“The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith. The beginning of true faith is the end of anxiety." --George Muller
Too, too, too long since I have journaled. So much has been going on within me, such a tempest of feelings and ideas and anxieties. The quote above summarizes much of what God is doing. How needlessly I carry around the burden of anxiety that only grows larger day after day. It bows me down, slows my progress, makes me oh so weary, cripples my effectiveness. I’ve been lugging it my whole life, and it never has done me any good.
I told a friend the other day that I am so used to waking up to an instant weight of anxiety and guilt that when I don’t have anything to feel guilty about, I feel guilty. I NEVER have nothing to be anxious about.
Everything around me has seemed to be in such chaos for so long. I worry about Malachi, about his tender spirit, about his soul, about my relationship with him, about Ben’s relationship with him. I worry about Ben. I worry about my schedule and my mountain of tasks. I worry about my weight. I worry about the friends I am failing to reach out to, about the projects I never seem to get done. I worry about house cleaning. I worry about teaching. I worry about money. I worry about my family members who don’t know Christ. On and on and on…
Oh, Abba! I know you want to take this from me. I know that TRUE faith trusts You so completely, surrenders all and walks in peace and confidence. I have had moments of that. I want the real thing, the constant presence. Forgive me my worry and my guilt. I worry because I refuse to give up control. I feel guilty because I do not accept Your forgiveness and grace.
Now let us begin anew. NOW help me to lay it all down, to unclench these fists, to breathe, to smile, to lie back in Your arms.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
“For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
Than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
The Lord will give grace and glory;
No good thing will He withhold
From those who walk uprightly.”
Ps. 84:10-11
Ben is teaching on this passage this week at Deer Valley. We were discussing its significance. If you could have 1,000 days to do whatever you wanted, would you really rather spend just one day in the presence of God?
Our concept of You is so small. Our experience of You is so limited. Yet these things are our own fault. You long to reveal Yourself to us; You do so in thousands of ways, all day long, every day. You long for us to experience You; You call us to Yourself over and over. We are so busy with our little lives, letting the weight of the world eat up our moments, walking hunched with our eyes fixed on the ground in front of us. Just get through the day. Just finish this project. Just get the kids to bed. Just get the house clean. When I finish these things, then Lord…
Yet the psalmist knew the joy of You. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God…
My God. He had tasted you, and he wanted more. “How lovely is Your tabernacle, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God” (v. 1).
Yesterday I met with Debbie D., a woman who radiates Your peace and presence. She is becoming a sort of mentor to me. She reminded me again that the most important thing is time with You. The way she spoke of You, as if she talks to You all day long and listens to You even more (she does)—I know this can only come from time at Your feet, dwelling in Your courts.
“Blessed are those who dwell in Your house;
They will still be praising You.
Blessed is the man whose strength is in You,
Whose heart is set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
They make it a spring;
The rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength;
Every one of them appears before God in Zion.”
Ps. 84: 4-8
I love the word pilgrimage. I love that this life is a sacred journey whose end is Your presence. Every step matters. You didn’t promise I wouldn’t go through the Valley of Weeping, but You did promise to (eventually) make it a spring. You did promise to take me from strength to strength. And best of all, You promised that one day I will appear before You. You are my sun and shield. You give me grace and glory. You give me all good things. I need to spend a day on each of these thoughts, drinking them in and understanding.
Oh Abba, we know so little of You. You long to do so much. Teach me what it all means. Draw me further up and further in. Let me know You.
The psalmist ends this way:
“O Lord of hosts,
Blessed is the man who trusts in You!” (v. 12)
Learning that complete trust, the trust that brings peace and rest, comes from dwelling in Your courts. As always, I think of Abby. That was her secret, and it radiated from her as it does from Debbie. She dwelt in Your courts; she didn’t just visit. Oh, she knew the secret of her Abba’s love, and she reveled in it. She had so much joy to share, so much love to give, because she gave herself to YOU first.
I’ve been catching glimpses of that glory, but I don’t want the trickle, I want the waterfall. Let it begin today. Let me dwell with You today. I trust You to carve out the time for me to sit at Your feet each day. Help me to see and to seize those moments.
“O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
Give ear, O God of Jacob!
O God, behold our shield,
And look upon the face of Your anointed.” (vv. 8-9)
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
Than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
The Lord will give grace and glory;
No good thing will He withhold
From those who walk uprightly.”
Ps. 84:10-11
Ben is teaching on this passage this week at Deer Valley. We were discussing its significance. If you could have 1,000 days to do whatever you wanted, would you really rather spend just one day in the presence of God?
Our concept of You is so small. Our experience of You is so limited. Yet these things are our own fault. You long to reveal Yourself to us; You do so in thousands of ways, all day long, every day. You long for us to experience You; You call us to Yourself over and over. We are so busy with our little lives, letting the weight of the world eat up our moments, walking hunched with our eyes fixed on the ground in front of us. Just get through the day. Just finish this project. Just get the kids to bed. Just get the house clean. When I finish these things, then Lord…
Yet the psalmist knew the joy of You. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God…
My God. He had tasted you, and he wanted more. “How lovely is Your tabernacle, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God” (v. 1).
