Wednesday, July 21, 2011

Sleep hung over me heavily like a wet blanket as I felt it first in my spirit and then in my senses. At first I thought dark smoke rolled and hissed around the room just out of reach of my bed and then I stiffened as the spiritual presence thickened. The single word “demons” bolted through my mind. Here? In my room? What did they want? Did they think they could claim me for my sins? Did they think the holes in my heart bid them entrance? Who had sent them and how had they gained admittance to my room?

A finger of fear stroked the back of my neck, but it was chased away almost immediately by a powerful Name. Say it, the depths of my heart urged. Say the Name.

Aloud, I said, “Jesus keeps me sleeping or awake.” His righteous wrath and vindication sprang to my mind. “He will bind you and cast you into eternal torment. You know that.”

Beside me, Lydia slept soundly.

The darkness in my room thinned as my muscles unknotted. I rolled over and whispered into my pillow, “Thank you, Jesus.” Then I went back to sleep and slept like a baby.

I have no idea whether it was dream or reality, but the truth stands like a powerful sentinel. Jesus keeps me sleeping or awake.

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.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Last night as I struggled against the insistent tears of hurt, I sat up in bed and told myself, “Abigail, don’t be silly. Suffering for doing what’s right might sound heroic and deserving of drama, but you’re losing sight of true suffering for what is right. Jesus suffered unlike you can ever imagine suffering and He learned obedience through the things which He suffered and has left us an example that we should follow in His footsteps. Which means it’s just what we should expect—all of us. And it works to teach us obedience. You are learning to be obedient to the Father and that’s just exactly a part of your Christian walk that you need work in.” Slowly, methodically I refuted my whining “Why did I get hurt? I didn’t deserve this” attitude. I reminded myself of my rebellion against God, my sin against His holiness and my utter helplessness to stand justified before God. Suddenly what I deserved came into focus like the slow turn of a camera lens: I deserve hell, utterly separated from God, hopeless, dark and agonized. It is only by His mercy that I am not a miserable, damned sinner. Perspective dampens the martyr’s tears and wells up within me the overwhelming joy. I am saved. From a horrible eternal existence without God. From exactly what I deserved. Jesus took the wrath that I deserved. Here I sit, moaning about something I didn’t deserve when He has left me that example. In that moment I knew that I was not suffering. My pain was healed. If the Lord of glory would rescue me from eternal punishment at the expense of Himself, He will do for me what is best. Why do I so lack trust and wallow in misery over things that should bring me joy? So, by His grace I did what was right. Do I suffer for it? Sheesh. Can it really be suffering if it is what God has allowed to teach me obedience? Obedience is only tested through the hard and painful things. Can it really be suffering if given from the loving hand of my Abba Father? Can it really be suffering when measured alongside the suffering of Christ?

Peter held it too much an honor to be crucified like his Lord and asked to be crucified upside down instead. Did he suffer for Christ? He said that suffering in the flesh helps us to forget our flesh and live instead for the will of God. That doesn’t sound to me like a tragedy, but a triumph.

I will learn to embrace the cross, the thorns, the nails if only they demonstrate that I am following the footsteps of Christ and will someday be like Him.

“For even if you should suffer for the sake of righteousness, you are blessed.” 1 Peter 3:14

Teach me, Lord, to measure pain
Alongside of my greater gain
The things that make me seek to hide
Drive me to Thy wounded side.

And there I place my hand and see
That Thou wast wounded more for me
And through Thy pain Thou learned to kneel.
So I will learn and Thou wilt heal.

Friday, June 12, 2009

I forget just how spoiled I am. Until we have thunderous storms like today and find ourselves devoid of electricity. And then we have nothing to do. By the end of the day when Travis offered a generator even the luxury of lamplight seemed a privilege of rare proportions.

It's good to be reminded of all the "extra" things I enjoy without a second thought.

It's good to be reminded where I was without Christ, as I read Romans again today. I read Romans a lot and, in spite of having memorized it a couple of years ago (thanks to Tabitha's encouragement), I always discover how little I actually know. For the last couple of weeks I've been answering in my own mind the questions that others put to me and I hope to have written thoughts to share soon--for feedback. You know, it's not really fair to read my thoughts and not share your own. (Ahem, Jacinda...Hannah...Sarah...and others.) ;)

I need a shower. The generator, unfortunately, didn't suffice to get our well-pump running.

If you read this, tell me something amazing about the Lord.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Miss Lydia and I signed in to the Sequoyah grade school at about one forty-five and navigated the hallway to find the second grade room of Mrs. Underwood. Our mission? Visiting Emily’s classroom and telling stories! We started off with the version of Little Red Riding Hood I’d pulled out for the homeschool talent show so many years ago—the year I called up the parents and made them perform for the rest of us. Which they did admirably. This time the kids were so delighted they asked to keep their masks. Then we followed it up with the Three Billy Goats Gruff, Puss in Boots and Little Red Riding Hood. Lydia played a delightful Little Red Riding Hood, carrying her basket of goodies around the room to distribute marigold seeds. So there went last night’s hasty preparation. The kids begged us not to leave. Perhaps I’m ridiculous, but the whole time I was reading Puss in Boots, my mind kept nagging me miserably—Puss was a blatant liar. No matter what kind of a hero we’ve made of him and how funny his antics are, he’s a liar—something God’s word speaks very strongly against. How inconsistent I am to decry lying in life only to glorify it before a classroom of second graders because it is performed in a fairy tale by a clever kitty sporting boots. I’m at a loss what to do…apologize to Emily for endorsing such a story? My mind wants to argue that it is so trivial, but my conscience insists that if lying lips are an abomination to God and the liar has his place in the lake of fire, how could even a joking lie be trivial to the Lord?

Which turns my stomach with guilt and dread because, even though others often say I “speak truth”, I know the truth and it is far from their opinion of me. I know how deceitful I am, how willing to skew truth in my favor, how at ease in telling partial truths, how comfortable withholding information or pretending ignorance. Tonight on the phone I was nearly brought to tears as Lauryn prayed for me and coupled my name with truth. I only wish it were true, but my heart is wicked and deceitful above all things, who can know it? Sometimes I'm not even sure in my own mind what is true--how can I tell it?

Always I am brought back to the Way, the Truth, the Life and humbled in His presence--no deceit was found in Him.

Father, lead me in the truth. Thy word is truth.