Em and Grace went back to school this morning. Sarah is singing in the tub, and every once in a while she randomly calls out Drew's name, as if he might answer. It's a little weird, but endearing. (She's going to see him again today, they were apart all summer.)
And I am, well...home.
And back to school.
I've been all tied up in knots over Samuel ever since I started teaching it to Em. Does this happen to you? I mean, I expect myself to get that way over Grey's Anatomy, which carries almost as much drama as Samuel. But why be so emotionally entwined in the Scriptures? I feel Penninah's meanness and Hannah's grief and Elkanah's tenderness. I sense the deep reverence that draws Samuel to rest near the Ark and the horrible lack of it in the desecration of Eli's sons. So I've started to study it more in depth. Which means I've started to write about it. I'm not going to structure it all--I don't like structure--but I do like rhythms. I can live with rhythms far better than rigidness.
So I decided there are a few ways I want to study Samuel. I'm going to work my way through a commentary on it. You know--traditional exegesis. I find that there is much to be learned from knowing the facts. But what I'm really excited about is working my way through a literary analysis of it. There is so much richness in the way the text of Samuel was written. So much in it's literary composition. I toyed with the idea of trying to teach myself Hebrew, but decided that wasn't the right path. I'd much rather read the translation of someone who really gets the language. It's about hearing in the Hebrew text all the author wanted to speak. The texts were originally written to be heard, out loud. I think they were supposed to be felt.
For example, we "hear" so much more when we "listen" to some of the storytelling techniques the author uses. I'm working on getting a good literary translation, but even from reading the English version you get an idea. I Sam. 3 starts by saying, "The word of the Lord was rare in those days," "visions were not widespread", and then in the next verse the author points to Eli, "whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see," but "the lamp of God had not yet gone out where Samuel was lying down in the temple." And then in the middle of the night God SPEAKS to Samuel. Do you see the light going out on the house of Eli and the voice awakening Samuel? Do you see the picture the author is painting for us through contrast and comparison? The author of Samuel uses word repetition and other clues to help us understand the meaning of his stories.
So you see I want to feel the text, understand the circumstances (the facts) as best as I can, and listen and look at the word pictures the author is painting and see how the Lord will speak to me and through me as I write.
And I will see what God teaches me through the text and how I see my own story through hearing the story of Saul and David and Samuel.
That's what I'm thinking today...but who knows what tomorrow may bring?
I just know I need to work through the story. The truth of it, the emotions it draws to the surface, the beauty and the difficulty, the tragedy and the triumphs. I would love to work through it together with you, in bits and pieces. Please join me in the journey.
I'm lying here on the floor, curled up with the dog, in golden sanctuary.
I don't want the peace I woke with to leave me.
To fall asleep with a cry on my heart and wake with peace is not answer, but presence.
But whose presence?
And is it OK?
Does this come as an answer to prayer?
Whose prayer?
Did it change my course?
Am I weak, and emotional, and unsteady?
Or is love stronger somehow, than my death?
I don't want my eyes to grow dim like Eli's.
I don't want to desecrate this sanctuary like his sons.
I don't want the enmity of Elkanah's polygamous choice.
I don't want a rivalry.
I don't want to spurn love.
I don't want to cave to my circumstances.
I don't want to take my grief to any but the Lord.
I don't want the priest to think I'm a crazy drunk.
I don't want to forget my covenant with the Lord.
I don't want to give up on my son.
I don't want to bring down the priests you've appointed.
I don't want to be unresponsive to your midnight call.
I don't want to have a narrow vision.
I don't want any of my words to fall to the ground.
Can you hear all the cries?
Sometimes I don't know what I am supposed to want.
I just know what I do want.
And I know that I want to want what You want me to want, My God and Savior.
And I'm scared of choice. Really scared of choice.
Yesterday, Matt took the day off so he could join me on one of my field trips. I wanted to see the Renoir exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We decided to make a day of it and took the train in. The Elizabethtown train station is getting a million dollar+ remodel. It looks like they are keeping some of the old stone as well as introducing some long overdue changes. A happy marriage of the old and new. I like that.
Once in Philly we sat in the train station and had coffee and danish. I love 30th Street Station. It's a beautiful building with so much character and texture and light and warmth. Matt humored me and let me take a few pictures. We walked the 20 minutes to the museum in the warm morning sunshine.
