The Fig Leaf

An Apology to Time

2009-11-09T20:45:00.003-06:00

Dear Time:

I want to confess to you that I have long believed the lie that you are my enemy. I have accused you of stealing, killing, and destroying. I have feared your implacable march and refused to remember that you answer to a good Master. I’ve denied you, blackmailed you, challenged you, and cowered before you. In short, I have treated you as everything except a friend.

I have asked you, Time, for more than you can give. I’ve extorted promises from you, expecting that you can somehow satisfy the longing for eternity that God has set in my heart. You know how very short-sighted I am, though you have borne witness to God’s faithfulness again and again. Each time you’ve pointed to him, I’ve looked to you. Forgive me for loving and fearing you so idolatrously.

You are not a minion, but a servant and friend, faithfully advancing me toward salvation—I’m so much nearer now than when I first believed! You’re bringing me closer to knowing as I am known. Your charge is to deliver me to my eternal dwelling place, where I will finally find the life that is hidden in Christ.

Oh, Time, let’s be friends. I can’t promise that I will never fear you again, that I won’t believe some of the things I hear about you, or that I won’t try to make you bear the weight of glory from time to time. But I am bringing my fears into the light tonight where the perfect love of God is at work, driving them away. So take courage! As I learn to trust your Master more, I will fear (and love) you less.

You understand, I think, that I won’t be with you forever. I know that your days are numbered like the hairs on my head. But I have a feeling that we have some good work yet to do. So let's get started!

Seeking the city that is to come,

Michele

"There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else." C.S Lewis

Some Thoughts on "The Shack"

2009-11-02T22:33:00.009-06:00

I tried to read Pilgrim’s Progress before I learned to love Scripture. I made it through a few pages and tossed it aside as irrelevant and just plain uninteresting. The language was laborious, the words seemed scripted, and I found it difficult to believe that Pilgrim/Christian could teach me anything.

But I picked it up again a couple of years ago. I’d recently spent some time in the Valley of Humiliation, and I was beginning to test out my swordsmanship. This time, I was in love with the book almost immediately. Over and over again, the thrill of the story was not in the bare facts of Christian’s victories but in the way that those victories displayed the efficacy of the whole armor of God. Pilgrim’s Progress was in my mind as I read The Shack, since many have noted similarities between the two. In my mind, the similarities end at genre. It’s kind of like comparing William James’ The Varieties of Religious Experience with Jonathan Edwards’ Religious Affections.

Does that mean I didn’t enjoy the book? No. I’ll confess that there were certain little thrills as I read it—the thrill of a new idea or a plausible spin on an old one. Countless times as I read through the book, I thought, “Wow, what a fascinating way to understand the nearness of God!" But these thrills were more like flights of fancy--God on display as we have imagined him rather than as he has revealed himself.

On a literary level, I found the book engaging but not enthralling. Young’s style is effective in that it disappears; the way that he tells the story doesn’t distract from it (nor add to it, particularly). This is a critical skill for a good storyteller, so I will be quick to assert that Young is a gifted writer. But the story never really transported me. It was much more didactic than I expected; after the first 100 pages set the stage, we were knee-deep in thinly veiled theology. Yes, the book is a work of fiction, and that matters. But since God is real and The Shack's portrayal of him is different from what the authoritative source shows, it tends to read more like revisionist history than fiction.

Young is an astute observer of human nature, and his diagnoses of sin and pain are often spot on. Much of Mack’s conversation with the members of the trinity is an attempt to explain why Mack (or other humans) do what they do. Typically, those explanations boil down to grasping for autonomy or some related sin. You won’t catch me disagreeing! But where was the cross in these discussions? I couldn’t find it. And if there’s no cross, there’s no gospel. And if there’s no gospel, there’s no help or healing. If all you can do is give me an accurate diagnosis, I am still sick.

Another thing that should be mentioned is that The Shack will be difficult to stomach if your conscience is particularly sensitive. It reminds me of that old Joan Osborne song, “What if God was one of us? / Just a slob like one of us?” If you can’t listen to that song, don’t try to read the book. Although I trust that Young’s intentions in making God so homely were good (I don’t pretend to know about Osborne’s aims), the result is sobering. Do we now dare to speak so casually and flippantly about God that we involve him in a conversation about "the trots" or imagine him calling humans "idiots"? Do we no longer feel the need to cry out with Isaiah, "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”(Is 6:5).

Others have offered more detailed analysis of the theology in The Shack, and I would commend at least these two reviews to you: Tim Challies and Doug Wilson. I will speak here on one overarching issue: the authority and sufficiency of Scripture.

