Monday, January 24, 2011

“How idle it is to call certain things God-sends! As if there was anything else in the world” ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers, 1827

“You have to shake it,” Lydia giggled, shaking out her wet toothbrush. We were swapping stories from the day. She told the tale of a Wal-mart adventure, picking out cottage cheese. A simple task, usually. Ahead of her, a little old lady intently read the label of a cottage cheese container, then deliberately put it up to hear ear and shook it. Lydia selected her carton and was just ready to move on when the lady halted her. “You’ve got to shake it,” she declared. “You can’t tell if it’s good unless you shake it. It could be all dried up and hard in there. Shake it until you hear it sloshing around.” Politely, Lydia answered, “Okay.” “Now,” Madam La Shaker urged, “Let me see you shake it.” Obligingly, Lydia shook the cottage cheese and nodded her head. “Good girl,” her instructress beamed and moved away. Later, Lydia spotted her tapping fruit.

I’m afraid hers were far more entertaining than mine.

“The church is God’s graduate school for angels,” suggests William MacDonald. We’ve seen it in Ephesians, as Papa has taught, that God demonstrates his multi-faceted wisdom to the heavenly hosts through these helpless, erring, ignorant little people He calls by His name. Peter echoes a similar sentiment when he proclaims that the gospel which was given through the prophets was something into which even angels long to look. And Hebrews tells us that God assuredly does not give help to angels—but He does give help to the sons of men.

I’ve been pondering the subject of God’s invisible servants lately. It’s awesome to think of the Almighty God dispatching these holy, sinless beings as our servants. Not because we are greater than they. David says we are a little lower than the heavenly beings. But because God is greater than they and He has so decreed it. These faithful ministers who valiantly fight to protect the elect, to defeat the enemy in territory he would feign claim, are being taught God’s wisdom through His mercy toward us.

I wonder what it is the angels see. Without a doubt, I know I must be completely ignorant regarding the battle that rages in the spirit realm, while I float glibly through life, whining when I don’t get my own way, sobbing because God feels distant, wondering where is the answer I asked from the Lord, trying to grasp circumstances and see God’s plan in them and suddenly being amazed when God breaks through and celestial light pours over the scene of broken human life. Behind the scenes of my tiny existence is raging a cosmic battle.

A shining moment in the hallway of my memory stands the moment I discovered a portal into the spiritual world. Daniel, a man the angel Gabriel said was greatly esteemed by God, fasted and prayed for an interpretation to a powerful vision. For twenty-four days. Twenty-four silent days in which it seemed God had overlooked him. Then suddenly one day, Gabriel stood before him, saying, “Do not be afraid, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your heart on understanding this and on humbling yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to your words. But the prince of the kingdom of Persia was withstanding me for twenty-one days; the behold, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, for I had been left there with the kings of Persia. Now I have come…”

And shall I reveal what I understand from this passage? Almost nothing. Except that battles rage in the heavens and our souls are kept and God’s purpose is not thwarted.

So be it.

My words, my meaningless words, they falter,

Here before Thy heavenly altar

How can I praise the Ancient of Days

In a way that will honor Thy Masterful ways?

The angels surrounding Thy eternal throne,

Cover their eyes, crying “Holy, holy.”

Heaven is lit by the light of Thy face,

Yet none can gaze full on Thy infinite beauty.

I let my words fall to the ground at Thy feet

And trust that their silence is ever so sweet

As a fragrance that flows from the love Thou bestows

On a weak-kneed scribe with no skill to compose.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

“God has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.” ~Ecclesiastes 3:11

Sunshine is a common grace, they say, but today it made me ponder how delicious will be the Sonshine, when it is Christ who gives light in the Eternal City.

Slowly, slowly, Lydia and I are winning the war against the leaf infiltration. They have run out of reinforcements and we are obliterating them, one pile at a time. Perhaps by spring, we will have reduced them all to ashes.

Usually Maggie and Freckles play very nicely. In fact, Maggie is more than delighted with her daily outing, accompanying me and Freckles on the trek down the driveway to get the mail. Today, returned home, she discovered a very nasty pelt in our yard, and when Freckles approached inquisitively, attacked her ferociously, pinning her to the ground and going for her throat. I intervened and ordered Maggie home. Reluctantly, she watched from the hedges, her eyes hard with greed, contemplating the best way to snag her desired object as I kicked the disgusting thing into the woods and sent Freckles up to the house. Later, she slunk back and retrieved it, stealing it away home as her trophy. Lydia heaved an indignant sigh when she discovered a bloody little hole punched through Freckles’ ear.