We had a little time to walk the museum before we entered the Renoir exhibit. I was so excited to see Mary. I haven't visited her in so long. She was even more mesmerizing than I remembered. I was glad that I was still so drawn to her.
Matt and I went in to the Late Renoir exhibit and I kept waiting to be moved. To be drawn in. To be fascinated by his work. For it to speak to me. It was all very lovely. And yet, I found myself having to agree with Matt's words after we left the exhibit. "That was actually disappointing. I don't think I'm a big Renoir fan." It was true for me too. And I was trying to pinpoint why. Matt did say that he liked the paintings where Renoir had painted his children. But it seemed more like the idea Matt was drawn to than even the actual paintings.
As we walked the museum, I realized that I had grown since my last visit to an Art Museum. I found that I knew which paintings I really liked. I knew which ones I would want on my walls. And I even knew that I was drawn by certain artists for particular reasons. To my surprise I really like Eakins. I found myself drawn to his paintings all through the museum without knowing at first that they were his. There was a special exhibit for The Gross Clinic because it has been recently restored. I wouldn't normally be drawn to that type of scene, but I found myself so drawn to the personalities of his subjects. He painted their character. His subjects were rich with identity. He knew who they were. They seemed to know themselves. I also really loved his wife's painting of him. She knew his lines.
There were a few others that I found myself drawn to. Of the sacred paintings I loved a few that depicted Jesus, the disciples, and Mary in ways that felt poignant. I started to ask myself what was it that awakened that sense of magnetism in me, that made me want to take a picture, that made me want to linger. And as I walked through the museum (which is a work of art in itself), I found that I was drawn to elements in the museum almost as much as the paintings in it.
At about 5 PM Matt and I sat at a table above the great stair room. A live concert was playing below us--a tribute to Nat King Cole--and we ordered something to drink. I began to write out a list of things that moved me, drew me in, made me feel something. Things like arches, high ceilings, domes, and pillars. Stairs--endless repetition with shading and clean lines. Color and Light. Whimsy, the unexpected, things that played tricks on your eyes. Sacred spaces, fireplaces. Beautiful gowns. Curtains, sheers, and beautiful windows. People who speak deeply without using words.
And this simple whisper of truth awakened in me.
There is power in beauty.
In the space of that moment, I felt it was good.
There is a question that's been quietly rising in my thoughts for some time now that sounds a little bit like this... Can beauty heal?
From Roaring Brook to Chimney Pond Photo by Bgrace
A couple nights ago I was getting ready to curl up with my pile of books in bed and Matt comes in and with a half smirk says, "So you're really going to read all of those books?"
"Not going to," I said, "I am reading them."
"These two," I pointed to the books I was referring to, "I read sections that are a couple pages long every day. The A. Carmichael book I read about a Chapter a day because I need a little dose of A.C. to keep things in perspective."
"These two are Bibles," I continued, "and the Siblings book I read a little bit out of every couple of days."
"Why are you reading the Appalachian Trail Guide to Maine?" he asked.
"Well," (I sighed because I wasn't sure if he would think it was weird), "I think there are a lot of correlations between the spiritual journey and hiking on the A.T. So as I read it I see a lot of connections."
Matt came over to me, wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head under his chin. "I think you're really smart," he said.
Just led, I thought happily.
That incident came back to me this morning as I was reading the A.T. guide to Maine. I have been wrestling with God about some things over the past few days. I have felt a bit conflicted at the direction He's taking me in right now. It seems to be going away from where I've been headed and I feel a bit perplexed, somewhat disturbed, and confused about what I am sensing from Him. So I keep checking in, "Is this just me? Am I being drawn away from my destination and just thinking it's you God? I want to be strong, I don't want to give up, I need to see this through...but the things you are showing me don't seem to be a direct route. What if I get sidetracked? What if I get so caught up in things I forget where I'm headed?"
I remembered a few years back when Matt accepted a job offer in Seattle. I had been looking for clarity about my journey through this decision. I asked the Lord to give me an answer by either taking me away or keeping me here. Everything I thought I needed was there. A phenomenal seminary program--I could get an M. Div. with an emphasis in spiritual formation, Ted and Nancy nearby, a good job for Matt...a new life. I desperately wanted a new life but I didn't want to go out of weakness. I only wanted to go if I was led. So Matt accepted the offer, and I prayed to God about it all, and the Lord clearly spoke to me and said, "You can go, but you will miss the blessing."
