exit forms that come through our filing system, “I was scared when I came here, but now I feel much better.”
Sometimes I wonder what in the world I am doing at Choices. Sometimes I wonder if it's the right thing. I don't always agree with every aspect of how the clinic is run. I doubt my abilities. Which is just fine, since any good is accomplished through the Lord. I doubt my wisdom. Which certainly needs to be doubted. I doubt my choices, my decisions, my convictions. In truth, I doubt everything but my salvation. The Lord mercifully squared me away on that one several years back through proving His complete responsibility for my salvation. And, in truth, it's through my salvation that I have any hope of accomplishing anything of worth--only because Jesus bought me at the price of His own blood and will continue to perfect me and work through me. That's the only thing of which I feel confidently certain. It's the only true wisdom I have to share with anyone.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
“This knife sure is dull,” I complained to the pears I was slicing for breakfast. Lydia started snickering just about the same time I realized I was holding it backward—with the blade pressing against my finger. “Hmph,” I fixed the issue. “I still say it’s dull.” The jar I snagged for skimming the cream took a leap of faith from my hand and scuttled across the floor. I smiled sheeplishly at Lydia as I scooped it up and promptly sent the spatula flying through the air for an aerial routine. “Well,” my little sister observed pertly, “Someone’s a clutz today.” Her bowl of yogurt slid from her fingers to the wooden floor, where it shattered, scattering sticky, white splatters and sharp, white splinters across the kitchen. “I’m always clumsy when I’m in a hurry,” I teased. “What’s your excuse?”
I was bent over a pile of rickety boards, once a rickety shelf, now about to find a new home in the rickety incinerator—just as soon as I finished pulling the nails and screws from them. With a mighty war whoop, Josiah came hurtling over me and my hands slipped, driving a slender nail up my left palm. “Let’s not do the leap-frogging while I’m working with pointy objects,” I chided, considering the implications of nail-pierced hands. Perhaps the incident will make me more Christ-like.
Incidentally, I managed to chop half a dozen scraggly stumps out of the yard without putting the ax through my foot or my hand or my head. I’d have been at a serious disadvantage without either of the first two.
Here is the wisdom that greeted me today, in the pages of Psalms: “Man in his pomp will not endure; he is like the beasts that perish.” I think of those who are rich and powerful, who seek intelligence, money or pleasure. “Even wise men die, the stupid and the senseless alike and leave their wealth to others.” Well, duh. I love the way Yahweh puts things in perspective. He brings me back to plain facts of life. The redemption of a soul is costly. Who can offer God a ransom for one? Not only am I completely helpless to save anyone else, I can’t even save myself. Why should I ever worry about money? Those rich people—who congratulate themselves, who think they’ve got it made—who are they fooling? What are they going to take with them beyond the grave? Money can’t buy eternity. It can’t buy life. It can’t buy joy. It can’t even buy health. Where is my hope? My security? My retirement plan? God will redeem my soul from the power of death—He will receive me.
Lord, all that’s sure in life’s the grave,
Unless Thou art the one who saves
For money, power and pleasure sought
Have never, once, salvation bought.
Without the fear of Yahweh’s name,
The beasts and birds are much the same.
Life repeats its serenade:
We bloom and flourish, then we fade.
I was bent over a pile of rickety boards, once a rickety shelf, now about to find a new home in the rickety incinerator—just as soon as I finished pulling the nails and screws from them. With a mighty war whoop, Josiah came hurtling over me and my hands slipped, driving a slender nail up my left palm. “Let’s not do the leap-frogging while I’m working with pointy objects,” I chided, considering the implications of nail-pierced hands. Perhaps the incident will make me more Christ-like.
Incidentally, I managed to chop half a dozen scraggly stumps out of the yard without putting the ax through my foot or my hand or my head. I’d have been at a serious disadvantage without either of the first two.
Here is the wisdom that greeted me today, in the pages of Psalms: “Man in his pomp will not endure; he is like the beasts that perish.” I think of those who are rich and powerful, who seek intelligence, money or pleasure. “Even wise men die, the stupid and the senseless alike and leave their wealth to others.” Well, duh. I love the way Yahweh puts things in perspective. He brings me back to plain facts of life. The redemption of a soul is costly. Who can offer God a ransom for one? Not only am I completely helpless to save anyone else, I can’t even save myself. Why should I ever worry about money? Those rich people—who congratulate themselves, who think they’ve got it made—who are they fooling? What are they going to take with them beyond the grave? Money can’t buy eternity. It can’t buy life. It can’t buy joy. It can’t even buy health. Where is my hope? My security? My retirement plan? God will redeem my soul from the power of death—He will receive me.
Lord, all that’s sure in life’s the grave,
Unless Thou art the one who saves
For money, power and pleasure sought
Have never, once, salvation bought.
Without the fear of Yahweh’s name,
The beasts and birds are much the same.
Life repeats its serenade:
We bloom and flourish, then we fade.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Damaris was sitting on my feet, keeping them warm as we both listened to Papa teach the cross as the central part of the gospel. Running my fingers through her thick hair, I felt a tell-tale bump. Tell me, how does one discreetly pull a tick from a friend’s head and dispose of it in the middle of a church meeting? As Nick shared from about taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ, I could feel the pain slipping up from Tabitha’s toes to her heart, as she sat next to me on the pew. “I can’t do that!” Nick exclaimed for all of us, and then pointed out how even such a thought should be immediately offered to the Lord. Before the Willises headed out for Kansas, Tabitha and I zipped ourselves into matching leather coats and went for a walk. Everyone else was playing Frisbee, but we were worried Tabitha’s knee might not appreciate the mole’s extensive excavation in the backyard. We were barely out of the house before she started in, “You could tell I was upset while Nick was talking.” I nodded. She started pouring out her frustrations, worries and battles to take every thought prisoner to be tried by Christ. How is it, we both wondered aloud, that each thought we do successfully wrestle to the foot of Jesus’ throne, manages to break jail and come back to haunt us? Of all those I know, Tabitha deserves a purple heart for her warfare and her many wounds in her struggle to keep the Lord first. She also deserves a red badge of courage. Her daily choice to take up her sword and fight, through prayer, meditation and memorization will lead her to victory. Because it is the Lord’s promise.