Yesterday I met with Debbie D., a woman who radiates Your peace and presence. She is becoming a sort of mentor to me. She reminded me again that the most important thing is time with You. The way she spoke of You, as if she talks to You all day long and listens to You even more (she does)—I know this can only come from time at Your feet, dwelling in Your courts.
“Blessed are those who dwell in Your house;
They will still be praising You.
Blessed is the man whose strength is in You,
Whose heart is set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
They make it a spring;
The rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength;
Every one of them appears before God in Zion.”
Ps. 84: 4-8
I love the word pilgrimage. I love that this life is a sacred journey whose end is Your presence. Every step matters. You didn’t promise I wouldn’t go through the Valley of Weeping, but You did promise to (eventually) make it a spring. You did promise to take me from strength to strength. And best of all, You promised that one day I will appear before You. You are my sun and shield. You give me grace and glory. You give me all good things. I need to spend a day on each of these thoughts, drinking them in and understanding.
Oh Abba, we know so little of You. You long to do so much. Teach me what it all means. Draw me further up and further in. Let me know You.
The psalmist ends this way:
“O Lord of hosts,
Blessed is the man who trusts in You!” (v. 12)
Learning that complete trust, the trust that brings peace and rest, comes from dwelling in Your courts. As always, I think of Abby. That was her secret, and it radiated from her as it does from Debbie. She dwelt in Your courts; she didn’t just visit. Oh, she knew the secret of her Abba’s love, and she reveled in it. She had so much joy to share, so much love to give, because she gave herself to YOU first.
I’ve been catching glimpses of that glory, but I don’t want the trickle, I want the waterfall. Let it begin today. Let me dwell with You today. I trust You to carve out the time for me to sit at Your feet each day. Help me to see and to seize those moments.
“O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
Give ear, O God of Jacob!
O God, behold our shield,
And look upon the face of Your anointed.” (vv. 8-9)
Monday, June 8, 2009
The tablet of the human heart
Just returned from the East Coast, where my family spent a week with my brother and his wife. I was privileged to witness Scott's graduation from Princeton University, where he received his doctorate in Music Composition. It was hard not to be overawed by the prestige and reputation of the Ivy League school. My mom overheard other parents discussing their children's futures as assistants to important politicians, doing "important" work for the country. As I wandered the beautiful campus, taking in its grandeur and size, I felt small and unimportant in comparison, just a small town mountain girl with her two kids and her job at a tiny school no one has ever heard of.
And yet, as the week passed and I absorbed more of this culture my brother lives in, I felt an emptiness around me. Though I was surrounded by prosperity, affluence, and success, much of it felt meaningless. I do not necessarily say this about Scott, who seems amazingly happy and content, though only he can tell whether his work brings him meaning, and I am convinced he will never find his true purpose without Christ. But as I observed the people around me, I was struck over and over by our human drive to find purpose and fulfillment in what we do . . . and in the futility of trying to find it apart from our identity in God. So much of what I saw was a form of reaching out, a searching cry for meaning, and as I listened, I heard only chaos, or worse, silence.
Yet I was in one of the cultural centers of our modern world, the heart of all that is considered "enlightened" and "free" and "tolerant." I was surrounded by art and music and learning and big ideas. Everything goes, everything is acceptable, and it all is supposed to have meaning because you make it mean something, you apply your own personal standard, and you never, never judge. And yet we are so careful not to offend, not to pass judgment or attempt to define truth. But without definable truth there is no meaning. And without meaning there is no purpose. And without purpose we are lost.
During the week, God drew me over and over to the first five chapters of 2 Corinthians, where Paul defends his own purpose as a "minister of the new covenant." The reason my brother and so many have turned away, I am convinced, is that they know only the message of the letter that kills, the "ministry of death," engraved on stones and bringing condemnation. But Paul speaks passionately of the letter of Christ, "written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart." And it is this letter that is glorious and beautiful and true and bold. This letter is of the Spirit, and "where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."
He is showing me, over and over, that freedom is only found in Him, in the truth of this message. Why has it become so twisted, to the point that my own brother and so many others believe it is a lie and a trap? What have we done wrong? May my message be one of meaning and hope, not of condemnation. May it be a "treasure in an earthen vessel," and may it bring life. And oh, God, may the fragrance of Christ reveal clearly the death that is apart from You. And may my brother, and all those seeking purpose and meaning, find it in You.
And yet, as the week passed and I absorbed more of this culture my brother lives in, I felt an emptiness around me. Though I was surrounded by prosperity, affluence, and success, much of it felt meaningless. I do not necessarily say this about Scott, who seems amazingly happy and content, though only he can tell whether his work brings him meaning, and I am convinced he will never find his true purpose without Christ. But as I observed the people around me, I was struck over and over by our human drive to find purpose and fulfillment in what we do . . . and in the futility of trying to find it apart from our identity in God. So much of what I saw was a form of reaching out, a searching cry for meaning, and as I listened, I heard only chaos, or worse, silence.