It is possible that I’m forgetting something, so realize that I did not read this book looking for examples to prove my case. But I cannot recall a single instance in The Shack where Scripture is referred to in a truly positive light. Scripture is always, more or less, what’s left when God doesn’t actively intervene. At best, it’s the parting gifts that you give the losers of the game show. At worst, it’s not the sword of the spirit but the dagger of religion. Mack’s seminary training is only mentioned to show its futility.

I’ll be honest with you: I’m crying as I write this part. I love God’s Word. Does my life always reflect that? No, it doesn’t. But it breaks my heart to think that someone, somewhere is going to read this book and begin to hold Scripture in contempt. Our hearts are deceitful, and we need no incentive to turn to our own devices.

The disdain for Scripture is the heart of the issue, because out of it grows the questionable theology that fuels the story. There are many points at which Young puts words into the mouth of one of the members of the godhead that directly contradict Scripture. So you find Jesus saying that his life was not meant to be an example to copy (151), though Paul exhorted the Corinthians to “be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (I Cor 11:1). You hear God telling Mack that there’s no authority among the members of the trinity (124), which cannot be reconciled with I Cor 15:28, which says that "the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in subjection under him, that God may be all in all”? Only if we ignore the clear teachings of Romans 13("For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God") can we buy into the conversation in which Papa calls all hierarchical relationships on earth--including political and marital--“such a waste!”(124). Once, Jesus even tells Mack that the whole trinity is submitted to him (Mack) in the same way they are submitted to one another (147). It’s hard for me to even speculate as to what this means. But, at a minimum, it would mean that God puts the will of man before his own will as an act of deference or respect. Is this the God of Scripture--the God of whom Revelation 4:11 says, “Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created”? Can we possibly exist in a relationship of mutual submission with the God who upholds our very existence? Can we do so and simultaneously give him glory and worship him in the splendor of holiness? I don’t think we can.

The world of The Shack is a world built for man and not for God’s glory. At one point, while Mack is lying on his back beside Jesus, looking up at the stars, he revels in “the thought that everything was about him…about the human race…that all this was all for us” (115). I could go on. But the contents of The Shack are not what matters. What matters is the truth of Hebrews 4:12, which assures us that “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” We don’t need God to turn himself into a woman or to temporarily suspend our everyday reality. We don’t need him to do fantastical things. He has done for us all that we need in Christ, told us all that we need in his word, and given us his spirit by which to interpret all these things. So my prayer is not that God would take you or me to the shack, but that he would “Open [our] eyes, that [we] may behold wondrous things out of your law” (Ps 119:18).

God of Jacob, Love of Esau

2009-07-12T20:47:00.006-06:00

I was born in iniquity;
And I tremble before both miserable and mighty men.
How can I stand before your holiness
On the ground that you have made, and made holy?
Esau have I loved;
My gnawing hungers drive me to despise what you have given,
What you have made mine by right of a new birth.
I let go long before you bless me, God of Jacob.

I scorn your redemption, a bowl of stew;
And sing siren songs with the voice of a wretched man;
Enemy or friend? Darkness or light?
I know not what I do.
Yet you shelter me in the day of trouble
And cover me with favor as with a shield.
Like a father, mother, husband—you love me.
Though I yet love what you have hated,
I wear your armor as you train my hands for war.

Because you knit me together, I cannot fall apart.
So I will not look long into the splintering madness of sin,
Though it beckons with all the force of the law,
Blazing, furious, impotent. Proud.
I run to you, my refuge and strength.
You stand, though the earth you made gives way.
When my foot slips, when my heart fails--your steadfast love holds me up;
As it held you up against the splintering shame of the cross,
Which holds all things together.

I cannot drift away, for you are a sure and steadfast anchor.
When my heart condemns me and my enemies seek my life,
You are greater than my heart; you are stronger than my foes.
I will never be alone, because you have put your spirit within me.
I will never be forgotten, because Christ intercedes for me at your throne.
Though I die, you are the resurrection and the life.
So spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer;
And I will hold fast the confession of my hope:
You are faithful and you save to the uttermost,
My God, O God of Jacob.

With Patience

2009-06-23T21:00:00.006-06:00

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience” (Rom 8:25).