Funny, I believed that God had spoken, but I wasn't sure that I believed Him. (I wrote more about that in a piece called Lit From Within.) I decided to follow anyway. Matt had asked me what I thought we should do--if we should go or not, and I told him that because I was too confused about what was God and what wasn't, that he needed to make the decision, and I would go along with it no matter what. And once I told the Lord I would rather have the blessing and that I would rather go the route that would bring Him the most glory, I received a knowing from Him that we were not going to go. But I knew that God would have to be the One who intervened to keep us here. I told Jean, and she then shared with me that God had given her the same knowing, even though she had been willing to release me to the Lord's will. I told my Pastor who I had been meeting with at the time as well. But I made every effort to put my house in order so that we were ready to go. I boxed up almost everything. We painted the whole house and put new flooring in. We had a yard sale and sold much of our furniture because it would be cheaper to buy new stuff than move it across the country. I can't really explain it other than it was like Abraham going through all the motions of putting Isaac on the altar even though he believed God would provide the sacrifice in the stead of his son. The day before we were to put our house on the market Matt got a phone call from a company in the area he had not sent a resume to, not interviewed with, and not sought a job with--it was an even better job offer than Seattle. A man who had mentored him at another company asked him to come and work with him.
After everything had panned out, I told Matt that the Lord had told me we wouldn't be going.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he said with a fair amount of exasperation.
"Because you needed to know it was God, and not me," I replied. (For that matter, so did I.)
This morning, as I was reading the A.T. guide to Maine, I learned that there are some hiking points that can be reached by access roads if you wanted to drive there instead of hiking. I was tempted by the thought, Why didn't we drive there? for a few seconds. Then I remembered another incident of a few years back.
The light I was wrestling for finally broke through. I could drive there, but I would miss the blessings along the trail.
This truth has been coming at me so often the past couple of weeks. If I had given up on my job when they cut my salary, I would have missed an enormous blessing--THE WHOLE POINT OF MY BEING THERE! I would not have seen God's words about my ministry bear fruit.
What I'm trying to say is this: there are enormous blessings in store for us when we stay the course, when we stay on the path God puts us on. Often God does not take us on the most direct route. He doesn't drive us there on the easy access roads. Why? Because we'd miss the blessings along the way. And sometimes He takes us on paths where there are no easy access routes. The blessings along those trailsl are ones you don't find yourself taking for granted. Nor are the blessings at the end of those trails.
This morning God was saying to me--I'm not changing your destination, but I'm taking you along the scenic path. Enjoy the journey.
Mirror Image at Chimney Pond Photo by Bgrace
It reminded me of the path to chimney pond--there aren't any access roads there. It's on the way to Cathedral Trail, the path we took to the top of Mount K. The view of the mountain from the campground is aptly named. It inspires a holy awe. Absolutely worth the hike.
Chimney Pond Campground with Cathedral in the background.
Photo by Bgrace
I'll close with an few excerpts from the forewords to Mimosa, Who Was Charmed (A.Carmichael).
First Edition, 1924
It spoke in a clear, glad voice, and it said: "Fear not at all. Where your hands cannot reach and your love cannot help, His hands reach and His love can help. So why are you afraid?"
And it said that miles of space and solid walls and locked doors are nothing to Love. Nothing at all.
And it said--and we set it down with great hope that it may cheer some other, for it said it very earnestly: "The seed is not your poor little word. The seed is the word of God."
Fifth Edition, 1930
But here in this strip of room..."Take off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." And a new insight, like the sudden flash that sometimes lights the evening sky in these tropical lands and shows kingdoms beyond the clouds, was granted in that moment. I knew, not by faith now, but as it were by sight, that our Lord Jesus Christ can do anything, keep anyone, shine anywhere, succour in spite of all the forces of the enemy, comfort in any circumstances. Verily, circumstances are nothing to Him. He is King of them all. The material is powerless to cramp or to subdue. It is naught. The Spiritual conquers every time.
Sixth Edition, 1935
For her (Star) too, we ask the protection of the Shield, for the powers of darkness are not figments of missionary imagination. They are mighty, they are present. But mightier, far and very present is the Shield of our God.
As I was looking through our photos of Mount Saint Helens, I remember my sense of wonder at the irony of the volcanic site. There's something about the pain of the land that makes it's beauty more striking. The scars carved by lava along the mountainside. The flora that has grown up out of the ashes surrounding the trees that were blown apart in the blast. Their bright colors sing redemption to the overwhelming shades of gray.