We ate lunch two to a seat in some places. Zach brought a special guest: Jessica, one of the girls from the D-town youth group. Stuart willingly started his "Jesus story". Josh balked when Papa asked him to share his testimony with the Willises, but a few probing questions soon had him rolling. He tagged Amber to share hers next and it went on down the line from Amber to Taylor, Taylor to Zach. Sitting and listening to the stories of God’s call on each person’s life, I never realized how hard it can be to tell, how painful to relive those moments of separation, how draining to become vulnerable and weak before the eyes of others. I’ve never been asked for mine in a group before. Until today.
I knew as soon as I realized it would be Zach’s turn to pick a person that he would demand mine. I dragged my embarrassment, kicking and screaming, and stuffed it away in an old trunk in the attic of my mind. Separating my testimony from my life story is next to impossible—my whole life is simply a process by which the Lord has worked. Neither is particularly dramatic. I hardly know what I said, or why. I told a lot more than I’d meant to. Instead I found myself preaching to myself, reminding myself how out of control I became when I sought to control my life, how freeing it was to finally seek my parent’s accountability—to be vulnerable to them. Control. Truth broke through to me like sunlight breaking through a dark storm. Each plan I’d built for my life had slipped from my fingers, empty. Each goal I’d made or project I’d tackled had found me helpless to complete it. Deciding I’d never marry, simply to prove I could say “no” was a control issue. When I hoped to control the eating disorder, it had haunted me, a devouring ghost, stealing my health and joy. Only when I had confided in my parents did I find complete release. Even my demands to know and understand what Yahweh is doing reveal a heart that still clings to control. I couldn’t believe how completely empty I felt as I finished. Realizing I’d completely forgotten about everyone else in the room and what they were expecting or hoping to hear, I blurted out something about the Lord and my parents. “I really admire my dad,” and my eyes filled with tears. And I trust him. I do. Even those last words held another sermon to myself.
The rest of the day I wanted to talk to Papa. So did everyone else in the world, it seemed, and I finally gave up as he headed to his room for the night. I knelt by my bed, feeling completely helpless, completely unable to control or even manipulate anything, and cried. I can't even make myself stop crying.
Lord, give me the strength to loose
The bonds that I so often choose,
And leave to Thee the perfect plan
Drawn slowly by Thy gracious hand.
Teach me to take every moment
As Thy Spirit’s wise bestowment
To take captive for Thy use
That I’d fulfill all Thou dost choose.
We ate lunch two to a seat in some places. Zach brought a special guest: Jessica, one of the girls from the D-town youth group. Stuart willingly started his "Jesus story". Josh balked when Papa asked him to share his testimony with the Willises, but a few probing questions soon had him rolling. He tagged Amber to share hers next and it went on down the line from Amber to Taylor, Taylor to Zach. Sitting and listening to the stories of God’s call on each person’s life, I never realized how hard it can be to tell, how painful to relive those moments of separation, how draining to become vulnerable and weak before the eyes of others. I’ve never been asked for mine in a group before. Until today.
I knew as soon as I realized it would be Zach’s turn to pick a person that he would demand mine. I dragged my embarrassment, kicking and screaming, and stuffed it away in an old trunk in the attic of my mind. Separating my testimony from my life story is next to impossible—my whole life is simply a process by which the Lord has worked. Neither is particularly dramatic. I hardly know what I said, or why. I told a lot more than I’d meant to. Instead I found myself preaching to myself, reminding myself how out of control I became when I sought to control my life, how freeing it was to finally seek my parent’s accountability—to be vulnerable to them. Control. Truth broke through to me like sunlight breaking through a dark storm. Each plan I’d built for my life had slipped from my fingers, empty. Each goal I’d made or project I’d tackled had found me helpless to complete it. Deciding I’d never marry, simply to prove I could say “no” was a control issue. When I hoped to control the eating disorder, it had haunted me, a devouring ghost, stealing my health and joy. Only when I had confided in my parents did I find complete release. Even my demands to know and understand what Yahweh is doing reveal a heart that still clings to control. I couldn’t believe how completely empty I felt as I finished. Realizing I’d completely forgotten about everyone else in the room and what they were expecting or hoping to hear, I blurted out something about the Lord and my parents. “I really admire my dad,” and my eyes filled with tears. And I trust him. I do. Even those last words held another sermon to myself.
The rest of the day I wanted to talk to Papa. So did everyone else in the world, it seemed, and I finally gave up as he headed to his room for the night. I knelt by my bed, feeling completely helpless, completely unable to control or even manipulate anything, and cried. I can't even make myself stop crying.
Lord, give me the strength to loose
The bonds that I so often choose,
And leave to Thee the perfect plan
Drawn slowly by Thy gracious hand.