When we all came down the porch steps, decked in coats and boots, Freckles’ tail reached an RPM of at least 100. Ah, but, poor puppy. As soon as I said, “Good-bye, puppy” her tail stopped and her ears drooped.

“You were talking about me, I know you were,” Lydia accused, trying to hide a grin, as she climbed into the back seat of the Camry next to me. Actually, we were. We were talking about how she perfectly pulls the athletic girl style—with the dress up look of a polo of button-up shirt. Her hair was up in a pony-tail with a black sport head band wrapped around her ears, and the look just seemed made for her.

“We were saying how cute you are,” Papa teased, from the front seat.

“That’s Abigail,” Lydia shot back. “I get to be something else.”

“Actually,” I joined the conversation, “I’ve been demoted. You are the new cute. I’ll confess, it’s a sad day for me to let go and move on, but you have certainly surpassed me. So with great strength of character and fortitude, I resign the title. Wear it proudly.”

Lydia scowled. “Nice try.”

We followed Bruce and April and Jocelyn up highway seven, destination: Pedestal Rocks. On a road that curvy, Papa found his driver’s side tires straying into the center line at times—sending a buzz up Lydia’s and my spine that felt like it vibrated our bodies from toe to top, leaving our hair frizzed.

Arrived, we divided our carrying items and struck out down the trail. “We ought to tie a rope to Speed Boat and just get a free ride,” I heard Mom’s voice ring out behind me on the trail. I hadn’t meant to be walking so quickly, but the rugged terrain, the sunshine and fresh air and the sense of adventure felt marvelous. Arrived at the rocks, Speed Boat Senior (aka Papa) forged ahead with Mom in tow, while the rest of us clambered up and down the pedestals posing for pictures, starting snow-ball fights and marveling at the interesting rock formations—pedestals (surprise, surprise), random holes, fissures, cracks and caves. Not to mention a few used-to-be overhangs. Sometime, when Spring arrives and we are less encumbered by extra clothing, it would be fun to tackle a few of the harder rocks for some climbing.

As we hurried down the end of the trail, April squealed. “Rose hips!” Closer inspection revealed the bright, red berries, sprouting from the slender, thorny stems of rose plants. “Try getting a close up from the middle of the bush,” Jocelyn teased, as I worked for just the right angle with the camera. A twinge of daring stubbornness crept up my spine, and I lifted one thorny branch and slipped underneath. I did get better pictures from the middle, but as I turned to retrace my steps, my glow of pride at braving the bush died. Unknown to me, Bruce had been carefully holding the brambles away from me the whole time. How often do I think myself brave, completely unaware of the Father’s careful protection?

After supper, I settled in to finally start reading “Living the Cross Centered Life” by CJ Mahaney. Once upon a time I devoured books like they would melt in the manner of manna. I just don’t seem to find the time for much reading these days. I know that only One Book is necessary, and I often feel like it lies neglected in various corners of my living space far too often. But as I began to read, it seemed like very appropriate timing. I’ve hated that my life has seemed overwhelmed by secondary importances—theological issues, practical issues, relational issues, life issues, grief issues, heart issues, sin issues, disagreement issues, tissue issues. I’ve been praying and reading, but it’s been because I must, not because I can. I must solve these issues. But prayer is a privilege. In the past it was like walking into the King’s throne room and being invited to sit on His lap and lay my head against His chest and listen to His heart. And reading is a love-story. It’s like stealing away to a secret nook to pore over letters from my Betrothed, learning how He thinks and what pleases Him and what a home He is preparing for me. I needed someone to say to me, “Abigail…only one thing is important…it’s the good part that Mary chose…sitting at the Lord’s feet.” Meditating. Focusing. I needed someone to push aside the clambering “needs” and take me by the hand and lead me back to the cross. At first I felt stupid, ready to attack myself with condemnations that would delight my enemy. I should know better. I know what the One Priority is. Or Who, rather. But that isn’t the point, either. Condemnation, Mahaney reminds me, is also eyes not fixed on the cross. My answer is not to condemn myself for folly or blindness, but to give thanks for God’s indescribable gift.

Lydia padded softly into the room and scooted down beside me. “It’s still early,” she whispered. “Will you do something with me?”