I was reading Henri Nouwen (The Dance of Life) the other day and came upon these words. Our questions, "Do you love me?" and "Do I have to die?" are deeply connected.
How very insightful. Helen is a poignant representation of that question, and there is wisdom to be gleaned from both her pain and her beauty.
Today as I was reading through writings of various authors I felt pain rising to the surface of my spirit, and it was so overwhelming I couldn't push my way through it. I didn't quite know where it was coming from so I decided to sit with it for a while. Nouwen's words came back to me and the thought that formed was this.
"What question is my pain asking?"
How often I look to God to heal my wound without ever identifying the question my pain is asking.
As I thought, my pain formed itself into words. "How much of me is still confused?"
Something else Nouwen said came back to me. In referring to his near death experience he said this, "As I live my life in the years ahead of me, the question will be with me always, and I will never be allowed to let that question go completely."
I remember being struck by his willingness to live in the question and learn from the question rather than simply looking for an answer.
Am I willing to walk in the question?
Am I willing to stay in the confusion?
The truth is, I shy away from confusion because exposes my vulnerability. But it is only in vulnerability, in humility, in understanding that I don't fully understand, that I am teachable.
As I look at Helen's scars, I can see that she knows more about the question of pain than most mountains. I can see that her scars speak of wounds most mountains never experience. I can see that the flowers that can only grow from ashes are uniquely beautiful. And they stand out all the more against the gray.
I realize that the questions she asks are filled with wisdom no answers could ever supply.
"Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story. That is his duty."
Elie Weisel
I've been busy this summer. Really busy. And yet I didn't even scratch the surface of all that I wanted to accomplish. There are a few projects I have been working on.
1) My pictures. I have thousands of them from the last couple of years. The short of it is I am trying to help us as a family "remember" through pictures. I have been trying to take one event at at time and take the best of the photos, edit/organize/back up on to a CD, and put them in albums.
I decided to start with Seattle 2008, which was basically where I learned to use my camera (sort of). I was able to whittle the photos down to a little under 600. Which considering Matt wanted a photo of every nook and cranny of Mt. Saint Helens is pretty good. I'm going to start with a smaller project next (maybe cherry picking) before I tackle the Brazil photos.
2) My story. As I was putting together the Seattle photos, the Lord began impressing on me that I should gather my writings together for that year. And that I needed to fill in the blanks. 2008 is sort of the dark ages when it comes to my writing. I went through a very painful time when Satan almost got the best of me. You know the verse in This Little Light of Mine where you blow on your pointer finger and sing "Don't let Satan (poof) it out?" I get that verse now.
My ability to believe God was almost killed and since I was attached so deeply to my belief in Him I almost died with it. The panic attacks began to overtake me and I literally thought my mind was going to crack because I couldn't live with a God who was showing me what I was seeing and I couldn't fathom living without Him. I asked my parents to come back to the States, because I honestly didn't know if I could care for my children. I succumbed to medication for about two weeks until I realized a glass of wine in the evening did the same trick and didn't make me feel like my head was buzzing all day. Then I did the only thing I thought might help--I took Matt to Seattle to visit Ted.
It's interesting, as I look through the Seattle photos now I remember the pain, but even more obvious to me is the beauty in the midst of it. And the significance of all the Lord was saying and doing but that I didn't have the capacity to take in at the time. There are volumes to write about from that trip alone.
So the Lord has been asking me to write and compile from the few months before I closed down Deep Calls through the time where my faith in Him was slowly rebuilt. It's very hard. But I have a lot of writings that can be compiled, including posts from a fairly private blog called Trio Sem Joio (Wheat Without Weeds), and then I can fill in the gaps with journal entries. It's not about telling "the" story, but about my personal journey with God. There are a number of spiritual lessons and applications I have scratched out in my journals that need to be rewritten and most of my writing needs a good dose of editing. It's time to work on that.
It's amazing to me as I look back at where I was almost exactly two years ago when I didn't literally know if I could live and see how much healing has taken place, how much understanding I have, and mostly, how stable I feel in my relationship with the Lord regardless of what the circumstances around me look like. I'm not saying I'm indestructible or anything, just at such a better place than before. Praise God!
And so...strong enough to write about it.
Or at least to try.
