This is one of those blog posts that keeps on happening lately- or maybe is the only sort that ever happens. That is, it is a post created not so much for the reader's sake, but for my own. Things keep occurring that need to be analysed, and labeled, and sorted out- or perhaps just EXPRESSED- and somehow, many of them find their way here. And, that being said...
I am writing this, partly for those of you who knew that I was planning on leaving the country this summer, and will be shocked to learn that this has changed- and partly for myself, because I knew that I was leaving the country this summer- and every other summer for the next fifty years or so. Not to mention Spring and Fall and Winter! And now, my shock at the changing nature of things is equal to, if not exceeding your own!
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
When I was at CYIA last summer, I met a Taiwanese woman. We talked a bit, and she was excited to discover that my greatest dream was to go to China- her homeland- as a missionary. We continued to see each other from time to time, and after a while she broached the possibility of taking me with her to China on one of her trips back, to help her teach English. It sounded like a fantastic plan- to spend a month in the place my heart most yearned towards, with someone fluent in the language and culture, doing the thing that I would quite possibly be doing for the rest of my life! What could be better? So, I gave an enthusiastic yes, though I expected it to be two years or so before our trip actually took place.
In December, my Chinese friend approached me and asked if I would be open to going with her to China THIS summer, for the month of July or longer.
I could probably say quite honestly that this December was one of the worst months of my life. Things got more confusing afterward, but the very newness of all the hurt, and dawning uncertainty made it nearly unbearable then.
Perhaps some pieces of a journal entry I wrote later that month sum it up best:
Dec 21, and Dec 23:
'Something has changed... and I can't go back. It's not that God's calling seems to have changed, but rather, broadened. I feel that I'm standing in the middle of a wide open space- one point from which a thousand narrow paths are radiating, and He has said that I may follow Him in any of these directions... I'm afraid of this seeming crossroad, whose inexorable answer is 'patience'. And afraid as well of myself- I dare not choose- or even take a step in either direction! I haven't the courage, or, much less, the wisdom for such staggering responsibility! I'm afraid of my own eagerness to snatch at the life I want, and afraid of learning what HE wants! But what DOES He want? If only He would thunder it from the heavens and leave no doubt!...Instead I sit here, straining to catch the phrases in His silence. Is it possible- IS IT- that I really am free to follow either path? And if so, WHICH????... What terrible in-betweenness this is! A sort of... purgatory...'
So, when my friend approached me about China this summer, I only felt more confused. My first, internal, reaction was 'Oh please- not now! Not now, of all times!' But then I was ashamed of the weakness- and of myself- and sick of the confusion. I remember sitting there thinking, while she watched me, patiently, for an answer, that here was a way out- a swift thrust of the knife- biting the bullet- no more wondering, and pacing, and pondering. Here- now- I could cross my Rubicon, and there would be no going back. Only the simplicity of a certain wound. One aches for closure after a while. I lectured: 'Sharon- here's the opportunity of a lifetime- the thing you want to do more than anything in the world! Don't be foolish! What does it matter that your current state of being is 'emotional puddle'? Things will get better- just decide, and get it over with!' So, when I turned to my fried, and said, in a strained voice, that I would love to go to China with her this summer, it was about much more than this summer only. It was a symbol. A gate I had finally found the strength to shut, and lock behind myself- or so I thought. In actuality, it was only the beginning of a very wild, and bewildering ride.
Things DID get better- for a little while. Many of the external issues which had dogged my steps in December were peacefully resolved. The tumult died down a bit. I found that I was able to feel a certain sense of excitement about the adventure of spending a summer in China. But some part of me- that part which had thrilled, and sang, and swelled to aching wonder- which I most longed to invest in prayer and anticipation for the trip seemed utterly limp and dead. Some vast portion of my heart was lifeless, detached- more joyless than I'd been in years. It didn't make sense! But I couldn't lecture myself into joy- or argue, or persuade, or harangue. Joy seemed so distant as to be entirely out of hearing. So, I bit my lip and reminded myself that emotions were irrelevant and misleading. (Which is true.) I turned back to the letter I'd written in my journal the previous January when I first began to feel drawn towards Asia, and repeated the words over and over again 'feelings have nothing to do with commitment', 'feelings have nothing to do with commitment'. The letter said, in part:
"...You and I are such transitory things against God's kingdom- in no way to be weighed beside eternity for billions enslaved by darkness. It seems to me that Jim and Elisabeth Elliot achieved something far greater with their 'brief tragedy of flesh' than any Hollywood happily ever after could have. And really, the Church and her Bridegroom are to know a happily ever after so joyful and eternal that the tears of this earth signify no more than the villain's doomed efforts to 'get the girl'!"
I wanted so desperately to be again the girl who'd written those words with such stern assurance of direction. And yet- and yet-
I couldn't shake the relentless feeling that something was wrong. And I didn't know WHAT was wrong! Logically, it should have been right, and more than right! Friends experienced in ministry had been advising me during the past year to start spending as much time overseas as possible. This was the PERFECT opportunity. I was pretty sure that the finances would fall into place, and had some money of my own saved to make support raising more feasible. It was a clear, logical, intelligent, wise, and beautifully simple plan, at least in its abstract construction. And my friend was sure to flesh out the details at the right time. So, I kept ploughing ahead with it, painting on the smile and confidence I knew I OUGHT to be feeling.
But then, one night, I was lying in bed remembering and praying for my 5 day club kids (something I don't do often enough, by the way.) And that slideshow of 'moments' began playing through my head. I could see little Elizabeth peering up at me through long lashes as she finished asking Jesus to forgive her sins- Rebecca jumping wildly as she recited a memory verse, 4 year old Christian enfolding my hands in his chubby ones and whispering 'DON'T go away- I'll miss you too much!', Evan and his small friend rolling their eyes at me when I got 'too silly', Gracie shouting 'Australia!' when we asked her what sin was, the hurt in eight year old Rachel's face when she said she hated herself, and asked why God had let her be fat, Patrick clambering in the branches of a tree, Jamal stumbling across the parking lot with slumped shoulders, his Bible clutched against his chest (one of the darkest memories), the kids at Margaret Ree's giggling at my inability to spell their names for the attendance sheet, the thrill of triumph when Eric, who has Down's syndrom began trying to do the song motions, and answered a question about the lesson correctly, 16 year old Jose asking shyly if you could come to club no matter how old you were, and, for some reason most unforgettable, the sight of little Juliano, one of my 'problem children' peeking at me from around the corner of the apartment building when we were packing up our materials. "Juliano" I called, "Aren't you going to say goodbye?" He glared, and shook his head, and I turned away- but the next moment he had catapulted himself into my arms. I spun him around in a circle, and then, laughingly, said 'I'll miss you'. But I looked down and he was crying, his tiny face scrunched into excruciating seriousness. "Why do you have to leave?" he muttered. "I hate you for leaving!" Then he tore himself loose, and one of the most ornery, unpredictable, precious seven year olds in the world ran behind the building, and out of sight...
At that point in the 'remembering', I sat bolt upright in bed, and nearly blurted out loud: 'I want to teach five day clubs this summer!'
Lying down again, with a sigh, I reminded myself 'Ah, but you're going to China this summer instead.'
I then admitted something which I had been fighting for weeks not to accept. 'I DON'T WANT TO GO TO CHINA! I want to teach clubs!'
Once it was out in the open, I was shocked. That couldn't be true! It wasn't in 'the plan'! What was wrong with me? Why did I not want the thing I wanted more than anything else? All I could say was, helplessly, 'It's just not RIGHT somehow! I need to teach clubs!'
I held out for nearly two weeks (stubborness is a virtue, right? :-D ), then tentatively broached the subject to my parents. To my relief, they were enthusiastic. My mother admitted that they had not been happy at the thought of my leaving the country this summer, but hadn't wanted to disappoint me.
So, after hovering, and arguing, and agonizing for yet another week, I emailed my friend telling her that God wanted me to be somewhere else this summer, and this wasn't the right time for me to go to China, with her, or with anyone else.
She was very supportive, and for a few days I felt relieved of a huge weight.
But now, questions have begun to set back in again. I can't seem to let well enough alone! Did I make the right decision? I was so sure, at the time. Was I guided by feeling, rather than Biblical wisdom? Could I have been wrong? How could I NOT go to China? My old friend, 'Confusion', is back, and leaving chaos in his wake.
You see, although I know I shouldn't look so far ahead, I can't help but feel that whatever is going on is about more than just this summer. I suppose I had made this summer's visit to China such a symbol of so much else I was willing to leave behind, that I can't untangle it enough for my decision to NOT GO to not seem equally symbolic and significant. But, as this just goes to show, so much can change in a year! I guess that right now, all I can do is continue to stay in the Word, focus on Christ, seek Him faithfully, do my best during what's left of the semester, and when I teach this summer with CEF, strive to teach to the heights of my ability and far, far beyond.
A quote from John Piper, which I shamelessly stole from a friend tonight after being painfully convicted by it admonishes:
“When we are trusting Christ most authentically, we are not thinking about trusting, but about Christ. When we step out of the moment to examine it, we cease what we were doing, and therefore cannot see it. My counsel for strugglers therefore is relentlessly: Look to Jesus. Look to Jesus in his word. And pray for eyes to see.” - John Piper.
So, even though I find myself increasingly struggling with two, seemingly conflicting sets of desires, and two, apparently mutually exclusive futures which both demand attention, it surely is safe to say as David did:
'All my longings lie open before you, O Lord... My times are in your hands...in your light, we see light... since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me... I [say] to the Lord, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have NO GOOD THING!' (Psalms 38:9,31:15, 36:9, 31:3, 16:2)
And as for next summer, and the next summer, and the summer after that- GOD KNOWS WHERE! Be it Iowa, or Czechoslovakia, Texas or Sierra Leone...
Oh- by the way, for those of you who are glancing back at the title and wondering what bluebells have to do with all of this, here is one of many marvelous poems by Amy Carmichael, which has been convicting and encouraging me lately:
'As the misty bluebell wood,
Very still and shadowy,
Does not seek for, or compel
Several word from several bell,
But lifts up her quiet blue-
So all my desire is before Thee.
For the prayers of human hearts
In the shadow of the Tree,
Various as the various flowers,
Rest at last in silent love-
Lord, all my desire is before Thee.'
Christ, teach me to 'rest at last in silent love'. 'All my desires are before Thee'. What do I have to lose?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
'But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink, cried out..." (Matthew 14)
I'm sitting down tonight, to preach myself a sermon. I know that I certainly need it- but I don't know, yet, what I ought to say. So we will see where this goes. I guess, to begin with, I should figure out what the problem is, that requires such urgent sermonizing...
It's hard to explain.
I know, I know- I always say that- but that's because so often it is! And even if I understood it entirely myself (what's wrong, that is), and could put it into words, there are things buried in one's heart that are too fragile, too raw, and too painful to post on a blog.
I could list symptoms, to start: Restlessness- wandering from one thing to the next, pacing furrows in the carpet of my room, hungry for change, constant change- and, simultaneously, for SOMETHING unchanging!
Fear- panicky moments of almost convulsive fear which I don't understand. Little things- and big things- happen, and I feel... anchorless... I don't know where to go. Or, perhaps more accurately, cannot go where I want...