Then comes the wrestling. Is it selfish that I want to be by myself with the Lord? That I don’t want to do something with her? Is it because I want to “feel better”? She’s lonely. I don’t know. Only One Thing is important, but other things are still important.

We discussed the virtues of various books and finally read Little House on the Prairie, snuggled up in bed with our heat blankets set on 9.

As I sat against the back wall of my bathroom—my study—just pondering the Lord’s character—His goodness and His mercy and His faithfulness—words from the Preacher in Ecclesiastes came back to mind. “There is a time for every event under heaven…” Berating myself for my lack of joy and passion lately, perhaps I have forgotten that sometimes there is a time for sorrow. A time to mourn. Even to mourn before the Lord. Because some of the things that break my heart must also be sorrowful to Him. He doesn’t delight in inflicting pain. He doesn’t smile on a wayward path. He hates divorce. Divisions are like wounds in His own body. He can’t rejoice in seeing His blood trampled as unholy. As I opened up to read the Preacher’s words, I nodded. “In much wisdom there is much grief and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain.” It seems, as I plead for wisdom and understanding, I discover more that grieves me. Yet which is worse, to pursue folly in blithe ignorance, or to seek to know what is right only to find that the road of obedience is rugged? But again, the eternal perspective refreshed me. “He has made everything appropriate in its time.” Even weeping. Even mourning. Even silence. Even uprooting. The purpose? To put in our hearts a longing for eternity. “He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning to the end.” I don’t have answers because God does not intend me to know in this life what His purposes are. Why He tarries. Why He permits. Why He withholds. Why He is silent. In unfulfilled longing is hope. “I know that everything God does will remain forever, there is nothing to add to it and there is nothing to take from it, for God has so worked that men should fear Him. That which is has been already, and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by.” And here is the Divine Parody—that even in mourning, even with a heavy heart, the gospel is still my hope. Because mourning turns my heart to eternity when all will be made right, when I will finally be perfected, when I will know fully even as I am fully known. And what is my guarantee? Christ’s work on the cross, proved acceptable by His resurrection. This is my promise of purpose. Him. Who fills all in all.

It’s still and quiet in this place,

You meet me here with saving grace.

You met me with this grace before

When I first owned that You were Lord.

And since that day, Your grace has been

The light that I am walking in.

When darkness has obscured my view

Your grace has turned my eyes toward You.

Friday, January 14, 2011

“I do not ask Thee to take them out of the world, but to keep them from the evil one.” ~John 17:15

Overachiever that I am doomed to be, it’s a rare thing when my marker board turns up empty at the end of the week. I’d done at least all I could on every task. Every to-do wiped clean. As I wiped the last one away, I stood in awe. Well, thank you, Lord for your mercy.

We were eating supper when Freckles excitedly informed us that an intruding car had pulled into our parking lot. Soon Olga was inside, delivering eggs and chatting. Again Freckles barked, and we heard Justice’s steps on the porch. It was far too cold to bide his time in the car. We invited them in, passed them pieces of pumpkin cheesecake and settled in for a chat. We talked up and down all kinds of subjects and then Olga began sharing that she’d been reading up on some Russian culture lately. Things she remembered, but remembered differently, having been away. Looking back, she realized she’d never seen any “disabled” folks. Her study revealed that the Russian government had developed a tidy way to hide them away—essentially forgotten by their families, kept only among other disabled folks for their entire lives. “Anyone ‘irregular’,” she said, with disgust at the thought of considering them “deformed” or “undesirable.”

“You’ve been reading a lot in Russian, haven’t you,” Justice asked suddenly, as she finished what she was saying.

“Well, yes,” she answered, smiling.

“I can tell,” he explained, “Because your vocal patterns are different. You’re using lots of indefinite articles like ‘a work’ instead of ‘work.’”

Thus launched a very interesting discussion of Russian grammar. “Which is more difficult?” we asked, as she tried to explain at least half a dozen Russian tenses and the change it made simply in a noun. “Russian!” she declared quickly. “I’d rather speak English any day.”