Teach me to take every moment
As Thy Spirit’s wise bestowment
To take captive for Thy use
That I’d fulfill all Thou dost choose.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Spring Break: the words sound like a time of intense boredom—excuse me, relaxation. For us, it is simply a switching over of guests. Our local home-from-the-war-on-furlough-soldier, Donnie showed up for a visit. Donnie, Dathan and Josiah are a deadly combination. I spent the majority of the visit dodging them, recovering stolen shoes from the rooftop gutter, the porch rafters or other random spots of concealment. Donnie hasn’t changed one single cubic centimeter. Reading his notes from Iraq, how the bodies come in mutilated and he has to identify them and file reports, how the most comforting sound is the sound of a helicopter shooting scud missiles, simply because he knows those are friends, protecting him, how other American soldiers cheer when they see the bodies of Arabs, while he sees only the end of a life—a soul gone to judgment. He neglected to tell us today was his twenty-second birthday. Twenty-two years old, and he’s a platoon sergeant, responsible for a whole host of tasks, with death constantly staring him in the face. Twenty-two years old, and separated from his new bride by a commission and an ocean. Wars and rumors of wars, Jesus promised, until the return of the Prince of Peace.
The movie I went to such labor to procure from the Tech library was titled “Inherit the Wind.” Tonight we watched a critique of it, under the name “Inherently Wind”. Enlightening it was to see the background on the Scopes Monkey Trial—in which the state laws regarding teaching man as descended from apes was put on trial, in one of the most famous and most fake trials in history. “Ah,” said the defense. “When any one theory is taught exclusively, then is there only room for bigotry.” Less than a century later, what do we see? One theory taught: the theory that man evolved from apes. Bigotry? I could hardly agree more. Propaganda, the movie was. Hardly a hint of fact, with an overt stab at the character of Christians in general. Any movie, so inflammatory about any other “type” of people, would be banned from public schools. Instead, this one is shown in English classes, and discussed as “a great classic.”
Zach dived through the doors in time to send Dathan rolling across the floor. Everyone seems to find Dathan an irresistible rag-doll. We’ll have a full breakfast table tomorrow morning.
“Be silent and listen, O Israel! This day you have become a people for Yahweh, your God. You shall therefore obey Yahweh your God, and do His commandments and His statutes which I command you today.” So Moses began the lengthy curses from Mount Ebal, followed by the blessings from Mount Gerizim. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life in order that you may live: by loving Yahweh your God, by obeying His voice, and holding fast to Him.” Disobedience to God brings a curse. “This commandment is not too difficult,” Moses insisted, and yet, even he failed and disobeyed God, and was prevented from entering the land. How is life? By loving Yahweh, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him. Those who would choose life, Yahweh saved on credit and sent their souls to a place of refuge until the Way the Truth and the Life should come and pay their ransom and redeem them and lead them to paradise—the heavenly promised land. It is He of whom Moses spoke, “The Word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart.” If you confess with your mouth, Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved. Choose life in order that you may live.
Lord, I stand upon Mount Gerizim,
And gaze into the promised land,
Thou spoke the blessing long ago,
And led Thy people by Thy hand
But this same blessing that Thou spoke,
The Word, blessed every man in Thee.
By Thy grace, I have obeyed
And chosen life eternally.
The movie I went to such labor to procure from the Tech library was titled “Inherit the Wind.” Tonight we watched a critique of it, under the name “Inherently Wind”. Enlightening it was to see the background on the Scopes Monkey Trial—in which the state laws regarding teaching man as descended from apes was put on trial, in one of the most famous and most fake trials in history. “Ah,” said the defense. “When any one theory is taught exclusively, then is there only room for bigotry.” Less than a century later, what do we see? One theory taught: the theory that man evolved from apes. Bigotry? I could hardly agree more. Propaganda, the movie was. Hardly a hint of fact, with an overt stab at the character of Christians in general. Any movie, so inflammatory about any other “type” of people, would be banned from public schools. Instead, this one is shown in English classes, and discussed as “a great classic.”
Zach dived through the doors in time to send Dathan rolling across the floor. Everyone seems to find Dathan an irresistible rag-doll. We’ll have a full breakfast table tomorrow morning.
“Be silent and listen, O Israel! This day you have become a people for Yahweh, your God. You shall therefore obey Yahweh your God, and do His commandments and His statutes which I command you today.” So Moses began the lengthy curses from Mount Ebal, followed by the blessings from Mount Gerizim. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life in order that you may live: by loving Yahweh your God, by obeying His voice, and holding fast to Him.” Disobedience to God brings a curse. “This commandment is not too difficult,” Moses insisted, and yet, even he failed and disobeyed God, and was prevented from entering the land. How is life? By loving Yahweh, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him. Those who would choose life, Yahweh saved on credit and sent their souls to a place of refuge until the Way the Truth and the Life should come and pay their ransom and redeem them and lead them to paradise—the heavenly promised land. It is He of whom Moses spoke, “The Word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart.” If you confess with your mouth, Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved. Choose life in order that you may live.
Lord, I stand upon Mount Gerizim,
And gaze into the promised land,
Thou spoke the blessing long ago,
And led Thy people by Thy hand
But this same blessing that Thou spoke,
The Word, blessed every man in Thee.
By Thy grace, I have obeyed
And chosen life eternally.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Walking through the dining room just before six this morning on my way to fix breakfast, I stopped in my tracks and stared outside at a layer of snow. Not a measly Arkansas powdered sugar dusting, either, but a serious birthday cake layer of pure, white, cold, wet snow. Eleven inches, the news channels all insisted, though I don’t believe I saw more than half that amount. With a little friendly persuasion from Zach, we all abandoned our regular activities to tromp through this winter wonderland in search of Narnia or the North Pole. Josiah and I got the bright idea to deck ourselves in summer outfits and discard our shoes for a “white” themed picture. By the time we made the mad dash back to the house, I couldn’t even feel my toes, but a few minutes inside soon left them burning with the heat of returning circulation.