Loneliness- surrounded by crowds of people, and yet drifting in a steel-bound shell of isolation. They aren't the people I'm longing to see. Maybe it's homesickness. I get hungry for people who really care- not giving ten minutes, or an hour out of their 'real' lives, but people who are a part of mine, whose reality is bound up with mine. There's something stifled, and terrible in love which is not only untended and unserved, but which is deprived of any outlet for tending and serving its object. A deep sense of claustrophobia, and suffocation.
Inadequacy. Weakness.
One half of something wobbling about the world lopsidedly.
Letters buried, instead of sent.
Most of all confusion. Confusion about the past- about exactly what's happened, and what it means to the present and future. And confusion, dizzy, sickening confusion about the present and future themselves, and the future especially.
Lastly, tears that keep coming, unasked for, and inexplicable, at odd times. I cry for seemingly no reason- and I mean really CRY- not just choke up, which normally doesn't happen. And it's even worse when the tears won't come, only hang on the spirit like a cage, or the dull, heaviness of lead.
So, there is the illness, and now, as the physician, I must diagnose, and prescribe for the patient.
It would be too easy- too trite- to pass it off as simply a bad case of spring fever, or the blues, or growing pains. It would be unfair to glance over such genuine, though ludicrous distress, and laugh, and say 'Oh, she must be in love.', 'It's just because she's so young.', 'She'll recover on her own.'.
I happen to be well aquainted with this particular patient, you see- and am convinced that the problem is more serious, even, than she is willing to admit to herself on most days. I could not say for sure without running some more sophisticated tests, examining the patient's thoughts and behavior in more detail, and perhaps bringing to light some emotions that she is still clinging to, quietly, secretly, in her heart-of-hearts. But, based on my current knowledge of her condition, I feel confident in saying that we have before us today a young woman with a serious case of...
Idolatry
Selfishness
Lack of faith
You may be thinking that sounds harsh. Even I am tempted to look at the craven, miserable girl and say 'She's a college student, away from home for the first time, struggling in a hostile environment, separated from the people most important to her. Give her a break, ok?'
Fortunately, I know the girl well enough to be sure that she doesn't NEED sympathy, or praise, or pats on the head. She needs a stiff lecture. And, since no one else has volunteered to give it (and since she would probably be crushed at receiving it from anyone else, I suppose the job must fall to me.
But, first, I will explain my diagnosis.
When I say 'idolatry', you must understand that I don't mean that she has a jade Buddha on her dresser, or asherah poles set up in the back yard. I mean that she's allowing God to become the secondary focus of her mind, and emotions, and energy. Every once in a while, there will be a blinding flash of clarity, and she will be back on the right footing for a few days. But then, the heartache, and the isolation, and the nagging worries begin again, winding the same slow, weary circle around and around in her head. An outsider, if she trusted him enough to tell, and he gave her time (which has never happened, yet) might blame the disease on the heartache, or the worry, or the general 'up-in-the-air'ness of her life and plans- but the outsider would be wrong. Those things, all, are neutral- the disease feeds on them, but they could not touch a healthy soul- might even strengthen it! The problem is that, instead of being willing to say 'My life is no longer taking the direction I expected. And I don't know what that means, or if it's right or wrong, or what direction I AM taking. And there are things in my life that I wish were not there. And, more importantly, it seems, there are things in my life which I wish WERE there, that are not- and yet, Christ IS my life, and my sustenance, and I remain unshaken in His grace and in His Word!', she too frequently pouts like a disciplined child. If she could only say that- and not only say it on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for instance, or only in the evenings, or only on weekends- but say it consistently, and with conviction at all moments, both the blackest, and brightest, she would not be ill, and I would not have to be examining her case and writing her prescriptions.
But she IS 'ill', and she IS refusing to place Christ in His rightful place in her heart at all times- which brings us to the second important element in her ailment. And that is, selfishness.
When I first began to study this particular patient, even though I know and understand her more nearly than I do anyone else on earth, I was confused. Idolatry, obviously was present- God was not first for her, nor was He all (especially not all), and yet, what had taken His place? It was a mystery. At first I thought:
'Aha- she has made an idol of her ministry. She is concerned with locations and methods and results. This is why she is driving herself half mad out of concern for the future- because ministry has become a 'hobby' and a consuming passion, and is more about her than it is about God.
But, the puzzle piece didn't fit.
So, I dug deeper, and I said to myself: 'Oh, I see! She has made a sort of 'religion' centering around the people she loves- more particularly, is idolizing one or two specific relationships- has reached the point, even, where she is sometimes more concerned with those people than with God!'
But, once again, it wasn't the right answer. It left too much unexplained.
Then, I realized- it wasn't about ministry, or future plans, or relationships. It was about her. And THAT was the problem! There is nothing so destructive as self-love. Of course, she was by no means ENTIRELY governed by it yet- but it was gaining a foothold. The patient had allowed it to sneak into a great many of her thoughts, and even actions! Ministry, relationships, whatever. They were important as things that made HER happy, that satisfied HER self-perceived needs- the need to be 'useful', the need to be 'loved' (not with God's love, but with something more seemingly 'safe', more 'solid'- that is, more HUMAN! A love not quite so VERY perfect- that has tangible arms to wrap you in when you're desperate for something to hold onto.)
Much of her distress stemmed from the fact that both her ministry, and relationships were tiring, and disappointing, and unsatisfactory- not surprising, considering how much support she had begun to demand from them!
Those desires are by no means unnatural- but, if she CONTINUES to give them a free rein in her life, disastrous results will ensue.
The patient knows all of this as well as I. Despises it in herself- and yet- and yet- There's still a part of her that struggles to trust that, if she lets go of her 'rights' and 'wants' and 'needs', that God will be as sufficient as, deep down she knows He is, and that things will bring themselves to some sort of resolution.
Which leads to the last, and most important segment of my diagnosis: Lack of faith.
That's really what it comes down to, in the end! Faced with some very real, and serious issues to resolve- some genuine griefs and joys, and hurts and blessings- and finding herself unsure what to do with them, and vaccillating from day to day- at one moment, feeling as wide open, free, and defenseless as a cloudless sky- the next, experiencing that sort of narrowed down confusion that Jim Elliot described when he wrote in a letter to Betty: "The question is whether or not I should marry; marriage and you are synonymous." Faced with, and attempting to sort through all of this, she ceased to feel that God was truly 'the giver of all good things'- began to be bewildered as to what He INTENDED to give her- was even more desperately bewildered when the things she thought she had resigned completely and given up to Him suddenly swung back within reach.
And, sometimes, the confusion and bewilderment drive her to her knees before Him- remind her to live for Him wholeheartedly one day at a time, because the rest is so uncertain- teach her to say, as in Psalm 16:2 'You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing.'
But, at others, she begins to look elsewhere for security- to focus on the instabilities in her life, to worry, and brood, and reach out for anything, ANYTHING solid! And it isn't only futile, it's deadly!
Which is why, as both 'doctor' and 'patient' I have spent my evening here typing away, attempting to clarify my cloudiness and vast uncertainty in words.
That's only the diagnosis, though, and I promised a solution. Fortunately, it's simple. (sounding)
1. Be renewed, and immersed in God's Word. When I'm tempted to worry, I should GO THERE- not allow the stress, or just attempt to distract myself! Leonard Ravenhill said that 'Entertainment is the devil's substitute for Joy!' -and it's true!
2. Be faithful in prayer. If any thing, or person, begins to absorb my time or overwhelm my day, I should immediately lay it at God's feet in prayer, rather than wandering off on my own, empty, tangent. This is the single biggest weapon against selfishness- against both work, and relationships that are likely to become walls between God and I, rather than tools in His hand.
3. Cry out for patience. Focus on Him, and take things one step at a time. This is only possible if the first two things are in place.
So, there's the checklist, and, expert physician that I am not, I freely instruct the whiny patient that I am to take all three of these medicines in liberal measure. They are only bitter to a soul that has allowed itself to work 'out of joint'- and are amazingly sweet once the cure is effected!
And, maybe they will be the 'oil on troubled waters' needed to smooth out these mercurial, tempestuous, incomprehensible moods and yearnings of mine.
For all of you who have been praying,and have given me advice, and who take the time to read this overly wordy late night rambling, thank you SO MUCH! I don't know how to tell you how much it means, any more than I know how to tell you exactly what's going on! :-) But you are loved.
And, hopefully, we will all learn to say- you, to your problems, and I to mine: "'..."I am troubled; O Lord, come to my aid!" But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul. Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds health in them too. You restored me to health and let me live. Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back...' (Isaiah 38:14-17)
Matthew 14:27-31 'But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."
"Come," he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came towards Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"
Immediately, Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "Why did you doubt?"
It's hard to explain.
I know, I know- I always say that- but that's because so often it is! And even if I understood it entirely myself (what's wrong, that is), and could put it into words, there are things buried in one's heart that are too fragile, too raw, and too painful to post on a blog.
I could list symptoms, to start: Restlessness- wandering from one thing to the next, pacing furrows in the carpet of my room, hungry for change, constant change- and, simultaneously, for SOMETHING unchanging!
Fear- panicky moments of almost convulsive fear which I don't understand. Little things- and big things- happen, and I feel... anchorless... I don't know where to go. Or, perhaps more accurately, cannot go where I want...
Loneliness- surrounded by crowds of people, and yet drifting in a steel-bound shell of isolation. They aren't the people I'm longing to see. Maybe it's homesickness. I get hungry for people who really care- not giving ten minutes, or an hour out of their 'real' lives, but people who are a part of mine, whose reality is bound up with mine. There's something stifled, and terrible in love which is not only untended and unserved, but which is deprived of any outlet for tending and serving its object. A deep sense of claustrophobia, and suffocation.
Inadequacy. Weakness.
One half of something wobbling about the world lopsidedly.
Letters buried, instead of sent.
Most of all confusion. Confusion about the past- about exactly what's happened, and what it means to the present and future. And confusion, dizzy, sickening confusion about the present and future themselves, and the future especially.
Lastly, tears that keep coming, unasked for, and inexplicable, at odd times. I cry for seemingly no reason- and I mean really CRY- not just choke up, which normally doesn't happen. And it's even worse when the tears won't come, only hang on the spirit like a cage, or the dull, heaviness of lead.
So, there is the illness, and now, as the physician, I must diagnose, and prescribe for the patient.
It would be too easy- too trite- to pass it off as simply a bad case of spring fever, or the blues, or growing pains. It would be unfair to glance over such genuine, though ludicrous distress, and laugh, and say 'Oh, she must be in love.', 'It's just because she's so young.', 'She'll recover on her own.'.
I happen to be well aquainted with this particular patient, you see- and am convinced that the problem is more serious, even, than she is willing to admit to herself on most days. I could not say for sure without running some more sophisticated tests, examining the patient's thoughts and behavior in more detail, and perhaps bringing to light some emotions that she is still clinging to, quietly, secretly, in her heart-of-hearts. But, based on my current knowledge of her condition, I feel confident in saying that we have before us today a young woman with a serious case of...