Tonight I knelt on the cold tile in my bathroom, trying to pray—for so many people about so many situations. Overwhelmed with helplessness, I finally just opened to the simple prayer Jesus taught His disciples and began to personalize it. Then I turned to John 17 and read. All my life, I’ve begged the Lord to break me, pour me out and use me up, but I’m afraid I was overly confident. I’m so exhausted. So emotionally drained. I have been for several months. And I haven’t even come close to touching the life I have prayed to lead. Struggling to feed myself, not feeling like I’m being fed from anywhere else. All year, it has just seemed like one situation after another has sucked away my emotion and passion, and I have been helpless to refuel. I’m completely empty. I have nothing left to give. I’m shot.

And I’m so disgusted with myself. Why can’t I feed myself? Why do I come away from Bible Study still exhausted spiritually? I’m so stale. There’s no passion left for evangelism. I want to turn and walk away from anyone who spouts folly about God, instead of probing for their conscience. Where has my love gone? Where is the bold Spirit that used to come upon me? Where is the strength that once upheld me? The joy that drove me? The compassion that motivated me? Why am I shriveling up? When I’m years removed from true persecution, why am I moaning like a wounded animal? The Lord upholds prisoners in solitary confinement, He can uphold overdramatic me!

But the Lord Jesus’ words as He prayed for those whom God gave Him, sent a small fire back into my soul. I’d knelt, struggling to pray for others. Struggling to pray for others that I’ve been praying for with no visible results. Struggling to know what to pray. Weary. No words to speak. No direction to aim. Wondering if anyone has been praying for me? I’ve not been asking for prayer. Everyone seems to have so much already burdening their hearts and minds. Can’t I muddle through without troubling anyone? Can’t I handle these little loads that come my way? Can’t I even feed myself? There in the Garden, as His life and His heart were ebbing away, as He awaited His betrayer, as He prepared for separation from His holy Father, when He was drained and empty, He prayed for me. He prayed that I would glorify the Father, that I would continue in God’s name, that I would have full joy, that I would be kept from the evil one, that I would be made holy through God’s word, that I would be unified with my brothers and sisters, that I would love as He loves and that, someday, I would be with Him. And if God heard Him on my behalf regarding sin and my just punishment, as proven by His resurrection, then I rejoice knowing God heard Him on my behalf in the garden.

I am weary, hearing nothing, knowing nothing, feeling nothing

Empty words I’ve heard are only the reflection of myself.

But when Christ, my Life, knelt lonely in the Garden, pleading pardon

For my soul, that I’d be whole, and wholly yielded to the King,

He was heard, His words were spoken from a broken man, yet God

Found them pleasing, for this reason He was heard, His every word.

And I’m trusting that His pleading for the life that I am leading

Will be proven as I’m kept from death, His breath my daily bread.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

“Around God is awesome majesty, the Almighty—we cannot find Him; He is exalted in power; and He will not do violence to justice and abundant righteousness. Therefore men fear Him; He does not regard any who are wise of heart.” Job 37:22-24

The sun rose today, bright and clear, and I snuggled under the covers, enjoying my morning off from making breakfast, while Lydia reluctantly slid out of bed. These cold mornings dawn and I long, every one, for Tuesday and the luxury of staying curled up in a cocoon for just so much longer.

I made the acquaintance of Lydia’s snowmen and admired their stately six-inch tall forms. I loaded mountains of laundry into the washing machine and, for once, courtesy of the snow-covered ground and chill air, passed them on to the dryer. Lydia cracked herself up by listening to Michael Card on high speed dubbing and made fun of me. Apparently, she spoke to me and I continued on in my own world, but when Freckles came scampering up to the window and she greeted her with a “Hi Beautiful!” I responded. I caught up with Tabby while exercising the treadmill belt and Jacindarella while stirring together a pot of chili and a tossed salad. I marked off to-dos and avoided to-don’ts.

These are the days when little of value seems to transpire.

We spread out on Mom and Papa’s bedroom floor to finish reading “Exploring Planet Earth”. A little below my age-level, I know, but an interesting read non-the-less. I surprised myself with how much I knew and remembered, especially of more recent history--air and space travel. But then, my Papa did work at the Kansas Cosmosphere in my wee days and I vividly remember much of that. I found the contrast between believing astronauts and unbelieving astronauts to be so distinct. Believers recounted that they couldn’t imagine how a person could not look back at the earth from space and be in awe of the Creator. Unbelievers puffed themselves up. The Russians said something like, "We were up there and never saw God so He obviously doesn't exist." Just how small of a God were they looking for? Because the God they didn’t see is the God who sprinkled the stars like dust from His fingertips and unrolled the heavens like a mantle and holds all things together by the word of His power and dwells in unapproachable light. They were staring at a universe He humbles Himself just to look at and marveling at its vastness. Did they expect Him to fit inside His creation?