Mom delivered the phone to me and I mouthed, “Who is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe a Japanese girl?” Quickly I greeted the caller. A familiar voice, but I couldn’t quite seem to place it. Finally I said, “I have no clue who you are,” and she alleviated my confusion with her name: Sarahlita. That certainly put a different spin on matters and soon we were chatting away again like the childhood bosom companions that we are. Funny how it is: no matter how long we’ve been apart, we always come back together able to pick up where we left off and always finding that the Lord is teaching us the same things. Even though she’s married now with a six-month-old son. As we talked, she kept probing, “So…nothing else you need to tell me?...Anything else big going on?...What exciting things are happening with you?...Anything specific you need prayer for?” and finally wrapping up with, “Well, if anything important does happen, do call me, or e-mail—or even if there’s something important you need me to pray about.” I enjoyed a giggling spell after we hung up without even a hint of guilt. There’s honestly nothing to tell.
“Tonight is going to be fun,” Lydia informed me, as she tucked her Bible onto her bookshelf. I raised my eyebrows. “What’s happening tonight?” She grinned. “I just finished John chapter two and I have tons of questions for you!”
At the supper table, I nudged her and whisper-asked if she was ready to tell Mom and Papa. She reached under the table and held my hand so tightly that my ring left indents on the insides of my fingers before she finally nodded. We launched out together on the story and watched our parent’s delighted faces. When Josiah came in a few minutes later, Lydia had to go through the retelling—by herself this time. The rest of the evening we all gushed, she called Nathaniel and Lauren, both grandmas and Josh Potts (since his testimony Sunday had driven her to want salvation for sure). Then the family met outside while Papa baptized her in the hot tub. I must admit, a hot tub does make the perfect baptismal on a snowy evening.
Every single day seems to get sweeter and better, and I know the Lord’s lovingkindnesses are new every day, for His compassions never cease. But I’m bracing myself—every mountaintop overlooks a valley. Soon I will have to make the treacherous descent. I find myself clinging to every single second, each one seeming a precious blessing, especially those with my family. I want to have each moment treasured in my heart for the day when a sword may pierce my soul. I want to cling to what God is doing now for the day when darkness and discouragement become too friendly, or when change looms up as a frightening obstacle.
I want to store up the seven fat years for the years of famine that are as sure to come as the spring rain.
Lord, Thy blessings always prove
The vast unmeasured of Thy love,
But teach my heart to yet discern
The mountain world-view I should learn.
For though some days are filled with pleasure,
Thou alone are my true treasure.
Happenstance may turn appalling
Still Thou art Love—my Love--enthralling.
Mom delivered the phone to me and I mouthed, “Who is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe a Japanese girl?” Quickly I greeted the caller. A familiar voice, but I couldn’t quite seem to place it. Finally I said, “I have no clue who you are,” and she alleviated my confusion with her name: Sarahlita. That certainly put a different spin on matters and soon we were chatting away again like the childhood bosom companions that we are. Funny how it is: no matter how long we’ve been apart, we always come back together able to pick up where we left off and always finding that the Lord is teaching us the same things. Even though she’s married now with a six-month-old son. As we talked, she kept probing, “So…nothing else you need to tell me?...Anything else big going on?...What exciting things are happening with you?...Anything specific you need prayer for?” and finally wrapping up with, “Well, if anything important does happen, do call me, or e-mail—or even if there’s something important you need me to pray about.” I enjoyed a giggling spell after we hung up without even a hint of guilt. There’s honestly nothing to tell.
“Tonight is going to be fun,” Lydia informed me, as she tucked her Bible onto her bookshelf. I raised my eyebrows. “What’s happening tonight?” She grinned. “I just finished John chapter two and I have tons of questions for you!”
At the supper table, I nudged her and whisper-asked if she was ready to tell Mom and Papa. She reached under the table and held my hand so tightly that my ring left indents on the insides of my fingers before she finally nodded. We launched out together on the story and watched our parent’s delighted faces. When Josiah came in a few minutes later, Lydia had to go through the retelling—by herself this time. The rest of the evening we all gushed, she called Nathaniel and Lauren, both grandmas and Josh Potts (since his testimony Sunday had driven her to want salvation for sure). Then the family met outside while Papa baptized her in the hot tub. I must admit, a hot tub does make the perfect baptismal on a snowy evening.
Every single day seems to get sweeter and better, and I know the Lord’s lovingkindnesses are new every day, for His compassions never cease. But I’m bracing myself—every mountaintop overlooks a valley. Soon I will have to make the treacherous descent. I find myself clinging to every single second, each one seeming a precious blessing, especially those with my family. I want to have each moment treasured in my heart for the day when a sword may pierce my soul. I want to cling to what God is doing now for the day when darkness and discouragement become too friendly, or when change looms up as a frightening obstacle.
I want to store up the seven fat years for the years of famine that are as sure to come as the spring rain.
Lord, Thy blessings always prove
The vast unmeasured of Thy love,
But teach my heart to yet discern
The mountain world-view I should learn.
For though some days are filled with pleasure,
Thou alone are my true treasure.
Happenstance may turn appalling
Still Thou art Love—my Love--enthralling.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Every day He outdoes Himself. I can’t even imagine what tomorrow might hold.
When I sat down to write, it seemed as if it had been a rough day—nearly heartbreaking. Overwhelmed with to-dos and a noisy household, I found myself abbreviating my time with the Lord. Then I dove right into all the hard e-mails I’d needed to write for the last several weeks. Tough love, some call it. Isn’t all love tough? I’d barely finished when the mail produced a wedding invitation—from a friend to whom I’d already written explaining why I couldn’t support her marriage. I staggered, recoiling from this slap in the face. Then the Lord began to lift me back up, starting with a phone call to Amber, who proved very encouraging.
I’d just begun to reminisce on the day when Lydia emerged from the shower, steamed and cleaned and I looked up. “Don’t look at me like that,” she giggled. “It feels like you can look right through me.” Playing back, I began to explain how I could see through her to the wall beyond. “I meant that sometimes I think you can see right into my heart,” she said, softly.