Idolatry
Selfishness
Lack of faith
You may be thinking that sounds harsh. Even I am tempted to look at the craven, miserable girl and say 'She's a college student, away from home for the first time, struggling in a hostile environment, separated from the people most important to her. Give her a break, ok?'
Fortunately, I know the girl well enough to be sure that she doesn't NEED sympathy, or praise, or pats on the head. She needs a stiff lecture. And, since no one else has volunteered to give it (and since she would probably be crushed at receiving it from anyone else, I suppose the job must fall to me.
But, first, I will explain my diagnosis.
When I say 'idolatry', you must understand that I don't mean that she has a jade Buddha on her dresser, or asherah poles set up in the back yard. I mean that she's allowing God to become the secondary focus of her mind, and emotions, and energy. Every once in a while, there will be a blinding flash of clarity, and she will be back on the right footing for a few days. But then, the heartache, and the isolation, and the nagging worries begin again, winding the same slow, weary circle around and around in her head. An outsider, if she trusted him enough to tell, and he gave her time (which has never happened, yet) might blame the disease on the heartache, or the worry, or the general 'up-in-the-air'ness of her life and plans- but the outsider would be wrong. Those things, all, are neutral- the disease feeds on them, but they could not touch a healthy soul- might even strengthen it! The problem is that, instead of being willing to say 'My life is no longer taking the direction I expected. And I don't know what that means, or if it's right or wrong, or what direction I AM taking. And there are things in my life that I wish were not there. And, more importantly, it seems, there are things in my life which I wish WERE there, that are not- and yet, Christ IS my life, and my sustenance, and I remain unshaken in His grace and in His Word!', she too frequently pouts like a disciplined child. If she could only say that- and not only say it on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for instance, or only in the evenings, or only on weekends- but say it consistently, and with conviction at all moments, both the blackest, and brightest, she would not be ill, and I would not have to be examining her case and writing her prescriptions.
But she IS 'ill', and she IS refusing to place Christ in His rightful place in her heart at all times- which brings us to the second important element in her ailment. And that is, selfishness.
When I first began to study this particular patient, even though I know and understand her more nearly than I do anyone else on earth, I was confused. Idolatry, obviously was present- God was not first for her, nor was He all (especially not all), and yet, what had taken His place? It was a mystery. At first I thought:
'Aha- she has made an idol of her ministry. She is concerned with locations and methods and results. This is why she is driving herself half mad out of concern for the future- because ministry has become a 'hobby' and a consuming passion, and is more about her than it is about God.
But, the puzzle piece didn't fit.
So, I dug deeper, and I said to myself: 'Oh, I see! She has made a sort of 'religion' centering around the people she loves- more particularly, is idolizing one or two specific relationships- has reached the point, even, where she is sometimes more concerned with those people than with God!'
But, once again, it wasn't the right answer. It left too much unexplained.
Then, I realized- it wasn't about ministry, or future plans, or relationships. It was about her. And THAT was the problem! There is nothing so destructive as self-love. Of course, she was by no means ENTIRELY governed by it yet- but it was gaining a foothold. The patient had allowed it to sneak into a great many of her thoughts, and even actions! Ministry, relationships, whatever. They were important as things that made HER happy, that satisfied HER self-perceived needs- the need to be 'useful', the need to be 'loved' (not with God's love, but with something more seemingly 'safe', more 'solid'- that is, more HUMAN! A love not quite so VERY perfect- that has tangible arms to wrap you in when you're desperate for something to hold onto.)
Much of her distress stemmed from the fact that both her ministry, and relationships were tiring, and disappointing, and unsatisfactory- not surprising, considering how much support she had begun to demand from them!
Those desires are by no means unnatural- but, if she CONTINUES to give them a free rein in her life, disastrous results will ensue.
The patient knows all of this as well as I. Despises it in herself- and yet- and yet- There's still a part of her that struggles to trust that, if she lets go of her 'rights' and 'wants' and 'needs', that God will be as sufficient as, deep down she knows He is, and that things will bring themselves to some sort of resolution.
Which leads to the last, and most important segment of my diagnosis: Lack of faith.
That's really what it comes down to, in the end! Faced with some very real, and serious issues to resolve- some genuine griefs and joys, and hurts and blessings- and finding herself unsure what to do with them, and vaccillating from day to day- at one moment, feeling as wide open, free, and defenseless as a cloudless sky- the next, experiencing that sort of narrowed down confusion that Jim Elliot described when he wrote in a letter to Betty: "The question is whether or not I should marry; marriage and you are synonymous." Faced with, and attempting to sort through all of this, she ceased to feel that God was truly 'the giver of all good things'- began to be bewildered as to what He INTENDED to give her- was even more desperately bewildered when the things she thought she had resigned completely and given up to Him suddenly swung back within reach.
And, sometimes, the confusion and bewilderment drive her to her knees before Him- remind her to live for Him wholeheartedly one day at a time, because the rest is so uncertain- teach her to say, as in Psalm 16:2 'You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing.'
But, at others, she begins to look elsewhere for security- to focus on the instabilities in her life, to worry, and brood, and reach out for anything, ANYTHING solid! And it isn't only futile, it's deadly!
Which is why, as both 'doctor' and 'patient' I have spent my evening here typing away, attempting to clarify my cloudiness and vast uncertainty in words.
That's only the diagnosis, though, and I promised a solution. Fortunately, it's simple. (sounding)
1. Be renewed, and immersed in God's Word. When I'm tempted to worry, I should GO THERE- not allow the stress, or just attempt to distract myself! Leonard Ravenhill said that 'Entertainment is the devil's substitute for Joy!' -and it's true!
2. Be faithful in prayer. If any thing, or person, begins to absorb my time or overwhelm my day, I should immediately lay it at God's feet in prayer, rather than wandering off on my own, empty, tangent. This is the single biggest weapon against selfishness- against both work, and relationships that are likely to become walls between God and I, rather than tools in His hand.
3. Cry out for patience. Focus on Him, and take things one step at a time. This is only possible if the first two things are in place.
So, there's the checklist, and, expert physician that I am not, I freely instruct the whiny patient that I am to take all three of these medicines in liberal measure. They are only bitter to a soul that has allowed itself to work 'out of joint'- and are amazingly sweet once the cure is effected!
And, maybe they will be the 'oil on troubled waters' needed to smooth out these mercurial, tempestuous, incomprehensible moods and yearnings of mine.
For all of you who have been praying,and have given me advice, and who take the time to read this overly wordy late night rambling, thank you SO MUCH! I don't know how to tell you how much it means, any more than I know how to tell you exactly what's going on! :-) But you are loved.
And, hopefully, we will all learn to say- you, to your problems, and I to mine: "'..."I am troubled; O Lord, come to my aid!" But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul. Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds health in them too. You restored me to health and let me live. Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back...' (Isaiah 38:14-17)
Matthew 14:27-31 'But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."
"Come," he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came towards Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"
Immediately, Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "Why did you doubt?"
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Teaching The Nations A New Song
Psalm 57:9-ll
'I will praise you, O Lord among the nations; I will sing of you among the peoples. For great is your love, reaching to the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies. Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let your glory be over all the earth.'
Psalm 98: 1-2
'Sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things... The Lord has made his salvation known, and revealed his righteousness to the nations.'
Song of all songs the nations sing,
New, and yet echoed through the past.
Song of the anguished offering-
Song of eternal bridal fest.
Song that my soul still strives to learn-
Song of descent, and of return.
Song of my heart, I pray to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
Song of all songs the nations know,
Song that supplants the dragging night
Soars above worthless gods, also-
Song of the day, and blinding light!
Song that awakens, still, the dead-
Song that is drink, and living bread
Song of my heart, I pray to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
Song of all Songs, the nations cry-
Sing to them springs that cannot fail!
Sing to them life that will not die!
Teach them the Song that must prevail!
You, who are Word, and Staff, and Vine,
Pour to the peoples, Christ, as wine!
Song of my heart, I long to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
'I will praise you, O Lord among the nations; I will sing of you among the peoples. For great is your love, reaching to the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies. Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let your glory be over all the earth.'
Psalm 98: 1-2
'Sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things... The Lord has made his salvation known, and revealed his righteousness to the nations.'
Song of all songs the nations sing,
New, and yet echoed through the past.
Song of the anguished offering-
Song of eternal bridal fest.
Song that my soul still strives to learn-
Song of descent, and of return.
Song of my heart, I pray to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
Song of all songs the nations know,
Song that supplants the dragging night
Soars above worthless gods, also-
Song of the day, and blinding light!
Song that awakens, still, the dead-
Song that is drink, and living bread
Song of my heart, I pray to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
Song of all Songs, the nations cry-
Sing to them springs that cannot fail!
Sing to them life that will not die!
Teach them the Song that must prevail!
You, who are Word, and Staff, and Vine,
Pour to the peoples, Christ, as wine!
Song of my heart, I long to be
Sung to the earth, a song of Thee!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"But I looked up- and she was still there. And she was still coming..."
Today was supposed to be ordinary. I had it neatly planned out: Breakfast, French class, math class, lunch, music practice, homework, supper, homework, and then bed. Pretty straightforward, right?
Only 'ordinary', somehow, never seems to work out for me. Up until lunch, things went according to plan. Things were as 'usual' as they ever can be.
But then there was lunch. When I arrived in the cafeteria, I put together a bowl of chicken and broccoli to be cooked on the Mongolian Grill (my favorite thing about our caf.), and then sat down with my friend Kristen, who was already eating. I chatted, and ate a banana to pass the time. I was last in a long line, so the food took awhile. Kristen left for her next class. Finally, I got my plate of food, some chopsticks, a napkin, etcetera, and was returning to my seat when a stranger said:
"Hello there, young lady!"
"Hello sir", I said.
There, seated at the table I had been passing by, was an elderly gentleman. I would guess that he was in his fifties or sixties- but he had not aged gently. He had a grizzled gray beard, still lightly threaded with black- wiry hair of the same color, mostly covered by a black baseball cap, bushy eyebrows, and a deeply lined face- dark, like tarnished metal. His gray eyes squinted at me through spectacles. His smile was sardonic.
At first, I thought that I must know him from somewhere, and was hesitating, unsure what to do, when he spoke again.
"You're a Pentecostal, aren't you?"
I nearly laughed! Of all the questions to ask a total stranger! But, I smilingly told him that though I was not a Pentecostal, and did not belong to any particular denomination, I was a follower of Jesus Christ.
"You sure LOOK Pentecostal", he said suspiciously. "Long, long hair, a skirt, a blouse, no makeup- and a real pretty girl, if you'll forgive me for saying so."