The last thing I have been intentionally doing is enjoying life. Since I went through a period where pain laced EVERYTHING and it was hard to enjoy ANYTHING I have such a new found love for it. For people, and places, and experiences--food, art, travel...all sorts of blessings. And I want to write about it all. To tell the stories. They are all blessings from God to our family. And so full of meaning. I love sharing these experiences with my kids, with Jean, with my other close friends and family, and especially Matt. Brazil and Bermuda were covered in God's fingerprints, and really, the whole summer has been. Perhaps all of life is, and it is only now I have eyes to see it.
Seriously, I appreciate your prayers as I write, that they would bring glory to God, and light to others as I share my journey.
B
Last week my brothers celebrated their Birthdays. Randy turned 39 a day before Daren turned 30. Actually my Grandpa's Birthday was last week too. He turned 92. And I was just going to post a few funny pictures and have a few laughs but then I got to thinking...and you know what happens when I do that. (Can anybody say overly introspective?)
See, in the last year I've had more face time with my brothers than all the years in the last decade combined. Make that two decades.
Randy came home on furlough and we climbed Mount Katahdin with my Dad. That was a really big deal for all of us. He was in the States for a year--in Indiana--but still, we got to see each other a couple of times. We spent Thanksgiving together with Cindy and the kids--my favorite holiday to be with extended family.
And then, how do you describe seeing your baby brother for the first time in a decade? Truly there are no words. We had such great talks together and I felt like all the years of distance just faded away. He's all grown up now and I love the feeling of tenderness (carinho) we share for each other. Now he seems to think I'm the one who needs to be taken care of. Daren is sweet with me that way. And to see him being an Uncle...melt my heart. He loves his nieces and they ADORE him. And we got to welcome Aunt Vivi to the family too! She is so lovely. We miss them terribly.
I miss you all terribly and Daren--you said you were coming this year. And I don't think I've seen plane tickets yet!! You know you could make my Thanksgiving EXTRA special and Grace would love to have Uncle Daren and Aunt Vivi see her in the Nutcracker! Do you know what Black Friday is??? Ask Coralie because she is very knowledgeable about the subject.
So instead of making fun I thought I would make nice and post some of my favorite pics from the year of you guys. Miss you all and wish I were there with you.
B
If you could see how I journal, you would understand a bit better the rhyme and reason behind how I post on my blog. Right now, I have 3 journals that I write in. The red one started out as my prayer journal. The black one started out as a place to write the words in it the Lord has been giving me, or to record instances where the Lord showed up. The brown leather bound one was supposed to be for writing lines or poems or phrases that would come to me as I was out and about and needed a place to put them before I forgot them.
Then there are the odd scraps of paper or pieces of torn out notebooks that seem to make their way into piles. Some of them I stick in the pocket of the back of my black journal for safekeeping. Also, there are several journals that I have begun over the last few years and yet haven't used up all the space in them, so from time to time it just feels right to place something I'm writing in the empty pages.
I try to date stuff. But I'm really bad at it. Even when I do there are times when I don't put a year, and because I skip around so much it is hard to have a very good sense of chronology about anything. And then, I'm not real good at structure. OK, the truth is I hate most structure...though I do try to put some in our lives. I like to feel my way through things, especially my writing. So of course prayers end up in the black journal and poems in the red journal and words are all over the place.
So when the Lord and I started to talk about the possibility of compiling my writings, there were a few issues. OK, I'll say it more plainly. There was no way I could even attempt to put all my writings in any sense of order and on top of that, there are so many holes in my story because I know the Lord is not asking me to share all of my journey with the world.
I began to panic every time I would think about the task before me, and finally the Lord told me something very comforting.
He said, "It can be a mosaic."
(Read HUGE Sigh of Relief)
So if you are a bit confused about how I stop and start certain writings and stories, then don't fear. At some point, when it seems right and I feel led to, I'll probably come back around to it.
A mosaic is about taking all the shattered pieces of stained glass and gathering them together into a beautiful design that reflects light through a work of art....in this case my life.
Reminds me of a poem I wrote after Dr. Kempton's funeral called "Fragile".
It was posted on Deep Calls Jan. 16, 2008.