Each moment, each pondering, reveals to me again how powerful, how eminent, how huge is the Lord God Almighty. He teaches the Monarch butterfly to migrate from Canada to Mexico where it lies dormant all winter. He equips the ant with wisdom, ability and teamwork. He instructs the grete to swim and the flying fish to soar. He provides nectar for the bee and dung for the beetle.

Yet at the end of each day, I feel forsaken.

No one can shake my trust that an all-knowing Creator has left His fingerprints around me. No one can prove to me that He is empty air. No one can cause me to forget His care of me in the past, His mercy, His grace, His joy poured out on me. Those truths are fixed in time and space with the certainty of gravity and the necessity of air.

But at this moment, I see the natural world around me, awash in His care, guided by His wisdom, basking in His touch, and I weep. Because I am pleading His wisdom. I am begging His guidance. I am seeking His truth. I am craving His presence. I am starved for His filling. I only want to know, Divine Judge, if I am doing right.

I am lonely. I am pining for Yahweh.

For an answer, I hear profound silence.

And in my tears, I am wrong. For I have suggested that I am a more devoted Lover than God. That I have sought Him with more passion than He has sought me. That I have sought to battle for right and have been forsaken by the righteous King. That I have tirelessly sought an audience from an ever-hearing Lord and have been refused admittance to His presence. That while I have emptied my resources and provisions, He has withheld from me the strength to continue. I have supposed that because He is so huge as to overflow all time and space, that He is distant from me. That while He is tending the sparrow, He has forgotten that I cannot fly.

He has not.

If Thou art silent, God on high

When I cry out for reasons why,

When I weep, lonely, hungry here

Thy voice, Thy Word, Thy pow’r to hear,

If Thou art silent, when my heart

Is rent and broken, torn apart,

When understanding flees my breast

And sorrow haunts me in my rest,

If Thou art silent, when I weep

And doubts o’ertake me like the deep

When everywhere Thy smile seems laid

Except the dust of which I’m made,

If Thou art silent, though so strong

When morning seems to tarry long

And joy has fled my heart and mind

And truth seems vagrant, hard to find,

If Thou art silent, as Thou art

And speakest not within my heart

Then teach me, in Thy silent face

To read pursuing, haunting grace.

Monday, January 3, 2011

“Sow with a view to righteousness, reap in accordance with kindness; break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek Yahweh, until He comes to rain righteousness on you.” ~Hosea 10:12

“Come look at this,” the Papa of my dream said. The we of my dream crowded around him as he showed us a facebook profile picture of Dathan…and a blue-eyed blond girl. It was definitely not Freckles. Every morning I wake up remembering very normal-seeming dreams. Very convincing normal-seeming dreams. What is this new phenomenon?

My dream wouldn’t be entirely ridiculous, considering what I see every time I do sign into facebook. As Jacinda put it, “Spring is in the air. Early.” It’s not just the young crop, but now I think all the signature singles are finally tying the knot, leaving room for the next generation of signature singles. That would be me and Jacinda, since our friends are rapidly forsaking us. Tsk, tsk.

In other news, Lydia handed me down a pair of shoes and we traded jeans.

My mind is still on vacation. I struggled to recapture it and get in gear as I sat down with Rosa for our ESL lesson. We’re working through the first book, which really is below her. Mostly. She always knows far more vocabulary than we have, but we’re working on pronunciation and learning grammar as we go. I try to get her warmed up with some easy words and exercises, then let her read a bit and work into some conversation last. I’ll ask her questions to step her through a conversation with me and then I write down what she has told me and let her copy it. It’s a fun way to get to know her while working her toward being able to converse with others. I had no idea that she lived on a little farm of sorts. With a cow and a calf. They are going to eat him, she told me. Poor boy. Her sense of humor is charming. She named her sheep dogs Kirby and Kirbina. Next week, she tells me, she wants to work on prepositions. I think I swallowed more air than I could hold before answering, “Okay.” Prepositions?! How will I ever explain and teach prepositions?

Lydia helped me wrestle the furniture back into the clinic counseling rooms Emily and I painted over the break. Big ideas are undoubtedly my specialty, and I have a million of them in mind for “modernizing” the look of the clinic. If only I existed in three persons.