Yet I was in one of the cultural centers of our modern world, the heart of all that is considered "enlightened" and "free" and "tolerant." I was surrounded by art and music and learning and big ideas. Everything goes, everything is acceptable, and it all is supposed to have meaning because you make it mean something, you apply your own personal standard, and you never, never judge. And yet we are so careful not to offend, not to pass judgment or attempt to define truth. But without definable truth there is no meaning. And without meaning there is no purpose. And without purpose we are lost.
During the week, God drew me over and over to the first five chapters of 2 Corinthians, where Paul defends his own purpose as a "minister of the new covenant." The reason my brother and so many have turned away, I am convinced, is that they know only the message of the letter that kills, the "ministry of death," engraved on stones and bringing condemnation. But Paul speaks passionately of the letter of Christ, "written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart." And it is this letter that is glorious and beautiful and true and bold. This letter is of the Spirit, and "where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."
He is showing me, over and over, that freedom is only found in Him, in the truth of this message. Why has it become so twisted, to the point that my own brother and so many others believe it is a lie and a trap? What have we done wrong? May my message be one of meaning and hope, not of condemnation. May it be a "treasure in an earthen vessel," and may it bring life. And oh, God, may the fragrance of Christ reveal clearly the death that is apart from You. And may my brother, and all those seeking purpose and meaning, find it in You.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Letting go of the suitcase
So here it is at last. I've gone digital. Driven by swollen fingers that no longer like to hold a pen for long periods, I'm attempting this online form of journaling. I'm encouraged by reading the blogs of my friends; this kind of community reflection can be inspiring. Don't know if I will inspire anyone. My main goal is to be a more faithful chronicler of the daily barrage of words that flood my head but never find their way to paper--or in this case, computer. Who knows, maybe this will be the beginning of a revolution in my life, a getting done of all the projects I long to do but don't have time, or make time, for.
I was telling God about this just this morning, pulling out my mental list of wishful to-dos that get pushed back by the necessary ones. So many desires living in the shadow of my responsibilities. I often feel that I must give up so much of who I really am in order to be who I am supposed to be. How does one balance job, home, kids, husband, friends, family, exercise, spiritual life...and still have time for hobbies and dreams?
I love all--okay, most--of the aspects of my daily life. But I am tired of lugging around my mental suitcase, filled with the lists I keep making and filing away for later. Those lists are heavy! But this morning as I mentioned this to God, He asked me why I'm lugging the suitcase around anyway. That's not what He wants for me. I was reminded of something that I heard on Sunday: the one and only secret to living a life of freedom in Christ is trust. Whatever I am in bondage over is what I am not trusting Him with. Ever the gentle prodder, God brought this to mind this morning.
Sometimes, for me at least, it's easier to trust God with the big things than the small ones. Maybe that's because I realize it's absurd of me to think I'm actually in charge of my future or my kids or my marriage. But the small things get me, because I want to control them. Especially time. I want to squeeze all these tasks into the smallest possible number of minutes to get as much as I possibly can done each day. And each day I fail in this. But why do I think I need time? As my dear friend Debbie reminded me, I don't need time, I need my God. My God can give me time, if that's what I need. But what He told me this morning is that I need to trust. I need to let go of all these small things and just rest in the moment. In the end, what matters most is how I have lived the moments God gives, and I want to live them with peace, joy, and rest. But I can't do that when my fists are clenched around the handle of my suitcase, now can I?
I was telling God about this just this morning, pulling out my mental list of wishful to-dos that get pushed back by the necessary ones. So many desires living in the shadow of my responsibilities. I often feel that I must give up so much of who I really am in order to be who I am supposed to be. How does one balance job, home, kids, husband, friends, family, exercise, spiritual life...and still have time for hobbies and dreams?
I love all--okay, most--of the aspects of my daily life. But I am tired of lugging around my mental suitcase, filled with the lists I keep making and filing away for later. Those lists are heavy! But this morning as I mentioned this to God, He asked me why I'm lugging the suitcase around anyway. That's not what He wants for me. I was reminded of something that I heard on Sunday: the one and only secret to living a life of freedom in Christ is trust. Whatever I am in bondage over is what I am not trusting Him with. Ever the gentle prodder, God brought this to mind this morning.
Sometimes, for me at least, it's easier to trust God with the big things than the small ones. Maybe that's because I realize it's absurd of me to think I'm actually in charge of my future or my kids or my marriage. But the small things get me, because I want to control them. Especially time. I want to squeeze all these tasks into the smallest possible number of minutes to get as much as I possibly can done each day. And each day I fail in this. But why do I think I need time? As my dear friend Debbie reminded me, I don't need time, I need my God. My God can give me time, if that's what I need. But what He told me this morning is that I need to trust. I need to let go of all these small things and just rest in the moment. In the end, what matters most is how I have lived the moments God gives, and I want to live them with peace, joy, and rest. But I can't do that when my fists are clenched around the handle of my suitcase, now can I?
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