A compliment, even an undeserved one, is something few women refuse to forgive, so I stayed to reassure him that I was indeed a non-Pentecostal- and also, to confess that I WAS in fact wearing makeup. I think it was this information that persuaded him to believe me! :-)
Since he'd expressed such a surprising interest in my religious affiliations, I thought it only fair that I should ask for his. And I did, and he told me the following story. I am half afraid to write it here, because it is shockingly ugly, and unredeemably horrible- and yet, the details of it are already fading from my mind- and I find that I cannot bear that it should be forgotten, any more than I can bear that it is true. But the story, as I heard it, is this:
"My father was a Pentecostal minister. Growing up, the Bible was in every nook and cranny and corner of our house. Dad had a chart showing everything that happened in the Bible, in chronological order from Genesis to Revelation. You couldn't get away from it- and me, I never wanted to! When I was a kid, I knew that all I wanted to do was be like Dad- to teach people about God, and how to follow Him. I expected to spend my whole life serving Christ. So, when I graduated from high school, I headed off to seminary to become a pastor. I was there for nearly four years- was five months short of receiving my diploma, and becoming an ordained minister when fate, or providence, or Uncle Sam, or whatever you want to call it intervened. They drafted me, pulled me out of school, and shipped me off to fight in Vietnam." He grew quiet, staring at his plate. "I lose track of how many people I killed there. A lot, I guess- sometimes you don't even know for sure. But while I was in Nam, I saw some stuff- and I learned some stuff. And the time came when I decided that it was to HELL with God!" I must have looked surprised, because he tried to explain:
"I was in a situation, see, where I needed guidance- needed Him more than I'd ever needed Him before- and He let me down. He wasn't there. I asked Him something, and He didn't answer my prayer. Maybe there is no God. Maybe there was no one to hear me- but if there is, then He's got a hell of a lot to answer for! He can put me in hell for eternity- why should I give a rip? He's already put me in hell for the past thirty or forty years. Maybe I wouldn't know how to live anywhere else! But I know this for sure; if there is a God, then He owes me an apology! The things I've seen, the things I've been a part of- how DARE He allow that? If he were a man, and were within reach, and would meet me face to face- ah, I swear, I'd KILL Him!"
The man's hands were shaking- his shriveled old mouth contorted with grief and fury.
Of course, I had to play 'smart', I tried to be gentle, and soothing, to explain how much higher God's purpose and understanding is than ours, and the importance of trusting Him even when we're hurt, and don't understand.
The old man listened to my little sermon- perhaps as patiently as Job listened to the wisdom of his 'comforters', and then, fixing me with a glance half of malice, and half of pity, said: "I'll bet you're wondering what happened that time when I asked God for help to make me doubt Him- to make it impossible for me to trust His goodness, or power, or even existence any longer. Well, I'll tell. you. I don't tell a lot of people, but I'll tell you. It happened like this:
I was on watch that day. I was standing there with my MC13- do you know what an MC13 is, young lady? No? Well, just remember that it's a gun. And anyway, I was standing there, when I noticed a tiny little girl walking towards me. I would guess she was about six years old- black, silky hair- big brown eyes. She was walking towards me, saying that she wanted to sell me some fruit. I don't know how much you know about the way things went back there in Nam, but we couldn't trust anybody. Women, children, animals- they were all weapons, and used against us. We had to do some pretty horrible things, but I don't need to talk about that right now. The point was, this little girl- and I don't think she was more than six years old- was in an area she wasn't supposed to enter, approaching me. I wanted to give her a chance- you know? I told her to 'Halt!' in English, but she kept on coming- just faltering her way along real slow and nervous. So, I yelled at her to 'HALT!' in Vietnamese- and she kept on coming. Well right now, I began to be really, really afraid. I didn't know what to do. So I closed my eyes and prayed: "Lord, You are the God who said 'let the little children come to me'- You are able to guard and guide the little ones. You love the little, helpless ones Lord. I am asking, that in Your power, you would turn this child around, or stop her, and not let her come any closer." I kept my eyes closed a few seconds longer- but finally, the suspense was too much- and I looked up, and she was still there. And she was still coming."
He paused for breath, his face stonily expressionless. I could feel my stomach beginning to twist, and the tears blurring at my eyes as a realization of what might be happening began to dawn on me. The man sipped his water and resumed in a flat voice.
"She kept coming- closer and closer and closer- just inching along, staring at me with those wide eyes, like my face was a book whose letters she couldn't quite make out. A real small, cute little kid. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let her come any nearer- it would compromise everyone's safety- and I couldn't get her to leave. My hands were going all sweaty.
You remember, I told you about my MC13- that it's a kind of machine gun?"
"Yes."
"When I fired, it sliced her in half- just split her into pieces. One side of her face was completely blown away. She was a real small, skinny little kid."
I felt like everything I'd ever eaten in my life was fighting to come back up again- as though I could start vomiting, and never stop. I had both hands pressed over my mouth, trying to hold it in. He continued in the same expressionless sing-song voice- as though he'd told this story over to himself a thousand times, and had forgotten that I was there. I was crying for real now- the tears battling their way out, and stumbling down my face.
"When I went over to see if she was dead- well, I mean of course- it was obvious she was dead- but when I went over to see- sure enough, there were the wires strapped to her little wrists, and the explosives. She'd been intended to be used as a bomb.
So what could I have done? If I hadn't shot her, she'd have killed us both- and maybe a lot of others! But, there was that moment when God could have turned her around- when He could have protected not just her, but protected me from having to know that I'd murdered her- from seeing that tiny, gory little body splattered against the ground. He could have stopped it, and He didn't. I hate myself, but young lady, I HATE HIM MORE! You asked me if I'm an agnostic- well, I guess I am. I don't know if there's a God. But if there is, He sent me to hell already thirty years ago- I guess eternity just couldn't come soon enough for Him. He stole my life, and my mind, and my faith, and threw my love for Him right back into my face-" [His voice was quavering now with suppressed emotion] "and I HATE Him! Oh, God, I hate Him!"
His eyes returned to me, and they were cold, like ashes of a fire that has burnt out, and cannot be rekindled.
"So, that's my story young lady, and I told you it wasn't a pretty one. Thanks for taking the time to listen to an old man. Be glad you can be silly enough, still, to believe in something."
I timidly ventured that I would pray for him- and left, trying to hide my tearful, horrified face behind my hair on the way back to the table.
And when I got there, I looked at my plate of food- still warm- waiting for me, and felt a deep, wrenching nausea. I wanted to hurl it across the room. Shudderingly, I gathered up the dinner things, shoved them onto the trash tray, grabbed my backpack, and fled.
The old man held the door for me.
"Weren't you going to eat, young lady?"
"I'm not- hungry-" I said shakily.
He looked at me with the detached,distant kindliness of a stranger- in fact, he was growing more distant by the minute- being swallowed up in the dark mist which was beginning to swim before my eyes.
"Yes, you are a real pretty girl! Only nineteen years old! What I wouldn't give to be nineteen, still! It was nice to meet you."
He vanished down a hallway which was growing wavy as the hot tears forced their way up to the surface again. I stumbled down the opposite hallway blindly, students sliding by on either side of me like fish in an aquarium.
When I was safely out of view, I began running, the tears building faster, until I reached the altar-place, one of my secret, special spots in the fields. And I huddled in the snow, and sobbed myself empty- and when the tears began to run out, forced myself to weep, still, because it was a thing that could not be too much grieved over- because I knew that now, while it was fresh and real was the only chance I might have to pour out a fraction of the grief which the event deserved. Finally, I walked on further, and prayed, and the only words that would come through the sobs were 'I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. Lord, I DO believe- pardon my unbelief! But I don't understand...'
I realized, with crushing force, that I did not want to live any longer in a world where such things happened- where perhaps a little girl in Iraq, or Colombia, or anywhere in Africa might be undergoing the same thing, or something worse, even as I was standing here. In a world where men strap explosives to six year old children and send them out as bait. In a world where young divinity students destroy these children, and themselves in so doing. In a world where, even in my native country, countless children are victims of abuse.
The words 'HOW LONG, OH LORD?' seemed a cry of desperation wrung from history. 'Let Your Kingdom come' had never meant so much to me before. Oh, LET Your kingdom come! Lord, I don't understand! I'm bewildered by the evil lurking in the world! And yet, you came to a world as completely dark and sinful and broken as this- and You came, and You loved, and You healed- and by Your death, You bore God's wrath against evil. And by Your resurrection, You presented Your people to God, wholly and flawlessly righteous in His eyes- because You bought us, and clothed us in YOUR righteousness! Surely, where sin increased, grace increased all the more! You are mending so many 'broken hallelujahs', restoring so much that was created for beauty, and has been degraded to hideous filth. I am willing to say that all is to Your glory. I am willing to concede that the world, and myself, are Your creations, and that You may dispose of them as You please! Lord, where else- to who else can I go? YOU HAVE the words of Life!
And even on these days- these days when life is a nightmare from which I keep waiting to wake up, if You will teach me Lord, I WILL praise You! I will trust, not in my emotions, nor in human wisdom, nor my limited knowledge and vision, but in Your character, and the truth of Your Word.
'Thou art O Lord my only trust
When friends are mingled with the dust
And all my loves are gone.
When earth has nothing to bestow
And every flower is dead below,
I look to Thee alone!'
-Christoph von Schmidt
Only 'ordinary', somehow, never seems to work out for me. Up until lunch, things went according to plan. Things were as 'usual' as they ever can be.
But then there was lunch. When I arrived in the cafeteria, I put together a bowl of chicken and broccoli to be cooked on the Mongolian Grill (my favorite thing about our caf.), and then sat down with my friend Kristen, who was already eating. I chatted, and ate a banana to pass the time. I was last in a long line, so the food took awhile. Kristen left for her next class. Finally, I got my plate of food, some chopsticks, a napkin, etcetera, and was returning to my seat when a stranger said:
"Hello there, young lady!"
"Hello sir", I said.
There, seated at the table I had been passing by, was an elderly gentleman. I would guess that he was in his fifties or sixties- but he had not aged gently. He had a grizzled gray beard, still lightly threaded with black- wiry hair of the same color, mostly covered by a black baseball cap, bushy eyebrows, and a deeply lined face- dark, like tarnished metal. His gray eyes squinted at me through spectacles. His smile was sardonic.
At first, I thought that I must know him from somewhere, and was hesitating, unsure what to do, when he spoke again.
"You're a Pentecostal, aren't you?"
I nearly laughed! Of all the questions to ask a total stranger! But, I smilingly told him that though I was not a Pentecostal, and did not belong to any particular denomination, I was a follower of Jesus Christ.
"You sure LOOK Pentecostal", he said suspiciously. "Long, long hair, a skirt, a blouse, no makeup- and a real pretty girl, if you'll forgive me for saying so."