Silence. “What is in there that I might see?”
“A lot of things.”
“Good or bad?.”
She turned her face away from me. “Some of both.”
“Is Jesus in there?” I asked, the Lord reminding me how I’d been wanting to talk to her for a while, to probe her spiritually.
She hesitated. “Um, yes.” Then she sat down at the foot of the bed. I began to question her about the gospel, salvation and herself. Jesus died on a cross for her sins, she told me. “Because I am wicked and unworthy.” How did that help her? It should have been her, she affirmed. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved,” she quoted the verse, with a little prompting and John three sixteen followed. Then we both grew quiet.
“Go over to her,” the Holy Spirit whispered to my spirit, and for one of the few times in my entire life of mistakes, I obeyed. I slithered down onto the floor beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Immediately she buried her head in my lap. Amid muffled sobs she whispered, “Abigail, I don’t think I’m saved, but I don’t know how to be. I’ve been wanting to ask you about this for a long time, but I was too afraid.”
How do you tell your precious little sister how to believe?
Slowly, feeling lost and dazed, I went back over the gospel with her. She was broken over her sinfulness—I didn’t even need to convict. “I’ve done so many bad things,” she admitted, easily.
“The Bible says you must believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died in your place so you could be with Him forever. Is that something you want to do?”
Still hiding in my lap, she answered “yes.”
Where could I go from there? She held the key. She stood before the gate. Helplessly, I began to pray that the Lord would open her heart. I poured out to Him how she was standing at His gate, pleading admittance. “Please reach down Your hand and open the way to her.” I only remember those words, because when I finished, she lifted her head and whispered, “When you said those words, ‘Reach down Your hand and open the way,’ He did. I know He did it.”
We sat still again for a while. “Do you want to thank Him?” I prompted and she nodded her head. What made her seem so small and fragile, helpless and weak?
Then she began to pray. “Dear Lord, thank You for being good. Thank You for sending Jesus to die. Thank you for all the people You’ve saved—especially me. I love you.” She looked up at me through her tears. “Why are you crying?”
I snorted. “Because I’m happy.”
We sat quietly for a while before she asked, all in a rush. “What should I read?”
Eleven years she’s lived in a home, inundated by the Word, but suddenly she wants to know it herself. I could read hunger in her eyes as I answered, “John. About Jesus. Want me to read it with you?”
“Please,” she answered. “I started reading it the other day and am a couple of chapters in. But I’d like to start over.”
So we made a date. Eight fifteen every night, we’ll read together and she can ask all the questions she wants. She’s full of them. Eight fifteen because she said, “I want it in my head so I can sleep over it all night.” All evening her hands were shaking and she seemed nervous until we vanished into our room to read and pray. So fragile. Trembling. Eager. Like a newborn baby.
Once upon a time, when I was younger than she is now, I prayed for a baby sister, and the Lord heard my prayer and was pleased to answer—far above all that I could ask or think.
Lord, I come before Thy altar,
Words, aloud and thought, both falter.
Once I asked, and Thou once gave,
Now I begged that Thou wouldst save.
And Lord, I trust Thou wilt complete.
I linger at Thy mercy seat,
To offer worship, prayer and praise
To Thee, Thou Ancient One of Days.
When I sat down to write, it seemed as if it had been a rough day—nearly heartbreaking. Overwhelmed with to-dos and a noisy household, I found myself abbreviating my time with the Lord. Then I dove right into all the hard e-mails I’d needed to write for the last several weeks. Tough love, some call it. Isn’t all love tough? I’d barely finished when the mail produced a wedding invitation—from a friend to whom I’d already written explaining why I couldn’t support her marriage. I staggered, recoiling from this slap in the face. Then the Lord began to lift me back up, starting with a phone call to Amber, who proved very encouraging.
I’d just begun to reminisce on the day when Lydia emerged from the shower, steamed and cleaned and I looked up. “Don’t look at me like that,” she giggled. “It feels like you can look right through me.” Playing back, I began to explain how I could see through her to the wall beyond. “I meant that sometimes I think you can see right into my heart,” she said, softly.
Silence. “What is in there that I might see?”
“A lot of things.”
“Good or bad?.”
She turned her face away from me. “Some of both.”
“Is Jesus in there?” I asked, the Lord reminding me how I’d been wanting to talk to her for a while, to probe her spiritually.
She hesitated. “Um, yes.” Then she sat down at the foot of the bed. I began to question her about the gospel, salvation and herself. Jesus died on a cross for her sins, she told me. “Because I am wicked and unworthy.” How did that help her? It should have been her, she affirmed. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved,” she quoted the verse, with a little prompting and John three sixteen followed. Then we both grew quiet.
“Go over to her,” the Holy Spirit whispered to my spirit, and for one of the few times in my entire life of mistakes, I obeyed. I slithered down onto the floor beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Immediately she buried her head in my lap. Amid muffled sobs she whispered, “Abigail, I don’t think I’m saved, but I don’t know how to be. I’ve been wanting to ask you about this for a long time, but I was too afraid.”
How do you tell your precious little sister how to believe?
Slowly, feeling lost and dazed, I went back over the gospel with her. She was broken over her sinfulness—I didn’t even need to convict. “I’ve done so many bad things,” she admitted, easily.
“The Bible says you must believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He died in your place so you could be with Him forever. Is that something you want to do?”
Still hiding in my lap, she answered “yes.”
Where could I go from there? She held the key. She stood before the gate. Helplessly, I began to pray that the Lord would open her heart. I poured out to Him how she was standing at His gate, pleading admittance. “Please reach down Your hand and open the way to her.” I only remember those words, because when I finished, she lifted her head and whispered, “When you said those words, ‘Reach down Your hand and open the way,’ He did. I know He did it.”