“I have a baby bump,” my regular client beamed, standing up as I entered the waiting room. “Look at you!” Sure enough, she’d bubbled out while I was gone. I learn all the interesting maternity tricks from my clients. Like using a rubber band to allow for more waist room or sucking mint candies first thing in the morning to help with morning sickness.

Our new year regrouping meeting stretched on as we caught up and refocused on a new year and new goals. Sherry bounced ideas and thoughts off of us, encouraging us to think of ways to restructure the Earn While You Learn curriculum to really get single moms on their feet and refocused and to change lives. We’d like to figure out a better way to disciple girls who say they want to follow the Lord. And we’d like to be getting girls off of welfare and preparing them to have healthy families someday. My mind felt like scrambled spaghetti as I listened. I’m there, one hundred percent, on the “we need to” end. But how? How do you help someone change their life if they aren’t interested in changing? And, obviously, only God can truly change lives.

The year has just begun and already I feel numb. Overwhelmed. “How?” echoes down the hallway of my intellect. I see the goal and I see the present. In between lies a yawning chasm of human weakness.

And. Well. God spanned the infinite chasm between God and man. And that is how. He can do whatever He pleases. He will be great and greatly magnified.

Praise Him.

What seems to man a senseless plan
Is wisdom vast and deep
For man must rest his weary head
In God, who does not sleep.
What seems to man a worthless lamb
Is that the Shepherd seeks
Because the cross is for the lost
God’s strength is for the weak.
What seems to man a senseless plan
Is mercy vast and deep
When that same man can understand
That he is Christ’s lost sheep.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Over the year I collected together the things I feel I am failing...and here they are for me to, by God's grace, grow in this year.

Resolved to try:

To put my whole mind into whatever I am doing, as an act of worship to God. Therefore to be careful that whatever I am doing may be done whole-heartedly as worship to God.

To seek the Lord in quietness and solitude first thing every morning, that being with Him may color my outlook on life.

To refrain from speaking any ill of anyone not present and to confront only that person if there truly is an issue of character or obedience.

To keep a careful account of the Lord’s dealings with me and all that I learn of Him and to share His goodness with all who will listen.

To keep continually in mind God’s grace, truth and beauty in order to keep uglier things from dwelling there.

To learn as much as I can of God’s creation and praise Him for it.

To employ both time and money in seeking souls for the Lord.

To be bold to offer mercy, to speak of God, to speak truth, to love as Christ, but innocent of any evil or selfish ambition.

To be slow to promise, but swift to deliver, slow to speak, but swift to hear, slow to affirm or correct, but swift to love, slow to judge, but swift to forgive.

To consult the Lord and His wisdom constantly and to seek His answer fervently and without giving up.

To praise character, encourage holiness, focus on God’s grace as being the means of true beauty.

To rejoice always, pray unceasingly and always give thanks.

To never regard circumstances except in the light of God’s wisdom and Word.

To never be satisfied with anything less than perfection in myself, yet eager to regard attempt in others.

To never grow weary in doing what is right or compare myself to the world with envy or self-satisfaction.

To offer love and service without regard to “fair treatment,” “personal rights” or return of either.

To keep in mind the cross as my own just end and the picture of God’s wrath from which I am delivered and God’s love which paid the price. And to remember that, in the cross, I am delivered from God’s wrath and God’s justice is satisfied, therefore all that befalls me—even discipline which seems unpleasant for the moement--flows from His mercy, grace and love, lavished on a daughter.

To accept weakness as a tool of God’s strength and to be willing to be wholly dependent on Him.

To do what is right, regardless of results, rumors, rewards, remarks or revilings.

To keep perspective that God, the powerful Creator, Who alone is imperishable and dwells in unapproachable light, has granted me confident access to His throne of grace, that I might receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, and to make full use of this access.

To never suggest, by my words or actions or thoughts, that I might be more righteous than God. For He does what is right and this is what I must trust, when He does what is different than I expect or wish.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

At the moment I feel:
Small, sad, hopeless, helpless, weak, confused, tired, disillusioned, empty, at a complete loss

But that’s okay, because He is:
Infinite in size, the source of joy, the Helper of those who trust in Him, perfect in strength, omniscient, never tiring, keeper of promises, overflowing with grace and entirely sovereign

I know I am not holy or godly or pure or good or kind or patient or loving. How well I know it! I know I am not humble or wise or discrete or perfect. How well I know it! But Jesus, the spotless Lamb is. Conform me to His image.