A compliment, even an undeserved one, is something few women refuse to forgive, so I stayed to reassure him that I was indeed a non-Pentecostal- and also, to confess that I WAS in fact wearing makeup. I think it was this information that persuaded him to believe me! :-)
Since he'd expressed such a surprising interest in my religious affiliations, I thought it only fair that I should ask for his. And I did, and he told me the following story. I am half afraid to write it here, because it is shockingly ugly, and unredeemably horrible- and yet, the details of it are already fading from my mind- and I find that I cannot bear that it should be forgotten, any more than I can bear that it is true. But the story, as I heard it, is this:
"My father was a Pentecostal minister. Growing up, the Bible was in every nook and cranny and corner of our house. Dad had a chart showing everything that happened in the Bible, in chronological order from Genesis to Revelation. You couldn't get away from it- and me, I never wanted to! When I was a kid, I knew that all I wanted to do was be like Dad- to teach people about God, and how to follow Him. I expected to spend my whole life serving Christ. So, when I graduated from high school, I headed off to seminary to become a pastor. I was there for nearly four years- was five months short of receiving my diploma, and becoming an ordained minister when fate, or providence, or Uncle Sam, or whatever you want to call it intervened. They drafted me, pulled me out of school, and shipped me off to fight in Vietnam." He grew quiet, staring at his plate. "I lose track of how many people I killed there. A lot, I guess- sometimes you don't even know for sure. But while I was in Nam, I saw some stuff- and I learned some stuff. And the time came when I decided that it was to HELL with God!" I must have looked surprised, because he tried to explain:
"I was in a situation, see, where I needed guidance- needed Him more than I'd ever needed Him before- and He let me down. He wasn't there. I asked Him something, and He didn't answer my prayer. Maybe there is no God. Maybe there was no one to hear me- but if there is, then He's got a hell of a lot to answer for! He can put me in hell for eternity- why should I give a rip? He's already put me in hell for the past thirty or forty years. Maybe I wouldn't know how to live anywhere else! But I know this for sure; if there is a God, then He owes me an apology! The things I've seen, the things I've been a part of- how DARE He allow that? If he were a man, and were within reach, and would meet me face to face- ah, I swear, I'd KILL Him!"
The man's hands were shaking- his shriveled old mouth contorted with grief and fury.
Of course, I had to play 'smart', I tried to be gentle, and soothing, to explain how much higher God's purpose and understanding is than ours, and the importance of trusting Him even when we're hurt, and don't understand.
The old man listened to my little sermon- perhaps as patiently as Job listened to the wisdom of his 'comforters', and then, fixing me with a glance half of malice, and half of pity, said: "I'll bet you're wondering what happened that time when I asked God for help to make me doubt Him- to make it impossible for me to trust His goodness, or power, or even existence any longer. Well, I'll tell. you. I don't tell a lot of people, but I'll tell you. It happened like this:
I was on watch that day. I was standing there with my MC13- do you know what an MC13 is, young lady? No? Well, just remember that it's a gun. And anyway, I was standing there, when I noticed a tiny little girl walking towards me. I would guess she was about six years old- black, silky hair- big brown eyes. She was walking towards me, saying that she wanted to sell me some fruit. I don't know how much you know about the way things went back there in Nam, but we couldn't trust anybody. Women, children, animals- they were all weapons, and used against us. We had to do some pretty horrible things, but I don't need to talk about that right now. The point was, this little girl- and I don't think she was more than six years old- was in an area she wasn't supposed to enter, approaching me. I wanted to give her a chance- you know? I told her to 'Halt!' in English, but she kept on coming- just faltering her way along real slow and nervous. So, I yelled at her to 'HALT!' in Vietnamese- and she kept on coming. Well right now, I began to be really, really afraid. I didn't know what to do. So I closed my eyes and prayed: "Lord, You are the God who said 'let the little children come to me'- You are able to guard and guide the little ones. You love the little, helpless ones Lord. I am asking, that in Your power, you would turn this child around, or stop her, and not let her come any closer." I kept my eyes closed a few seconds longer- but finally, the suspense was too much- and I looked up, and she was still there. And she was still coming."
He paused for breath, his face stonily expressionless. I could feel my stomach beginning to twist, and the tears blurring at my eyes as a realization of what might be happening began to dawn on me. The man sipped his water and resumed in a flat voice.
"She kept coming- closer and closer and closer- just inching along, staring at me with those wide eyes, like my face was a book whose letters she couldn't quite make out. A real small, cute little kid. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let her come any nearer- it would compromise everyone's safety- and I couldn't get her to leave. My hands were going all sweaty.
You remember, I told you about my MC13- that it's a kind of machine gun?"
"Yes."
"When I fired, it sliced her in half- just split her into pieces. One side of her face was completely blown away. She was a real small, skinny little kid."
I felt like everything I'd ever eaten in my life was fighting to come back up again- as though I could start vomiting, and never stop. I had both hands pressed over my mouth, trying to hold it in. He continued in the same expressionless sing-song voice- as though he'd told this story over to himself a thousand times, and had forgotten that I was there. I was crying for real now- the tears battling their way out, and stumbling down my face.
"When I went over to see if she was dead- well, I mean of course- it was obvious she was dead- but when I went over to see- sure enough, there were the wires strapped to her little wrists, and the explosives. She'd been intended to be used as a bomb.
So what could I have done? If I hadn't shot her, she'd have killed us both- and maybe a lot of others! But, there was that moment when God could have turned her around- when He could have protected not just her, but protected me from having to know that I'd murdered her- from seeing that tiny, gory little body splattered against the ground. He could have stopped it, and He didn't. I hate myself, but young lady, I HATE HIM MORE! You asked me if I'm an agnostic- well, I guess I am. I don't know if there's a God. But if there is, He sent me to hell already thirty years ago- I guess eternity just couldn't come soon enough for Him. He stole my life, and my mind, and my faith, and threw my love for Him right back into my face-" [His voice was quavering now with suppressed emotion] "and I HATE Him! Oh, God, I hate Him!"
His eyes returned to me, and they were cold, like ashes of a fire that has burnt out, and cannot be rekindled.
"So, that's my story young lady, and I told you it wasn't a pretty one. Thanks for taking the time to listen to an old man. Be glad you can be silly enough, still, to believe in something."
I timidly ventured that I would pray for him- and left, trying to hide my tearful, horrified face behind my hair on the way back to the table.
And when I got there, I looked at my plate of food- still warm- waiting for me, and felt a deep, wrenching nausea. I wanted to hurl it across the room. Shudderingly, I gathered up the dinner things, shoved them onto the trash tray, grabbed my backpack, and fled.
The old man held the door for me.
"Weren't you going to eat, young lady?"
"I'm not- hungry-" I said shakily.
He looked at me with the detached,distant kindliness of a stranger- in fact, he was growing more distant by the minute- being swallowed up in the dark mist which was beginning to swim before my eyes.
"Yes, you are a real pretty girl! Only nineteen years old! What I wouldn't give to be nineteen, still! It was nice to meet you."
He vanished down a hallway which was growing wavy as the hot tears forced their way up to the surface again. I stumbled down the opposite hallway blindly, students sliding by on either side of me like fish in an aquarium.
When I was safely out of view, I began running, the tears building faster, until I reached the altar-place, one of my secret, special spots in the fields. And I huddled in the snow, and sobbed myself empty- and when the tears began to run out, forced myself to weep, still, because it was a thing that could not be too much grieved over- because I knew that now, while it was fresh and real was the only chance I might have to pour out a fraction of the grief which the event deserved. Finally, I walked on further, and prayed, and the only words that would come through the sobs were 'I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. Lord, I DO believe- pardon my unbelief! But I don't understand...'
I realized, with crushing force, that I did not want to live any longer in a world where such things happened- where perhaps a little girl in Iraq, or Colombia, or anywhere in Africa might be undergoing the same thing, or something worse, even as I was standing here. In a world where men strap explosives to six year old children and send them out as bait. In a world where young divinity students destroy these children, and themselves in so doing. In a world where, even in my native country, countless children are victims of abuse.
The words 'HOW LONG, OH LORD?' seemed a cry of desperation wrung from history. 'Let Your Kingdom come' had never meant so much to me before. Oh, LET Your kingdom come! Lord, I don't understand! I'm bewildered by the evil lurking in the world! And yet, you came to a world as completely dark and sinful and broken as this- and You came, and You loved, and You healed- and by Your death, You bore God's wrath against evil. And by Your resurrection, You presented Your people to God, wholly and flawlessly righteous in His eyes- because You bought us, and clothed us in YOUR righteousness! Surely, where sin increased, grace increased all the more! You are mending so many 'broken hallelujahs', restoring so much that was created for beauty, and has been degraded to hideous filth. I am willing to say that all is to Your glory. I am willing to concede that the world, and myself, are Your creations, and that You may dispose of them as You please! Lord, where else- to who else can I go? YOU HAVE the words of Life!
And even on these days- these days when life is a nightmare from which I keep waiting to wake up, if You will teach me Lord, I WILL praise You! I will trust, not in my emotions, nor in human wisdom, nor my limited knowledge and vision, but in Your character, and the truth of Your Word.
'Thou art O Lord my only trust
When friends are mingled with the dust
And all my loves are gone.
When earth has nothing to bestow
And every flower is dead below,
I look to Thee alone!'
-Christoph von Schmidt
'Children'
'Father, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying;
We are praying for our children.
Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril;
Father, hear us for our children.
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them;
Father, hear us for our children.
From the wordling’s hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Father, Father, keep our children.
Through life’s troubles waters steer them;
Through life’s bitter battle cheer them;
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.
And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.' ~Amy Wilson Carmichael
Hear the words our hearts are saying;
We are praying for our children.
Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril;
Father, hear us for our children.
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them;
Father, hear us for our children.
From the wordling’s hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Father, Father, keep our children.
Through life’s troubles waters steer them;
Through life’s bitter battle cheer them;
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.
And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.' ~Amy Wilson Carmichael
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Gardener And His Servant
Have you forgotten, love-my-love,
Those heady days at Spring's beginning?
Lovely days of gleamy gray
When all Eternity awoke-
Dancing rain to wash away
The lingered grime of Winter's cloak
From Earth's green, velvet underpinning-
Have you forgotten, love-my-love?
It was half the imagining of an anguished hour, and half a dream- and the dream, and the images, and the words that later poured into my notebook all somehow meshed together, and became this:
The Gardener and His Servant:
'...He looked, with pained tenderness at the trembling creature at His feet- at her wet cheeks, and grief contorted face.
"Child, why do you weep?"
"I weep", she choked, "for the garden of my own planning, which now will never grow- and for the fragile little plants, which now I shall never tend- and for this Rose, which I have loved so much, and whose thorns are now tearing at my heart as I try to root it out."
He stooped to raise her to her feet. "It is a lovely Rose. I crafted it, you know."
"I know, my Lord."
"Do you think that I would create such beauty without purpose? This Rose, like all others, may only come to its fullest flowering in the gardens of my choice."
The girl was silent. Together they watched the wind flowing through the heavy treetops, the iris nodding in sun-warmed, iridescent purple- a fat bumble-bee humming and fumbling at its heart in cheerful contentment. At last, she answered dully.
"How should I know? You have come into my garden asking me to crush its loveliest flower, to not merely yield up the plant which gives me beauty and fragrance beyond all others, but to kill it- to destroy all of its glowing color and burgeoning life. You would leave the choicest bed in my garden, nourished and watered so carefully, a barren, empty hole. I do not know Lord what You intend for this Rose, but only that I do not wish ever to live in a garden where it does not bloom."
He stretched a hand to one full, creamy, pink-flushed blossom which dangled near Him, framed in glossy leaves.
"Sweet, will you trust Me to give you flowers ever so much better than this one, if you only obey Me in this?"
With quivering hands she pushed back the heavy hanging hair from her tear blotched cheeks, and gazed at Him with bluely swimming eyes.
"I do not WANT better flowers- I want only this one! Lord, I do not love it because it is the best, but because it is itself!"
He gazed levelly at her, and she turned away, frightened by both the sternness, and the compassion she read in His face.
