Stop starving

"Your words were found, and I ate them, 

and Your words became to me a joy
and the delight of my heart,
for I am called by Your name,
O Lord, God of hosts."
Jeremiah 15:16

I wonder how it was meant to be, before we fell for the words of a lie and the thing You made was broken. I wonder what it was like, the words leaping from Your lips into the void, one by one, each sound birthing a miracle?

When your God is a God whose every word breathes life, you'd think we would learn to listen. 

You'd think we would do anything for those words, sacrifice anything, go anywhere, do whatever it takes to gorge ourselves on the life-giving love of a good and gracious and powerful Creator. 

Oh, what we were meant to be. 

What we would be if we ate Your words like we were starving, clung to the sound of Your voice like it was the only thing we need. If we believed that every single word is what we are made for.

We have fled into silence, and instead of returning we starve ourselves with noise. 

Our hearts are ringing from the clamor of the lie: You are not enough.  

Your words are the lifeline You give us to draw us through the void. We think that You are absent, that You hide, but You are always here if we stop to listen. And when we listen, You call us by name, which is Your name, for we are Yours. 

Your word is who You are. It is joy, it is delight, and it is enough. It makes me enough for this place. It gives shape to suffering. It satisfies. 

It is the only thing that satisfies. 

Teach us to listen. To still. To breathe in Your breath as if our lives depend on it, for they do. 

Psalm 63

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;my soul thirsts for you;my flesh faints for you,as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,beholding your power and glory.

Because your steadfast love is better than life,my lips will praise you.

So I will bless you as long as I live;in your name I will lift up my hands.

My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food,and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips,when I remember you upon my bed,and meditate on you in the watches of the night;for you have been my help,and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.

My soul clings to you;your right hand upholds me.

But those who seek to destroy my lifeshall go down into the depths of the earth;
they shall be given over to the power of the sword;they shall be a portion for jackals.

But the king shall rejoice in God;
all who swear by him shall exult,
for the mouths of liars will be stopped.

I almost missed Advent

Yesterday Advent began and I almost missed it.

Last night I stood under a bedazzle of millions of Christmas lights all dancing to music blaring through the streets, all the glitter and noise celebrating US! And our stuff! And fun! Welcome to the season of eating and spending and all our desires fulfilled! I stood agape with the rest of the crowd and felt the Christmas frenzy coming on. 

 

Around the corner from the party a quiet street held the obligatory nativity. No dancing lights here, no blaring music. As if the creators of the show somehow knew that here was a sacred thing. Though the scene was fake and even a bit cheesy, that place somehow for me became holy. This was not a place to be profaned by our noisy self-worship.

A crazy thought. What if these thousands of people celebrating suddenly stopped and knelt at the manger? What if we all went together to this holy place? What if we hushed our hearts to listen? What would we see? What would we hear?

Advent. Coming. A season for reflecting upon the coming of Christ into our world. This is a holy time. That chaos and noise and frenzied search for meaning? That’s exactly what He came to enter into. To stop us. Still us. Show us the way.

He came that long ago time to those whose hearts were ready. Shepherds standing under the endless, quiet sky. Wise men searching that same sky for promise, for hope. Anna and Simeon, waiting in the temple for God to speak. And a terrified mother and father, gazing with bewildered wonder at the God in their arms.

He came to be touched. Held. Heard. Known. He is still coming. It’s easy to miss Him when the world beckons and bedazzles. It is easy to lose Advent when the demands of life press in.

This is when we must press into Him.

Nations are in uproar and kingdoms fall, but God is coming to save us and make us glad. He calls us to “Be still, and know that I am God.” When we are still, then HE is exalted (Psalm 46).

Stillness is a choice. Pressing in is a discipline. Advent is the perfect time to step into the holy hush of His coming. Miracles might be waiting for us in the quiet. Rest might restore us to the God who calls for us.

When the loud lures, let’s step around the corner into the stillness of His presence. He is here, and He has been here all along. He always comes for us, if we will let Him.

This is what I've been thinking about for four months

I’m not sure any of this is going to make sense.

And if it does, you might not like it. But I need to say it anyway.

It has been awhile (OK, four months, sigh), since my last post. Even as my own life has been upended and put back together again in beautiful, scary ways I never imagined, I’ve walked with friends through some dark valleys. Mental illness. Unfaithful husbands. Abusive husbands. Miscarriages. Addictions. Rebellious children. Loneliness, depression, despair, anger, bewilderment, longing. I have seen the yawning chasms of need and loss, doubt and indifference, fear and apathy. And I have watched with the rest of the world as terror rears up like a dragon and howls its hatred.