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.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

No, I’m not excited about the Health Care bill that just passed.

Sarah and I talked a bit about it this afternoon, as I told her about Aunt Helen and Grandma’s visit. Aunt Helen is the completely good-intentioned and compassionate liberal who wants to see people helped and is, I think mistakenly, trusting in government to offer compassion. But government is a machine and can never offer what is truly needed—it’s not reason, it’s force. And when programmed “mercy” it will soon be short-charging everyone, dealing out merciless “healthcare” and reading out the death sentences of those deemed “unworthy” of the limited resources. Aunt Helen said I might be right, or I might be wrong. “We can’t see what will happen,” she said, “and it doesn’t have to happen that way.” She might be right, but history repeats itself and the history that has repeated itself so far shows exactly what I predict—in Nazi Germany, in Communist China, in Soviet Russia. It’s a strange thing to hear a person that I consider very intelligent and much my elder in experience and knowledge sharing their thoughts and be completely convinced that they are completely deluded. I hate it when the thought whispers through my brain, “That is not the truth because you know the truth...” It seems conceited and disrespectful for me to be so certain of the right when it so opposes those older than I. More and more often these days, I hear what is said, and I judge it and condemn it—in sorrow. It’s one of the most painful things for me to feel certain that someone I love or someone I respect is mistaken. Especially if the issue of mistake is an issue of obedience to God.

My Aunt is what everyone would consider a “good person.” This visit, I tried to think of her as a good, kind person, but when I listened to her speak, it wasn’t “good” things I heard come out. It was the weirdest sensation. She was not talking about evil things or wicked things, but all her words sounded hollow to me. Empty. Lost. Like they were falling from her lips into a black abyss of eternal worthlessness. She stooped a little, seeming weary, yet her eyes and words and heart stirred restless, looking for something new to conquer and to seek for fulfillment. I looked into her bright blue eyes and saw dissatisfaction. No peace.

It bothered her that Nick said that the American people are worshiping their government as a God—looking to the government for “salvation” instead of trusting God. “If that kind of religion demands that people be poor and unhealthy and groveling to worship God, then it’s not right!” she insisted. Ah, God doesn’t demand that we be poor and unhealthy and groveling to worship Him, but He does demand that we worship Him. And often, it is not until we are poor, unhealthy and groveling that we see just how small and helpless we are and fall on our faces and worship Him. For this reason, He is willing to allow us to be poor, unhealthy and groveling.

As I listened, at a loss how to explain to someone who does not love the Lord, how the Lord loves, my heart felt heavy. Someday, my Aunt will worship God, because that is what He has decreed. And all His creation attests to His worthiness of worship. I would to God that she should come to the place of worship before the day when every knee bows and, cruel though it sounds to the ears of flesh, I would even gladly see her poor, unhealthy and groveling if it brought her to that place before the day of judgment.

Do I not love her because I could wish this? I love her, with a small part of the mercy which Christ extends—patiently giving her yet another day, another year, to humble herself and submit to Him. She will one day submit, and oh how much better to do it now, whatever the means which bring that submission may be!

Several times before I have shared the gospel with her, hoping praying that she would turn to the Lord. She is kind and accepts my attempts as love, though I know she disagrees. As I’ve been studying Romans lately, so much of it pressed back on me—the description of how we are all shut up before God because our conscience teaches us from creation to worship Him—yet we seek other fulfillments and other gods. I’m sure my Aunt would say regarding eternity “We can’t really know.” She might feel like I am wasting life opportunities, though I know she is pleased to see people content and enjoying what they do. Yet my heart sinks knowing that she’s wrong, and not only that, but that I believe she does know, yet is resisting the Lord’s grace. I longed to tell her again of His mercy and compassion, waiting for her to turn to Him, yet she seemed more spiritually closed than I have ever before noticed.

Suddenly to me, the things she said that seemed like they were “close to the truth” or even open or tolerant of the truth, became stark lies. “We can’t really know,” is not openness to the possibility of God’s view of eternity. It is rejection of what He has proclaimed as truth—that He will one day judge the earth in righteousness. We could argue that it’s a difference of opinion and each is entitled to her own opinion. God has given us the ability to form opinions. Yet God is absolute and one of us is wrong. And it will separate us for eternity.

So I weep.