Grace's Fragments
Photo by Bgrace
Fragile
Like the bucket of seashells the girls and I collected
Pearl-white with purple edges, buffed smooth by sand and wave
Pushed beyond the receding tide and left to adorn the shoreline
Porcelain curves revealing their intimate secrets
and untold stories
Fragile
As the widow’s countenance that broke into smile and tear
At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the sight of an old friend
Comforted by one as she consoled another in shared grief
Unspoken understanding evoking cherished memories
and unfinished dreams
Fragile
Like the stained-glass pieces of my faith that stare at me
Sometimes green, sometimes red; broken bits with razor sharp edges
Pieced together into a wordless mosaic of confusion and perception
Dull and tilted shapes awaiting rays of light to permeate their transcendent beauty
A few months ago, when I got to Rev. Mary's for our weekly time together, she pointed to the table where I found paper and a pen and said, "I have an assignment for you today."
She gave me a copy of her correspondence with a young man we'll call A. She asked me to read through it and then to write him a letter. A. is the son of a friend of hers. A. is in prison. Rev. Mary told me that the Lord seemed very serious about me doing this and that she wanted to anoint me with prayer for this ministry.
That was the first time I wrote A.
Yesterday I was finishing up a letter to him and felt led to include parts of a piece I posted April 20th, 2008 entitled Meanwhile.
I sensed that I should post it in it's entirety today for you. As I read it, the righteous anger that I felt rise up in me when I wrote it is long gone. I remember feeling so grateful God gave me words to express what I needed to about what I was feeling at the time. Though it is strong, it was not uncalled for. Perhaps it is something that someone reading this needs help identifying in their own journey. May you be blessed by God through it. I hope that A. will be too.
B
Crossing Volcanoes
Photo by Bgrace
“Meanwhile, through trusting, you are being protected by God’s power…” (I Peter 1:5 JNT)
Meanwhile.
Easy to skip that word, isn’t it? But it’s very important.
Meanwhile is about now.
Meanwhile is about this time before the “what is to come.”
During this time we do not yet have our inheritance.
During this time we do not yet have the things God has promised us.
During this time we are experiencing trials and persecution.
During this time we are being refined.
During this time before we receive what our trust is aiming at.
During this time before the glorious things which are to follow.
During this time we are becoming holy in our entire way of life.
During this time we are being purified by obeying the truth.
During this time we are learning to love our brothers and sisters deeply with all our heart.
During this time we are learning to take hold of grace and peace in the midst of grief.
(I Peter 1)
Meanwhiles can seem endless. Especially when we are waiting in faith. It’s such an important lesson in life…the learning to wait in faith. Noah waited for the rain. Abraham waited for his son. Israel waited for the Promised Land. David waited for his kingdom. Mary waited to see God’s promises fulfilled through her son.
It is painful to wait in faith. It tests us like nothing else. It makes us desperate. It forces us to seek truth like we have never sought it before. Because the worst possible thing would be to point your life in a particular direction and go through all the agony of waiting and realize in the end it was all for nothing, that it was all a lie. So we seek the truth above and beyond all else.
So, since God is the source of truth it causes us to seek His face with a singular attention. And because the thing that most gets in the way of our ability to understand truth is sin, we seek purity of heart above all else. Because the pure in heart are those who see most clearly. So we seek to be sanctified, and humbled, and emptied of all that keeps us from desiring the will of God to come to pass in our lives and in the lives of those around us. We ask God to show us the truth about His will and we submit our hearts and lives to Him above all else.
Once we have done this groundwork and waited on God, and listened to God, and heard from God, and finally settled on the truth that God has asked us to trust…then comes the time to ask for faith. Faith to believe the truth. And then faith to continue to believe in the truth. “Trusting is being confident of what we hope for, convinced about things we do not see.” (Heb. 11:1 JNT)
The truth we are asked to trust never seems to be as clear as we would like it to be…but then again, if it were, there would be no need for faith.
I’ve found it’s easier to have faith in the truth before the meanwhile. But the meanwhile is where God teaches us the walk of faith. The meanwhile is where God teaches us about His provision and His protection.
“Meanwhile, through trusting, you are being protected by God’s power…”
I’ve had a lot of people, many whom I deeply respect, tell me something that I believe is terribly contradictory to the truth of Scripture. All because they wanted to “help me.” It took its various shapes and forms, but in the end it all boiled down to this idea:
“Becky, you can’t know for sure where all this stuff is coming from, or what it all means, or if it’s even true, so just move on with your life, and if it happens, it happens. And then you’ll know.” Just the typing out of the words on my computer gives me feeling that I can only describe as an indecision to scream or throw up. (And I’m not being dramatic, that is truly what I am feeling right now.)