"My child, do you remember when I promised you that I withhold NO good thing from those that love Me? There is a beauty and usefulness which I long to achieve in your garden that will never be brought about until you have learned to abide by My wish in such matters. You CANNOT reach your fullest potential while tending this Rose- it cannot reach ITS while tended by you. That which I created for harmony will be reduced to a strident Weed! I am not an arbitrary Gardener. I do not ask you to perform any task which I have not been willing to perform Myself, but this flower you ARE NOT meant to have. It is not intended to bloom in this time and place. Dear heart, believe me when I tell you that, grasped against My will, these petals which seem so rich to you will become the bitterest poison- that these shining thorns will be a hundred knife-thrusts in your rebelling heart."
"But- I cannot bear to give it up."
"Love, you CAN bear! As I bore all for My Father's glory, and for you."
He stretched scarred hands to her in supplication, pierced with the terrible torn marks of nails, and there was something terrifyingly exquisite in the sight of that Rock of strength humbling himself before the ragged girl- in the way He freely cloaked His glory that He might meet her weakness.
Without a word, she turned, and began to yank at the rose bush with desperate vigor. The crimson-green thorns caught cruelly at her hands, and the long, barbed canes lacerated the softness of her arms. But, the bush remained firmly rooted in the garden's soil. Tearfully, she pleaded again:
"My Lord, I cannot."
"You must."
She returned to the wrenching labour, but made no progress. At last, face scratched, and arms bloodied, she collapsed before Him, sobbing.
"Master, I am willing to follow You- I am willing, willing to submit to You- even in THIS, my Lord- but I am too weak! Unless You help me, I am unable."
He stroked her tangled hair, and replied:
"No- you do not have the strength- but rest, love, and see what I will do!"
With that, He strode grimly to the place where the Rose bloomed on unconsciously in the deep, rich soil of its bed. Kneeling beside it, He braced Himself, and began to pull.
The great, curving thorns sank into His arms and hands, and blood gushed again from the old scars. And as she watched, wincingly, she saw His face tensing with pain, until a dew of sweat was beading on His brow, and His face was white with a paleness that was the very mask of Death. For a while, He halted- and it seemed that, rather than straining against the Rose, He was resting, leaning on it for support.
She began to be frightened, thinking: "If this flower stands in the way of His Purpose- and if it is beyond my strength to uproot it- and if not even He is able, then surely this Garden is a mockery, and I have been following only a dream."
But, just when she had begun to utterly despair, she saw Him drawing His strength up for one great heave- and in a moment He stood, tall and powerful- eyes blazing with the pride of victory- holding the verdant shrub aloft in His arms, its creamy blossoms scarlet with His blood, the crumbling dark loam trailing from its maze of silvery roots.
"It is finished, Beloved!" He said, and was gone.
The girl looked round her ravaged garden, seeing only the torn soil, and gaping hole where her Rose had bloomed, and feeling the fearsome smart of her gashed hands.
"I am not sorry", she said- but wept.
That night, her head throbbed with a leaden ache, and the tears came even in her sleep. She seemed to wander through a terrible maze of dreams, and always awoke grief-stricken, and with a keen sense of loss. It was as though she had held the world in her hand, and watched it trickle through her fingers and out of reach over, and over again.
And yet, the morning dawned at last, and she awoke to find a delicious perfume wafting through the garden in an almost tangible cloud. She sat up and looked round- and there, at her feet, and all throughout the garden, were springing up tall, graceful lilies of burning white, with starry glowings of gold in their slender throats, and a sweet, spicy fragrance breathing from every flower. There was an irresistible sense of GROWING in the air- she almost expected to find herself shooting upward as rapidly as the lilies. A strange, joyous melody began to play through her head (which did not ache now at all!)- and then words came, until at last, the song went like this:
'Awake, awake, O Northern wind,
And come, O Southern breeze!
Blow now upon my garden- send
To Him that holds its keys,
My garden's fragrance, spread abroad,
So that He will make haste-
My garden's gate's unbarred for Him-
Its choice fruits He must taste!'
Within an hour, the lilies had blanketed every bare space in her garden- all but the crater which had been the Rose's bed. This lay as darkly as ever amid the white sea of flowers. But she thought of the terrible scars in the Master Gardener's hands, and so, was content to have it left so, a 'wound' upon her garden- blooming there like a crushed and broken blossom from the sunless land of grief and thwarted hopes.
And so things remain.'
"Sometimes life is quite naked and stripped. It offers nothing but thorns; but after a while, the season will again come when it shall be decked anew in foliage, and robed in the most beautiful flowers. This is now for me the time of thorns; but God forbid that I should be cast down by it. I believe your word, best of Fathers. Perhaps I shall yet see in my life when 'patience produces roses.'" -From 'A Basket Of Flowers', by Christoph Von Schmidt
Those heady days at Spring's beginning?
Lovely days of gleamy gray
When all Eternity awoke-
Dancing rain to wash away
The lingered grime of Winter's cloak
From Earth's green, velvet underpinning-
Have you forgotten, love-my-love?
It was half the imagining of an anguished hour, and half a dream- and the dream, and the images, and the words that later poured into my notebook all somehow meshed together, and became this:
The Gardener and His Servant:
'...He looked, with pained tenderness at the trembling creature at His feet- at her wet cheeks, and grief contorted face.
"Child, why do you weep?"
"I weep", she choked, "for the garden of my own planning, which now will never grow- and for the fragile little plants, which now I shall never tend- and for this Rose, which I have loved so much, and whose thorns are now tearing at my heart as I try to root it out."
He stooped to raise her to her feet. "It is a lovely Rose. I crafted it, you know."
"I know, my Lord."
"Do you think that I would create such beauty without purpose? This Rose, like all others, may only come to its fullest flowering in the gardens of my choice."
The girl was silent. Together they watched the wind flowing through the heavy treetops, the iris nodding in sun-warmed, iridescent purple- a fat bumble-bee humming and fumbling at its heart in cheerful contentment. At last, she answered dully.
"How should I know? You have come into my garden asking me to crush its loveliest flower, to not merely yield up the plant which gives me beauty and fragrance beyond all others, but to kill it- to destroy all of its glowing color and burgeoning life. You would leave the choicest bed in my garden, nourished and watered so carefully, a barren, empty hole. I do not know Lord what You intend for this Rose, but only that I do not wish ever to live in a garden where it does not bloom."
He stretched a hand to one full, creamy, pink-flushed blossom which dangled near Him, framed in glossy leaves.
"Sweet, will you trust Me to give you flowers ever so much better than this one, if you only obey Me in this?"
With quivering hands she pushed back the heavy hanging hair from her tear blotched cheeks, and gazed at Him with bluely swimming eyes.
"I do not WANT better flowers- I want only this one! Lord, I do not love it because it is the best, but because it is itself!"
He gazed levelly at her, and she turned away, frightened by both the sternness, and the compassion she read in His face.
"My child, do you remember when I promised you that I withhold NO good thing from those that love Me? There is a beauty and usefulness which I long to achieve in your garden that will never be brought about until you have learned to abide by My wish in such matters. You CANNOT reach your fullest potential while tending this Rose- it cannot reach ITS while tended by you. That which I created for harmony will be reduced to a strident Weed! I am not an arbitrary Gardener. I do not ask you to perform any task which I have not been willing to perform Myself, but this flower you ARE NOT meant to have. It is not intended to bloom in this time and place. Dear heart, believe me when I tell you that, grasped against My will, these petals which seem so rich to you will become the bitterest poison- that these shining thorns will be a hundred knife-thrusts in your rebelling heart."
"But- I cannot bear to give it up."
"Love, you CAN bear! As I bore all for My Father's glory, and for you."
He stretched scarred hands to her in supplication, pierced with the terrible torn marks of nails, and there was something terrifyingly exquisite in the sight of that Rock of strength humbling himself before the ragged girl- in the way He freely cloaked His glory that He might meet her weakness.
Without a word, she turned, and began to yank at the rose bush with desperate vigor. The crimson-green thorns caught cruelly at her hands, and the long, barbed canes lacerated the softness of her arms. But, the bush remained firmly rooted in the garden's soil. Tearfully, she pleaded again:
"My Lord, I cannot."
"You must."
She returned to the wrenching labour, but made no progress. At last, face scratched, and arms bloodied, she collapsed before Him, sobbing.
"Master, I am willing to follow You- I am willing, willing to submit to You- even in THIS, my Lord- but I am too weak! Unless You help me, I am unable."
He stroked her tangled hair, and replied:
"No- you do not have the strength- but rest, love, and see what I will do!"
With that, He strode grimly to the place where the Rose bloomed on unconsciously in the deep, rich soil of its bed. Kneeling beside it, He braced Himself, and began to pull.
The great, curving thorns sank into His arms and hands, and blood gushed again from the old scars. And as she watched, wincingly, she saw His face tensing with pain, until a dew of sweat was beading on His brow, and His face was white with a paleness that was the very mask of Death. For a while, He halted- and it seemed that, rather than straining against the Rose, He was resting, leaning on it for support.
She began to be frightened, thinking: "If this flower stands in the way of His Purpose- and if it is beyond my strength to uproot it- and if not even He is able, then surely this Garden is a mockery, and I have been following only a dream."
But, just when she had begun to utterly despair, she saw Him drawing His strength up for one great heave- and in a moment He stood, tall and powerful- eyes blazing with the pride of victory- holding the verdant shrub aloft in His arms, its creamy blossoms scarlet with His blood, the crumbling dark loam trailing from its maze of silvery roots.
"It is finished, Beloved!" He said, and was gone.
The girl looked round her ravaged garden, seeing only the torn soil, and gaping hole where her Rose had bloomed, and feeling the fearsome smart of her gashed hands.
"I am not sorry", she said- but wept.
That night, her head throbbed with a leaden ache, and the tears came even in her sleep. She seemed to wander through a terrible maze of dreams, and always awoke grief-stricken, and with a keen sense of loss. It was as though she had held the world in her hand, and watched it trickle through her fingers and out of reach over, and over again.
And yet, the morning dawned at last, and she awoke to find a delicious perfume wafting through the garden in an almost tangible cloud. She sat up and looked round- and there, at her feet, and all throughout the garden, were springing up tall, graceful lilies of burning white, with starry glowings of gold in their slender throats, and a sweet, spicy fragrance breathing from every flower. There was an irresistible sense of GROWING in the air- she almost expected to find herself shooting upward as rapidly as the lilies. A strange, joyous melody began to play through her head (which did not ache now at all!)- and then words came, until at last, the song went like this:
'Awake, awake, O Northern wind,
And come, O Southern breeze!
Blow now upon my garden- send
To Him that holds its keys,
My garden's fragrance, spread abroad,
So that He will make haste-
My garden's gate's unbarred for Him-
Its choice fruits He must taste!'
Within an hour, the lilies had blanketed every bare space in her garden- all but the crater which had been the Rose's bed. This lay as darkly as ever amid the white sea of flowers. But she thought of the terrible scars in the Master Gardener's hands, and so, was content to have it left so, a 'wound' upon her garden- blooming there like a crushed and broken blossom from the sunless land of grief and thwarted hopes.
And so things remain.'