We sat still again for a while. “Do you want to thank Him?” I prompted and she nodded her head. What made her seem so small and fragile, helpless and weak?
Then she began to pray. “Dear Lord, thank You for being good. Thank You for sending Jesus to die. Thank you for all the people You’ve saved—especially me. I love you.” She looked up at me through her tears. “Why are you crying?”
I snorted. “Because I’m happy.”
We sat quietly for a while before she asked, all in a rush. “What should I read?”
Eleven years she’s lived in a home, inundated by the Word, but suddenly she wants to know it herself. I could read hunger in her eyes as I answered, “John. About Jesus. Want me to read it with you?”
“Please,” she answered. “I started reading it the other day and am a couple of chapters in. But I’d like to start over.”
So we made a date. Eight fifteen every night, we’ll read together and she can ask all the questions she wants. She’s full of them. Eight fifteen because she said, “I want it in my head so I can sleep over it all night.” All evening her hands were shaking and she seemed nervous until we vanished into our room to read and pray. So fragile. Trembling. Eager. Like a newborn baby.
Once upon a time, when I was younger than she is now, I prayed for a baby sister, and the Lord heard my prayer and was pleased to answer—far above all that I could ask or think.
Lord, I come before Thy altar,
Words, aloud and thought, both falter.
Once I asked, and Thou once gave,
Now I begged that Thou wouldst save.
And Lord, I trust Thou wilt complete.
I linger at Thy mercy seat,
To offer worship, prayer and praise
To Thee, Thou Ancient One of Days.
The Lord’s Day, March 2, 2008
I’m completely exhausted, but I can’t imagine how I’ll ever go to sleep tonight. I can only pray that Yahweh will open eyes across the world to see Him working as I’ve been blessed to witness today.
Glenn and his boys arrived from Illinois last night, to begin looking for houses in this area, so our meeting this morning was packed with wisdom and insight from John, First John and First Timothy. The men were still going strong, encouraging, exhorting and discussing, when our lunch-time extras began to trickle in. Papa asked Glenn for his testimony, and from there, our guests began to share how the Lord had brought each of them to His mercy seat, repentant and believing that He had the power to save them. After listening to the others, Josh slowly opened up and began to pour out his story: how, as a boy of seven, he’d walked the aisle and made a profession of faith—and meant it. Really. But he’d never been given much truth to believe, simply told that Christians live a certain lifestyle, which he followed until his sister’s tragic death when he was twenty. “I hated God,” he earnestly insisted. “I was told that God protected Christians and nothing would hurt them. God had lied to me.” From there he turned his back on the Lord and lived in rebellion for seven years, spiraling deeper and deeper into depravity and death, enslaved to sin, forever trying to cover it over with momentary highs. “I got to the point where I looked at my addictions and said, ‘I’m not going to do this anymore! I don’t have to do this anymore!’ and they laughed in my face and said ‘Yes, you do.’” Terrified, Josh was determined to find the truth—but he wasn’t going to be any easy sell. When he started going to Wes and Audrey’s Bible study, he had no intention of letting anyone pull the wool over his eyes. Slowly, the sincerity of the believers drew him closer until he couldn’t stay away. It was a frightening weekend when he realized he’d overdosed on Meth and called Nathaniel and Bruce. Immediately they came to be with him, talking with him, forcing him to flush the rest of the drugs down the toilet, and quoting scripture to him. “I could have killed them,” he confided, “when they got between me and the door. They just kept saying scripture to me. I couldn’t flush the stuff. Then they made me say ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’ and I dropped it in. Nathaniel flushed the toilet. Then Bruce started walking me to make me sweat. I didn’t die.” The next week, he was high again and Nathaniel simply told him he was coming over to spend the night. Josh just kept repeating, “I was terrified. I was on the edge of a cliff. All the things I’d been using to stay alive—I needed to let them go to God, but I was terrified that if I did, I’d fall over the cliff and He wouldn’t be real to save me after all.” In this depth of despair, he realized that he had two choices, die and be lost, or cast Himself on Jesus as the only possible hope. “I jumped off that cliff.” He and Nathaniel studied through half of the book of Romans as Josh came down of that dangerous high. Just about exactly a year ago. He’s been clean ever since. Doctor’s say it’s impossible to kick Meth. Can anyone echo “nothing is impossible with God”? I’ve known Josh about exactly a year. The change in him is miraculous—literally. “I should be dead,” he said over and over again. “I about died.” His words are no exaggeration. He should be dead. Instead, he has passed from death to life, through the divine intervention, the atoning sacrifice of Jesus and the power of His resurrection. To those searching for answers to the question of religion, the issue of God and the concept of eternity, God has offered proof in the metamorphosis of those at enmity with Him into those who love Him and serve Him because of the His hand in their life. I wish I could spell out Josh’s story, exactly as it poured from his heart and brought tears to our eyes. Later he felt foolish for sharing it. Well? Hasn’t God chosen the foolish of the world to shame the wise? The weak and despised things, the things that are nothing that He might make nothing the things that are? Only Yahweh can accomplish what has been done in Josh's life. As he's begun to say, "It's all about Jesus, isn't it?"
I couldn’t focus on anything the rest of the day.
Tonight, my heart is too full to even sort it out into four lines by four lines which could never even touch the beauty or magnitude of God’s power and His working in our lives. Tonight I fall silent and let His own Word speak for Himself—He does it so eloquently.
Not to us, O Yahweh, not to us,
but to Thy name give glory
Because of Thy lovingknindness, because of Thy truth.
Why should the nations say,
“Where, now, is their God?”
But our God is in the heavens;
He does whatever He pleases…
You who fear Yahweh, trust in Yahweh;
He is their help and their shield.