Like somehow I’m just supposed to be able not to feel anything about all this.
Or that it’s not a big deal to know if it’s God who is invading my mind, my heart, my body, my circumstances, my past, my present, and my future, or if something extremely evil is screwing with me and pretending to be God…not to mention that God seems to be sitting idly by watching.
Or that it’s a spiritually mature thing to go into a life of denial. A life where I pretend the things that I’ve experienced haven’t happened or that even if they have they don’t matter and it’s not really important to understand them.
Or that life is about what happens at the end instead of a relationship with God in the midst of the journey.
Or that it doesn’t matter if God is who He says He is.
Or that faith and obedience don't have any effect on the outcome of events.
Can you hear me screaming?
I think my window just shattered.
God NEVER speaks to us and expects us to shrug it off as unimportant or inconsequential.
We are NEVER to despise divine revelation.
The Words of God are SACRED (holy, consecrated, full of life, meaning, purpose and power) regardless of the form they come to us in.
But how do we know they are from God? The safeguard that we have is that God tells us that when we seek Him--truly seek Him and not ourselves--He will guide us. He will lead us. He will speak to us. He will give us wisdom. He will make a way. He will provide for us.
I believe this is true. Not just in some general principle sort of way, but personally, intimately, experientially TRUE.
How do we know what He means? This is an important question. We must continue to seek clarity from Him with a humble heart. To be willing to stand in faith knowing we see through a glass darkly. We seek to receive a more clear understanding of His revelation as He chooses to give it, knowing we can go no further than His revelation because we don’t have all the pieces yet. We follow a lamplight more often than a spotlight. (That’s paraphrased from Amy C.)
He will give us our manna for every day. But manna is no good if we don’t eat it today: if we don’t take it into our beings and feed on it and allow it to manifest its power within us to give us sustenance and life. And we need new manna every day. Its about trusting the Provider above the provision.
So please, don’t tell me not to listen when He speaks, or look when He shows me signs, or trust when He reveals His ways, and His plans, and His will. Don’t tell me that coming to a submission and an acceptance of His will even when it seems extraordinarily difficult to comprehend makes me less than human. You cannot judge my journey until you’ve walked in my shoes. With God’s Words often comes an experience of His Word. (Read Jeremiah if you want to understand that better.) It is not for you to parse out the purity of my heart.
Please don’t put shadow in the light that God shines on my spirit for my present journey through the living, breathing historical Scriptures. Because if you do that, you are undermining God’s work in my life. You are becoming an obstacle to my walking in His will, and you are not helping me. You are taking away from His power to keep me alive. You are damning me to a life of desperation, confusion, and hopelessness. Most significantly, you are asking me NOT to become a woman of great faith. A woman who cares enough about the truth to want to become holy enough to see it. A woman who is willing to follow God at any cost--even at the cost of being labeled a lunatic, or worse, a heretic.
“…through trusting, you are being protected, by God’s power…”
I’m learning to trust that God gives me the capacity to hear Him.
I’m learning to trust that God speaks to me.
I’m learning that when He speaks it is important for me to pay attention.
I’m learning I must believe that He means what He says.
I’m learning to trust that He’s not playing games with my heart.
I’m learning it doesn’t have to make sense to everyone else.
I’m learning to trust during the meanwhile.
Here’s the thing--my ability to do that rests largely on my willingness to trust the manna He gives me every day. My survival is dependent on it. The words He gives me each day they are life and light and the power to become.
So don’t tell me it’s not important to come to a God-fearing understanding about the nature of my experiences.
Don’t tell me it’s not important for me to stand in belief.
Stop undermining the work of the Spirit of God in my life.
It is through listening and trusting that I am reassured, that I am protected, that I can live without fear, without desperation, without hopelessness.
Perhaps you think my words are too strong. But I am reminded that the man who writes I Peter is the man to whom Jesus said, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” when he tried to protect Jesus from God’s call. So I speak in the spirit of a humbled Peter and in the spirit of the dying Christ. I've had so much untruth spoken to me about my journey. And this post is about my need to speak the truth--it doesn't even matter if anyone is listening. I just needed to own it and dissolve the power of the lies spoken over me.
Though my words may be strong, they come from a heart of love.
“Grace and shalom be yours in full measure.” (I Peter 1:2 JNT)
Now, if you're listening, go read I Peter 3 (NAS).