"Sometimes life is quite naked and stripped. It offers nothing but thorns; but after a while, the season will again come when it shall be decked anew in foliage, and robed in the most beautiful flowers. This is now for me the time of thorns; but God forbid that I should be cast down by it. I believe your word, best of Fathers. Perhaps I shall yet see in my life when 'patience produces roses.'" -From 'A Basket Of Flowers', by Christoph Von Schmidt
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Chasm of Confusion:
You are my way, O Lord, my narrow bridge
A slender silver cord that threads across
The chasm of Confusion, gaping black
Beneath my wavering feet- the farthest ridge
My eyes can glimpse, the barren range of Loss-
Half scraggled with the stunted trees of Lack-
A desert where I find no bread or meat-
A wilderness where water skins are slack.
And yet, my King, You chide me to recall-
This waste which is the limit of my view-
Is but a breath of Yours, and not the whole-
Shows naught except how little, still, I see-
A fraction of the journey- not the all
And clearer sight is found alone in You-
In You, O God, Who've walked this path in full
And scaled the distant peaks of Victory-
In Thou, who soon will Loss and Lack annul!
A slender silver cord that threads across
The chasm of Confusion, gaping black
Beneath my wavering feet- the farthest ridge
My eyes can glimpse, the barren range of Loss-
Half scraggled with the stunted trees of Lack-
A desert where I find no bread or meat-
A wilderness where water skins are slack.
And yet, my King, You chide me to recall-
This waste which is the limit of my view-
Is but a breath of Yours, and not the whole-
Shows naught except how little, still, I see-
A fraction of the journey- not the all
And clearer sight is found alone in You-
In You, O God, Who've walked this path in full
And scaled the distant peaks of Victory-
In Thou, who soon will Loss and Lack annul!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Cloud-Shapes
When I was a little girl (Oh, SO many years ago! :-D), my brothers and I had a game called cloud-shapes, a game which is probably as old as clouds- and certainly has been around for as long as there have been children! There were no rules, really, but the object was to watch clouds, and find as many shapes as you could- sometimes arguing a little with the other players before deciding what a certain cloud REALLY resembled. It was a game generally reserved for long car trips and boredom.
The habit of watching clouds, however, has a way of invading one's life at odd, and unexpected times. For instance, the day, when I was 11 or so, when I stepped out of our front door, and stopped aghast to see that a mountain range had sprung up on the Eastern horizon overnight- great, shadowy, charcoal peaks were looming, touched with a white gleaming of morning sun, where before there had only been a level stretch of trees. I have seen real mountains which looked less real! I felt as though an hour's walk would have brought me to their feet. Yet, even as I stood there, a brisk wind sprung up, and, before my eyes the 'mountains' blurred, faded, and were gone.
Years later, while riding in the car one evening, I looked out, and saw, stretched out ahead of us, a great, glowing lake of sunset fire- yellow quartz and opal flamed with ruby. All about it, hung misty fir trees like pillars of amber, and their reflections burned brassily on the burnished surface of the lake. Beyond, and beyond, and beyond drifted a mighty forest of shadows, warm breaths of terra-cotta fading at last to impenetrable, dusky blue in its depths. It seemed to open out into a land of such fiery, magnificent grandeur- one felt that forgotten riches lay beyond those hinted hills shimmering on its seeming horizon. I expected the highway at any moment to melt away, and pour itself into that flamy golden country just ahead. But instead, the night came on, and the glimmering horizon faded, and blackness stole over the cloudy forest tree by tree, until their inky reflections in the lake quenched its shifting allure of fire. And soon, only a few lone sparks burned through the ashes of the sky. And the land of cloud was gone.
My dreams and plans seem so often to resemble the shapes I see in the clouds- they drift awhile, shifting, and changing, forming, and re-forming, until at last I cannot recognize them myself- like roses, as time goes by they open, and change, and bloom into an entirely new, and different beauty. Everything is static. And sometimes, if I have been walking a while with my eyes on the ground in front of me, when I direct my gaze 'skyward' again, I am astonished- because the pictures I find there are unfamiliar- far from the things I had formed- but sometimes, arrestingly lovely. And I am bewildered. Childishly, I expected THOSE clouds to hold their shape, to rest unchanging in the long blueness of the sky- and they have betrayed me.
I can despair then, realizing that the old clouds can never be had back again. I can go on, convinced that THESE clouds, are different, and may be relied upon, unlike the last. (And, knowing the ever changing nature of clouds, and human directions, one can imagine where I will end up!) Or, I can, discovering the inadequacy of my own dreams and plans- not only the 'RIGHT' ones, but the 'WRONG' ones- the personal loves and longings I'd often striven to eradicate, deliberately choose to follow not any longer after clouds, but rather, after the MAKER of clouds, and of me. The truth is, people never end up where they expected. Hudson Taylor's ministry was not at all what he planned- but it was just what was needed. Jim Elliot's great achievement was far from his personal hopes and expectations. Amy Carmichael, 'Amy of India', began by being called to Japan, and then to China! Dohnavur never entered into her farthest dreamings. Marie Drown expected to translate the Bible in China- and ended up raising five children in the jungles of Ecuador. Yet, their ultimate goal- that the Lamb who was slain might have the reward of His sufferings- that Christ, seated triumphant in eternity might be glorified- THIS was unchanging- and THIS was achieved.
So where do I go from here? When the wind comes up, and blasts my peaceful clouds into shapes and directions I didn't expect, and only half hoped for- when thunder crashes, and I realize that the direction I thought I was heading has faded completely out of view, and that something entirely new- half alluring, half terrifying is sweeping into my sky- what can be done?
I wondered last night, when I realized that my cloud-shapes had changed, for better or for worse. Part of me, sheer stubborness perhaps, protested, and still protests that I've 'put my hand to the plough'- that I PROMISED God to follow Him no matter what, and am now 'going back'. But I never promised to follow Him there- only to follow wherever He led. And the path has begun to veer. It seemed though, as I was lying in bed, that the path did not swerve, but rather, split, and I could not tell which way to follow.
It was then, at the heighth of the agony of it- when, tossing and turning on the pillow, I had begun to despair of ever finding an answer, that the answer came. I happened to glance up at the VOM world map on my wall. I saw the dark shapes of the continents in the dim light from the window, and someone seemed to be asking me "Who made all of these?"
"Why, God did", I replied.
"Did He create the people who live there as well?", the voice queried.
"Yes, all of them."
"EVERY tongue, tribe and nation? The children? Even the children?"
I began to be annoyed with this persistent questioner. "Yes, I told you, He made them ALL!"
"And all of the ministries that reach out to them- are those from Him as well?" I nodded.
"You, Sharon, did He make you?"
"Of course. He created me."
"And did He even make..."
"Yes, oh yes, He did! All, all, all of it- He made us all!"
"Then," (and here my questioner began to sound very stern) "Do you think that He is not able to guide each of you, and guide you wisely, and guide you to His glory? Or do you suppose that the One who made ALL of this is unable to dispose of it?"
"Promise me, promise me, Lord", I begged, "that You will lead us in the right direction, and not let us be turned aside, and be with me in all of this bewilderment of shifting plans- promise, or I CANNOT go any further!"
"My love, I promised"
It's true- He promised. His Word is one great, tumbling stream of promises- and He has kept me thus far. But He promised again. Have you ever felt the smoothness of a sympathetic hand on your forehead when you are burning up with fever, or shaking with chills? It soothed like that. I laid my hand on the map, repeated the promise, and finally, fell asleep.
"Happiness is never shipwrecked, or sacrificed, or stolen. It's chosen. And it's You. And oh, sweet Lord, I WILL CHOOSE!" No matter what pictures I am seeing today in the clouds. No matter where they lead me. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: "God doesn't grant all our desires, but He does keep all His promises."
'Run the straight race through God's good grace
Lift up thine eyes and seek His face;
Life with its way before us lies,
Christ is the path, and Christ the prize." (!)- Monsell
The habit of watching clouds, however, has a way of invading one's life at odd, and unexpected times. For instance, the day, when I was 11 or so, when I stepped out of our front door, and stopped aghast to see that a mountain range had sprung up on the Eastern horizon overnight- great, shadowy, charcoal peaks were looming, touched with a white gleaming of morning sun, where before there had only been a level stretch of trees. I have seen real mountains which looked less real! I felt as though an hour's walk would have brought me to their feet. Yet, even as I stood there, a brisk wind sprung up, and, before my eyes the 'mountains' blurred, faded, and were gone.
Years later, while riding in the car one evening, I looked out, and saw, stretched out ahead of us, a great, glowing lake of sunset fire- yellow quartz and opal flamed with ruby. All about it, hung misty fir trees like pillars of amber, and their reflections burned brassily on the burnished surface of the lake. Beyond, and beyond, and beyond drifted a mighty forest of shadows, warm breaths of terra-cotta fading at last to impenetrable, dusky blue in its depths. It seemed to open out into a land of such fiery, magnificent grandeur- one felt that forgotten riches lay beyond those hinted hills shimmering on its seeming horizon. I expected the highway at any moment to melt away, and pour itself into that flamy golden country just ahead. But instead, the night came on, and the glimmering horizon faded, and blackness stole over the cloudy forest tree by tree, until their inky reflections in the lake quenched its shifting allure of fire. And soon, only a few lone sparks burned through the ashes of the sky. And the land of cloud was gone.
My dreams and plans seem so often to resemble the shapes I see in the clouds- they drift awhile, shifting, and changing, forming, and re-forming, until at last I cannot recognize them myself- like roses, as time goes by they open, and change, and bloom into an entirely new, and different beauty. Everything is static. And sometimes, if I have been walking a while with my eyes on the ground in front of me, when I direct my gaze 'skyward' again, I am astonished- because the pictures I find there are unfamiliar- far from the things I had formed- but sometimes, arrestingly lovely. And I am bewildered. Childishly, I expected THOSE clouds to hold their shape, to rest unchanging in the long blueness of the sky- and they have betrayed me.
I can despair then, realizing that the old clouds can never be had back again. I can go on, convinced that THESE clouds, are different, and may be relied upon, unlike the last. (And, knowing the ever changing nature of clouds, and human directions, one can imagine where I will end up!) Or, I can, discovering the inadequacy of my own dreams and plans- not only the 'RIGHT' ones, but the 'WRONG' ones- the personal loves and longings I'd often striven to eradicate, deliberately choose to follow not any longer after clouds, but rather, after the MAKER of clouds, and of me. The truth is, people never end up where they expected. Hudson Taylor's ministry was not at all what he planned- but it was just what was needed. Jim Elliot's great achievement was far from his personal hopes and expectations. Amy Carmichael, 'Amy of India', began by being called to Japan, and then to China! Dohnavur never entered into her farthest dreamings. Marie Drown expected to translate the Bible in China- and ended up raising five children in the jungles of Ecuador. Yet, their ultimate goal- that the Lamb who was slain might have the reward of His sufferings- that Christ, seated triumphant in eternity might be glorified- THIS was unchanging- and THIS was achieved.
So where do I go from here? When the wind comes up, and blasts my peaceful clouds into shapes and directions I didn't expect, and only half hoped for- when thunder crashes, and I realize that the direction I thought I was heading has faded completely out of view, and that something entirely new- half alluring, half terrifying is sweeping into my sky- what can be done?