Yahweh has been mindful of us; He will bless us;
He will bless those who reverence Yahweh,
The small together with the great.
The heavens are the heavens of Yahweh
But the earth He has given to the sons of men.
The dead do not praise Yahweh,
Nor do any who go down into silence.
But as for us, we will bless Yahweh
From this time forth and forever!
Praise Yahweh!
--From Psalm 115
Glenn and his boys arrived from Illinois last night, to begin looking for houses in this area, so our meeting this morning was packed with wisdom and insight from John, First John and First Timothy. The men were still going strong, encouraging, exhorting and discussing, when our lunch-time extras began to trickle in. Papa asked Glenn for his testimony, and from there, our guests began to share how the Lord had brought each of them to His mercy seat, repentant and believing that He had the power to save them. After listening to the others, Josh slowly opened up and began to pour out his story: how, as a boy of seven, he’d walked the aisle and made a profession of faith—and meant it. Really. But he’d never been given much truth to believe, simply told that Christians live a certain lifestyle, which he followed until his sister’s tragic death when he was twenty. “I hated God,” he earnestly insisted. “I was told that God protected Christians and nothing would hurt them. God had lied to me.” From there he turned his back on the Lord and lived in rebellion for seven years, spiraling deeper and deeper into depravity and death, enslaved to sin, forever trying to cover it over with momentary highs. “I got to the point where I looked at my addictions and said, ‘I’m not going to do this anymore! I don’t have to do this anymore!’ and they laughed in my face and said ‘Yes, you do.’” Terrified, Josh was determined to find the truth—but he wasn’t going to be any easy sell. When he started going to Wes and Audrey’s Bible study, he had no intention of letting anyone pull the wool over his eyes. Slowly, the sincerity of the believers drew him closer until he couldn’t stay away. It was a frightening weekend when he realized he’d overdosed on Meth and called Nathaniel and Bruce. Immediately they came to be with him, talking with him, forcing him to flush the rest of the drugs down the toilet, and quoting scripture to him. “I could have killed them,” he confided, “when they got between me and the door. They just kept saying scripture to me. I couldn’t flush the stuff. Then they made me say ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’ and I dropped it in. Nathaniel flushed the toilet. Then Bruce started walking me to make me sweat. I didn’t die.” The next week, he was high again and Nathaniel simply told him he was coming over to spend the night. Josh just kept repeating, “I was terrified. I was on the edge of a cliff. All the things I’d been using to stay alive—I needed to let them go to God, but I was terrified that if I did, I’d fall over the cliff and He wouldn’t be real to save me after all.” In this depth of despair, he realized that he had two choices, die and be lost, or cast Himself on Jesus as the only possible hope. “I jumped off that cliff.” He and Nathaniel studied through half of the book of Romans as Josh came down of that dangerous high. Just about exactly a year ago. He’s been clean ever since. Doctor’s say it’s impossible to kick Meth. Can anyone echo “nothing is impossible with God”? I’ve known Josh about exactly a year. The change in him is miraculous—literally. “I should be dead,” he said over and over again. “I about died.” His words are no exaggeration. He should be dead. Instead, he has passed from death to life, through the divine intervention, the atoning sacrifice of Jesus and the power of His resurrection. To those searching for answers to the question of religion, the issue of God and the concept of eternity, God has offered proof in the metamorphosis of those at enmity with Him into those who love Him and serve Him because of the His hand in their life. I wish I could spell out Josh’s story, exactly as it poured from his heart and brought tears to our eyes. Later he felt foolish for sharing it. Well? Hasn’t God chosen the foolish of the world to shame the wise? The weak and despised things, the things that are nothing that He might make nothing the things that are? Only Yahweh can accomplish what has been done in Josh's life. As he's begun to say, "It's all about Jesus, isn't it?"
I couldn’t focus on anything the rest of the day.
Tonight, my heart is too full to even sort it out into four lines by four lines which could never even touch the beauty or magnitude of God’s power and His working in our lives. Tonight I fall silent and let His own Word speak for Himself—He does it so eloquently.
Not to us, O Yahweh, not to us,
but to Thy name give glory
Because of Thy lovingknindness, because of Thy truth.
Why should the nations say,
“Where, now, is their God?”
But our God is in the heavens;
He does whatever He pleases…
You who fear Yahweh, trust in Yahweh;
He is their help and their shield.
Yahweh has been mindful of us; He will bless us;
He will bless those who reverence Yahweh,
The small together with the great.
The heavens are the heavens of Yahweh
But the earth He has given to the sons of men.
The dead do not praise Yahweh,
Nor do any who go down into silence.
But as for us, we will bless Yahweh
From this time forth and forever!
Praise Yahweh!
--From Psalm 115
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Sunbathing might seem to require exposed skin, but today was just beautiful enough to allow for soaking up vitamin D—through a layer of cotton. Sadly, that was the most notable occurrence of the entire twenty-four hours we affectionately term “Saturday”. The rest of the day was spent rather uneventfully in laboring over chainsaws that lazily refused to work, and organizing the dusty barn.
At long last I found words and music to express some thoughts spinning through my mind the past few days as I try to reconcile the simplicity of the gospel with the necessity of holy living. As Paul tells us in Romans, the grace of the Lord is not our license to sin and David confirms that no man can by any means redeem his brother. We must claim God’s unmerited favor for ourselves, and when we have grasped it, we will walk in newness of life.
The grace of the Lord must be your own.
You’re not saved through the faith that another has shown,
But if you should wander so far from home
The grace of the Lord can still find you.
So seek the Lord while He may be found.
Call His name while He might be near.
The humble sinner who falls to the ground
Will find that the Lord of grace will hear.
Grace is greater than all our sin.