At night I stare at darkness that billows up into my heart, fear pressing in. These giants are real and large and dangerous. What can I do? What can I say? How can I stand against such need? I am small. And the evils of the world are very, very big. I try to write and it feels like throwing pebbles at a brick wall.

A voice in the darkness. A whisper to my heart.

Press in.

It’s the word God gave to us sisters when we huddled around our broken hearts, crying out our confusion and grief. It’s the word He continued to speak into my bewildered and aching soul through all the long summer and the healing time that followed.

Press in.

When the fear presses in, press into Him.

When the doubt presses in, press into Him.

When everything you know seems like not enough and despair takes hold, press into Him.

He is enough. This is what I am coming to know, and this is what I am learning to tell myself over and over when the darkness looms.

But I spend so much time thinking about things that don’t matter. I waste endless hours comparing myself to others in ways that miss the point about why we are here and what we should be doing. I am so easily consumed by the petty, the trite, and the insignificant.

I’m not saying the day-to-day details are not important. They matter more than we know. They matter because it is the moments that make up a life. And we are letting the enemy take them.

I am convinced that great darkness is coming for us. The enemy is prowling and his hatred is growing, and we forget this all too easily. We are lulled away so quickly. We chase our dreams of comfort and security at any cost. Or we know it and we are terrified, staring at the giants like we are kids with stick swords.

Mostly I have been mired in the insignificant. But in those moments when I really press in, I see it clearly. There is a war and we are the warriors and we have the weapons to fight.

The enemy is coming, is already among us. We can forget and lose ourselves in apathy and pettiness, or we can let fear paralyze us.

Or we can press in.

We can start to know—to really know our God. And knowing Him, we can begin to truly know ourselves and one another. And we can be ready.

What would it look like to press into Him continually? How would it shape my days, my relationships, my thoughts? He longs for us to know Him, and He longs to transform us. We have become so blind to Who We Are and to Who Our God Is, and we don’t really believe He is enough for us. We don’t believe that we are enough in Him. I don’t believe. Not always. But I want to. I want to know Him. I want to be transformed.

This thought fills me like fire in the bones. We must press into Him. I feel so weak and small and broken and inadequate, but the more I press into Him, the more I know His truth in my very soul.

We are His. Made in His image, glorious and beautiful and strong. What if we started really knowing and believing and living the truth? What if we lived like warriors and took up our weapons together?

Our enemy is great. But he knows full well that our God is infinitely greater. He’s the father of lies and he will never stop lying to keep us from our God.

We must press in. Our lives depend on it.

What does this look like? I don’t know yet. But I want to find out.

Will you join me?

Just be still

My youngest daughter’s first full sentence was, “Do it myself, Mom.” I love her tenacity. But there have been times when tenacity crossed that line into jaw-clenching, win-at-all-costs stubbornness. Like when she insisted on riding the big-girl bike for the first time by herself. Or when she decided she could ski to the bottom without my help, pointed her skis down the hill, and took off, only to crash spectacularly. Or when she walked to the edge of the pool and leaped in, confident she already knew how to swim. She’s always trying to prove to me that she’s big enough and smart enough to do it herself. And so many times I want to tell her:

Just be still.

Those words come often to my heart often these days.

Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10).

What does that even mean, God? How can I be still when there is SO MUCH TO DO???

I just want to fix all these problems in my life, you know? I mean, some people around me just need to be fixed. And big decisions hover overhead, waiting for someone to decide. And there is just always, always so much to do. Don’t even get me started on my own problems. I know I need fixing more than anyone else. In fact, I’m kind of obsessed about that.

But there’s this thing about all the people I want to be like. There’s this thing about all those people in the Bible who just seem to get it.

They know God.

And yep, their lives are defined by stillness. They know how to stop. To wait. To listen. To be with God.

That word for “be still,” raphah, it means “to sink down” or “to relax.” In the Bible it is translated variously as “alone,” “cease,” “become helpless,” “feeble,” “forsake,” “fall limp,” “let go,” “slack,” “weak,” “wait” “cease striving,” “desist.”

The question is, do I want to know God in the midst of all this, or do I just want to get it done? Or, let’s be honest, do I just want to prove that I can do it myself?

Because it looks like there is just one way to know God.

My daughter cannot know the truth of her mama’s care for her as long as she is trying to do it all herself. She cannot know that I am sufficient, that I love her, and that I will do what is best. Her pride, fear, and stubbornness will insist upon her own way, and she will miss out on what the experience with me could be.

Relax, and know that I am God.

Be alone, and know that I am God.

Cease, and know that I am God.

Become helpless, and know that I am God.

Forsake it all, and know that I am God.

There is no knowing God without stillness. This requires humility. And time. And a lot of trust. But I cannot experience his love, power, sufficiency, and grace until I stop and let him in.