I wondered last night, when I realized that my cloud-shapes had changed, for better or for worse. Part of me, sheer stubborness perhaps, protested, and still protests that I've 'put my hand to the plough'- that I PROMISED God to follow Him no matter what, and am now 'going back'. But I never promised to follow Him there- only to follow wherever He led. And the path has begun to veer. It seemed though, as I was lying in bed, that the path did not swerve, but rather, split, and I could not tell which way to follow.
It was then, at the heighth of the agony of it- when, tossing and turning on the pillow, I had begun to despair of ever finding an answer, that the answer came. I happened to glance up at the VOM world map on my wall. I saw the dark shapes of the continents in the dim light from the window, and someone seemed to be asking me "Who made all of these?"
"Why, God did", I replied.
"Did He create the people who live there as well?", the voice queried.
"Yes, all of them."
"EVERY tongue, tribe and nation? The children? Even the children?"
I began to be annoyed with this persistent questioner. "Yes, I told you, He made them ALL!"
"And all of the ministries that reach out to them- are those from Him as well?" I nodded.
"You, Sharon, did He make you?"
"Of course. He created me."
"And did He even make..."
"Yes, oh yes, He did! All, all, all of it- He made us all!"
"Then," (and here my questioner began to sound very stern) "Do you think that He is not able to guide each of you, and guide you wisely, and guide you to His glory? Or do you suppose that the One who made ALL of this is unable to dispose of it?"
"Promise me, promise me, Lord", I begged, "that You will lead us in the right direction, and not let us be turned aside, and be with me in all of this bewilderment of shifting plans- promise, or I CANNOT go any further!"
"My love, I promised"
It's true- He promised. His Word is one great, tumbling stream of promises- and He has kept me thus far. But He promised again. Have you ever felt the smoothness of a sympathetic hand on your forehead when you are burning up with fever, or shaking with chills? It soothed like that. I laid my hand on the map, repeated the promise, and finally, fell asleep.
"Happiness is never shipwrecked, or sacrificed, or stolen. It's chosen. And it's You. And oh, sweet Lord, I WILL CHOOSE!" No matter what pictures I am seeing today in the clouds. No matter where they lead me. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: "God doesn't grant all our desires, but He does keep all His promises."
'Run the straight race through God's good grace
Lift up thine eyes and seek His face;
Life with its way before us lies,
Christ is the path, and Christ the prize." (!)- Monsell
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Drawn From Desperation
This has not exactly been the best week of my life. It began, on Monday morning (at an hour earlier than I would normally wish to be awake) with the loss, and apparent theft of my wallet- with suspicion pointing towards my suitemates. Strike one. In between trying to straighten things out with the bank, and filing police reports, and replacing things like my campus ID and debit card, the stress level shot up. Then, the confusion and sense of betrayal began to sink in, as I tried to wrap my head around the thought that the people I lived with every day would really have done something so... low. I still can't comprehend it. There was also our continuing concern over my dad's fragile health, a sudden burst of homesickness, and, strangest, and most disturbing of all, an outbreak of 'admirers'. Guys are one problem I'd been almost entirely free of before, and so I didn't, and still don't know exactly how to deal, both graciously and firmly, with their wholly unwanted attention. I remember feeling attacked from all sides- as though things were literally flying at me from every direction, and I just wanted to creep into some dark, quiet place and never come out again. I topped it all off by getting sick myself- at least I think that's what it was. Frequent headaches, dizziness, a jumpy stomach, fever and chills, etc... I think it may be as close as I've ever come to serious depression. One morning I sat in bed and cried because I didn't want to get up and leave the room- it felt like the last safe place in the world.
So, not the most incredible of weeks! :-) I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a serious Satanic attack, considering that this was the week we were supposed to be setting up our dorm Bible studies, and not only did I have all of my lovely distractions, but one of the other girl leaders lost her grandmother (much worse than anything I had to deal with!), and others had various stressful things come up- and we all were on edge emotionally.
I think that God always provides consolation for such things, but that it often is not what we expected, or even wanted. God's blessings certainly never fail to be as surprising as they are good! I know, for me, that things began to look up on Tuesday, when I was able to have a serious spiritual discussion with my Thai friend, Prueksa. As we were talking, she asked how the death of Jesus could take our sins away, and I explained how He had taken the punishment for our sins (this astonished her, as she has a very strict 'eye for eye, tooth for tooth' view of eternal retribution). Then I told her: "Because Jesus Christ was willing to be punished in the place of the people in the world, when God looks at those of us who have believed in Him to have our sins taken away, He doesn't see our sinfulness, or rotteness, or any of the shameful things we've done- He sees His own Son, Jesus, standing as a shield between us and punishment- and when He looks at me He sees not me, but Jesus and His perfect Holiness. Because of Jesus, I am able to come before God, clothed in the righteousness of Christ!" (I think the English I used was simpler when I was talking with Prueksa!) As soon as it came out of my mouth I was totally blown away. I'd never thought of it in exactly those terms before! It's not so much that Christ eliminated sin, but rather that He overwhelmed and engulfed it through His own blinding holiness. I'm beloved by Him, not as the lamed and plain-featured 'Much-Afraid', but as the lovely 'Grace and Glory' He intends for me to be! And when He looks at me, THAT IS WHAT HE IS SEEING! The thought became a little well of joy throughout the miserable week- a gem to be fished from its case and admired whenever things became intolerable.
So, in conclusion, what have I learned? Well, first of all, to be careful where I leave my wallet! :-P But also, that God truly is faithful in the midst of distressing circumstances- and that when I allow myself to wallow in self-pity, I cut myself off from the sweetest consolations of His faithfulness! Last of all, the importance of encouragement and fellowship with other Christians. Wednesday night, I was able to talk to my two closest friends on the phone, and both vent, receive exciting 'outside' perspectives (Things are happening across the world that are much more important than my cramped little campus 'cage'; surPRISE!), and some helpful lecturing and advice. That was the beginning of the end of the 'No good, terrible, very bad week'. It was rather like the soothing of a plunging horse, or the calming of a storm- my head stopped spinning, heart resumed its normal beating, stomach stopped tensing- the whole body was just like 'Ooooh, ok, nobody's dying yet after all! Never mind!' It must have been receiving some pretty catastrophic memos from my brain! :-) And a genuine, face splitting smile is a pretty good tonic for a troubled spirit! Then, on Thursday, a British Christian and author came to speak on campus about the Resurrection, and its role in the Gospel, which was also pretty encouraging- and afterwards, my friend Anna and I began chatting, and agreed to begin going through the book of Romans together in our daily quiet time so we'd have more fellowship and accountability. Which is always a good thing.
... And which leads me to wonder whether my week was really as awful as I thought... :-)
"Be still, be still you silly, trembling heart
Be still and wait for day!
Think you to break a single bar apart
By quaking so away?
If lost in darkness, and its prisoning
Why then, like Paul and Silas pray and sing!
Be still, my love!"
"I cannot, cannot still this freezing terror
Nor halt my quivering
Nor have sufficient strength to ever bear
Such fearful buffeting
I lack for wisdom, Lord, and without light
Will soon be crushed by all this weight of night!
Come near, my God!"
"Be still and know, you fragile, craven thing
I swear, I will restore
Child, weeping for your lack of comforting
No servant ever bore
The cross alone- why care that mockers jeer?
Why huddle in such agony of fear?
The fight is won!"
So, not the most incredible of weeks! :-) I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a serious Satanic attack, considering that this was the week we were supposed to be setting up our dorm Bible studies, and not only did I have all of my lovely distractions, but one of the other girl leaders lost her grandmother (much worse than anything I had to deal with!), and others had various stressful things come up- and we all were on edge emotionally.
I think that God always provides consolation for such things, but that it often is not what we expected, or even wanted. God's blessings certainly never fail to be as surprising as they are good! I know, for me, that things began to look up on Tuesday, when I was able to have a serious spiritual discussion with my Thai friend, Prueksa. As we were talking, she asked how the death of Jesus could take our sins away, and I explained how He had taken the punishment for our sins (this astonished her, as she has a very strict 'eye for eye, tooth for tooth' view of eternal retribution). Then I told her: "Because Jesus Christ was willing to be punished in the place of the people in the world, when God looks at those of us who have believed in Him to have our sins taken away, He doesn't see our sinfulness, or rotteness, or any of the shameful things we've done- He sees His own Son, Jesus, standing as a shield between us and punishment- and when He looks at me He sees not me, but Jesus and His perfect Holiness. Because of Jesus, I am able to come before God, clothed in the righteousness of Christ!" (I think the English I used was simpler when I was talking with Prueksa!) As soon as it came out of my mouth I was totally blown away. I'd never thought of it in exactly those terms before! It's not so much that Christ eliminated sin, but rather that He overwhelmed and engulfed it through His own blinding holiness. I'm beloved by Him, not as the lamed and plain-featured 'Much-Afraid', but as the lovely 'Grace and Glory' He intends for me to be! And when He looks at me, THAT IS WHAT HE IS SEEING! The thought became a little well of joy throughout the miserable week- a gem to be fished from its case and admired whenever things became intolerable.
So, in conclusion, what have I learned? Well, first of all, to be careful where I leave my wallet! :-P But also, that God truly is faithful in the midst of distressing circumstances- and that when I allow myself to wallow in self-pity, I cut myself off from the sweetest consolations of His faithfulness! Last of all, the importance of encouragement and fellowship with other Christians. Wednesday night, I was able to talk to my two closest friends on the phone, and both vent, receive exciting 'outside' perspectives (Things are happening across the world that are much more important than my cramped little campus 'cage'; surPRISE!), and some helpful lecturing and advice. That was the beginning of the end of the 'No good, terrible, very bad week'. It was rather like the soothing of a plunging horse, or the calming of a storm- my head stopped spinning, heart resumed its normal beating, stomach stopped tensing- the whole body was just like 'Ooooh, ok, nobody's dying yet after all! Never mind!' It must have been receiving some pretty catastrophic memos from my brain! :-) And a genuine, face splitting smile is a pretty good tonic for a troubled spirit! Then, on Thursday, a British Christian and author came to speak on campus about the Resurrection, and its role in the Gospel, which was also pretty encouraging- and afterwards, my friend Anna and I began chatting, and agreed to begin going through the book of Romans together in our daily quiet time so we'd have more fellowship and accountability. Which is always a good thing.
... And which leads me to wonder whether my week was really as awful as I thought... :-)
"Be still, be still you silly, trembling heart
Be still and wait for day!
Think you to break a single bar apart
By quaking so away?
If lost in darkness, and its prisoning
Why then, like Paul and Silas pray and sing!
Be still, my love!"
"I cannot, cannot still this freezing terror
Nor halt my quivering
Nor have sufficient strength to ever bear
Such fearful buffeting
I lack for wisdom, Lord, and without light
Will soon be crushed by all this weight of night!
Come near, my God!"
"Be still and know, you fragile, craven thing
I swear, I will restore
Child, weeping for your lack of comforting
No servant ever bore
The cross alone- why care that mockers jeer?
Why huddle in such agony of fear?
The fight is won!"
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