Grace will teach us to enter in
To the way of faith that the humble have trod.
God’s grace will lead us to God.
So if you have chosen to humbly implore
God’s grace and His mercy to open the door
That you may enter His rest ever more,
May the grace of our Lord be with you.
At long last I found words and music to express some thoughts spinning through my mind the past few days as I try to reconcile the simplicity of the gospel with the necessity of holy living. As Paul tells us in Romans, the grace of the Lord is not our license to sin and David confirms that no man can by any means redeem his brother. We must claim God’s unmerited favor for ourselves, and when we have grasped it, we will walk in newness of life.
The grace of the Lord must be your own.
You’re not saved through the faith that another has shown,
But if you should wander so far from home
The grace of the Lord can still find you.
So seek the Lord while He may be found.
Call His name while He might be near.
The humble sinner who falls to the ground
Will find that the Lord of grace will hear.
Grace is greater than all our sin.
Grace will teach us to enter in
To the way of faith that the humble have trod.
God’s grace will lead us to God.
So if you have chosen to humbly implore
God’s grace and His mercy to open the door
That you may enter His rest ever more,
May the grace of our Lord be with you.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
I don’t make a habit of reading until nearly two o’clock. AM, that is. Last night I was like the person who ties up the guard dog so the mailman can visit and then is burglarized in the middle of the night because she forgot to untie it. Thanks to the ongoing hostility between the internet device and my alarm clock, I’d unplugged the latter and gone to bed timeless. Surprisingly, I bounced out of bed, feeling refreshed before seven and danced around the house getting breakfast and waking the kids.
Our favorite babysitter arrived around supper time. It’s a rare care when a twenty-year-old hires her own babysitter, but with me and Jacinda, it’s become a common occurrence. “I don’t care where we sleep,” she told me over the phone, “as long as it’s warm!” Easier said than done, but with Mom and Papa out of town, their cozy suite lay open before us—provided we kept the fireplace running. I started a fire shortly before she arrived and must admit to a great deal of excitement in the prospect of sleeping warmly.
We spent several hours jamming. Sometimes with Jacinda on piano, sometimes yours truly, sometimes both and sometimes I fooled around on my improvised snare while Josiah pounded out the real beat. To put it bluntly, Jacinda is a much better pianist than I am. And Josiah is a much better drummer.
Among the patriarchs I’ve been studying, I could distinguish definite points of salvation in the lives of Abraham and Jacob. In the lives of Isaac and Joseph, I see only consistency, it seems. Trust from early on. At first I was nearly disappointed, since I’d set my heart to discover the story of each one’s faith in God. But as I meditated on it longer, I found myself encouraged. In my own life I can place my finger on no one point where I decided to trust the Lord, except for a prayer I prayed when I was three. Mostly my life has been a slow building up to the present. I believe God. Isn’t that all that matters? The truth of this statement is clear in the book of Genesis—each of the patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph—believed God, as evidenced through their obedience to Him. Has the “plan” of salvation changed? Not at all. As it says elsewhere, God passed over the sins previously committed, reckoning righteousness through faith in Him and His promises. Jesus’ blood was atonement for all sins of all those who trust God. What about the poor heathen in Africa who has never heard the name of Jesus? Can he look around and see God’s creation? Does he recognize his helplessness? Can he cry out to the Creator for mercy? Then he can be saved. And when God introduces him to Jesus, he will fall on his face and worship him as the Son of God.
Lord, Thou changest not, I see
That humankind, the same as me
Are rescued from Thy righteous wrath
By choosing that one narrow path:
Submission to Thy will and word
Where’er the words of each are heard.
This path to blessed eternity,
Is only found by trusting Thee.
Our favorite babysitter arrived around supper time. It’s a rare care when a twenty-year-old hires her own babysitter, but with me and Jacinda, it’s become a common occurrence. “I don’t care where we sleep,” she told me over the phone, “as long as it’s warm!” Easier said than done, but with Mom and Papa out of town, their cozy suite lay open before us—provided we kept the fireplace running. I started a fire shortly before she arrived and must admit to a great deal of excitement in the prospect of sleeping warmly.
We spent several hours jamming. Sometimes with Jacinda on piano, sometimes yours truly, sometimes both and sometimes I fooled around on my improvised snare while Josiah pounded out the real beat. To put it bluntly, Jacinda is a much better pianist than I am. And Josiah is a much better drummer.
Among the patriarchs I’ve been studying, I could distinguish definite points of salvation in the lives of Abraham and Jacob. In the lives of Isaac and Joseph, I see only consistency, it seems. Trust from early on. At first I was nearly disappointed, since I’d set my heart to discover the story of each one’s faith in God. But as I meditated on it longer, I found myself encouraged. In my own life I can place my finger on no one point where I decided to trust the Lord, except for a prayer I prayed when I was three. Mostly my life has been a slow building up to the present. I believe God. Isn’t that all that matters? The truth of this statement is clear in the book of Genesis—each of the patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph—believed God, as evidenced through their obedience to Him. Has the “plan” of salvation changed? Not at all. As it says elsewhere, God passed over the sins previously committed, reckoning righteousness through faith in Him and His promises. Jesus’ blood was atonement for all sins of all those who trust God. What about the poor heathen in Africa who has never heard the name of Jesus? Can he look around and see God’s creation? Does he recognize his helplessness? Can he cry out to the Creator for mercy? Then he can be saved. And when God introduces him to Jesus, he will fall on his face and worship him as the Son of God.
Lord, Thou changest not, I see
That humankind, the same as me
Are rescued from Thy righteous wrath
By choosing that one narrow path:
Submission to Thy will and word
Where’er the words of each are heard.
This path to blessed eternity,
Is only found by trusting Thee.