The last few weeks have taken every opportunity to remind me of who I was—of sin enjoyed, people hurt, and opportunities squandered. Such piercing recognition of depravity in myself—past, present, or future—will inevitably have an effect on my soul. Sometimes it produces joy in the exquisite wonder of my salvation—God showed his love for me in that while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me! But at other times, when it strikes in a place where faith has not penetrated, it produces fear and dread. In those moments, the stifling reality of my sin chokes out the mighty rushing wind. Panic rises up and assures me that my redemption will never loosen the choke-hold of sin; salvation will never be something that I can see and feel and enjoy. It tells me that I have a changed legal status but not a changed heart. I cannot see, I do not hope, and I will not wait with patience.

So I cower or I pace. Mostly I pace, turning my restless eyes to the places in my life where my salvation is not fully realized. With eyes fixed on those places and not on God’s perfect love, fear takes root. And the well-founded accusations of my heart begin to wear ruts into the straight paths I was making for my feet. I cannot see, I do not hope, and I will not wait with patience. It’s little surprise that I stumble and fall.

Doubting the efficacy of God’s work of sanctification is dangerous business. For if God’s work of sanctification is stalled somehow, then I must get to work immediately and I should quake with fear over who I am becoming--even this moment. What I cannot see, I dare not hope. I do not have the luxury of patience.

But Scripture says that I am being transformed into the image of Christ; though I’m not who I was, neither am I who I am becoming. For “we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” Paul encouraged the Corinthians to cling to their confidence in God’s work in their lives, for only such confidence can purify a conscience from dead works.

So what can I do with my heavy heart tonight in light of the Gospel? I can certainly work harder. That’s what I want to do. I want to make a long list of actions I can take to undo all the wrong done today; to infuse strength into everything that showed my weakness; to redouble my legalism in every area where I succumbed to license. In essence, I can dust off my dead works. But the author of Hebrews tells me that there is a Sabbath rest for the people of God, and that whoever has entered God's rest has also rested from his works as God did from his. Milton Vincent, in The Gospel Primer, speaks of how this rest of faith affects our day-to-day lives: "I never have to do a moment’s labor to gain or maintain my justified status before God! Freed from the burden of such a task, I now can put my energies into enjoying God, pursuing holiness, and ministering God’s amazing grace to others.”

I’m choosing not to work harder tonight. I’m choosing to do the works of God—namely, to believe in Jesus, whom he sent. I'm tearing up my list, accepting my weakness, and admitting where I abused my liberty. I'm confessing all of these things to God and entering the rest of a pure conscience and a sure hope.

I refuse to turn to futile works tonight and am, instead, thinking of ways that I can channel that energy into enjoying God and ministering his grace. Though I do not see the progress I want to see, I will hope against hope and wait with patience...for tonight.

And with God's help I will wake up tomorrow and call on His new mercies to wait with patient hope again.

Thirty

2008-11-09T15:48:00.011-06:00

Reflections on the Eve of Thirty

"Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord" (Hebrews 12:12-13).

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.
- Martha Snell Nicholson

My pastor shared this poem with us today as he guided us through the text of Hebrews 12. Somehow the dialogue between the text and the poem and the nearly unconscious discourse of my heart, mind, and senses converged in a fleeting moment of tranquility, such as I have not known in a century of days.

“For the believer in Jesus Christ, time and truth are on our side,” writes C.J. Mahaney. I am keenly aware of each of these integers today, and I see that this text offers the sum. “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” Time, in its momentary discipline, and the truth of righteousness, are on my side. Thanks be to God.

Though numbers are bare facts, they still carry with them attributed (almost superstitious) meanings. Some people are emotional when they turn 22; some don’t blink at 50. Tomorrow is my thirtieth birthday.

I am fearful as 30 approaches. The twenties are a grace period, in many ways—a time in which allowances are made for spiritual, intellectual, moral, financial, or emotional flights of fancy. I made such allowances for myself, insisting that I would “one day” be different. I got in the habit of making excuses and pushing the boundaries of "one day" out a little farther. It’s been like feeling your way through a dark room and somehow finding that all the walls have been removed.

I shrink back from superlatives, realizing how often I have invoked them in relation to various trials and sins and circumstances over the years. I will say only that this has been a difficult year, as I’ve begun to realize the consequences of my growing spiritual inattention in the face of the sustained health challenges. It is now clear to me that those trials were expertly fashioned in order to disabuse me of some illusions and particular strains of self-righteousness. This is a strange and hurtful gift which Thou hast given me…

I’ve used the word “despair” to describe what I’m fighting with right now. I know no other word to express the crushing hopelessness that tempts me constantly. As Kierkegaard says in Sickness Unto Death:

I think I am in despair over something earthly and constantly talk about what I am in despair over, and yet I am in despair about the eternal; for the fact that I ascribe such great value to the earthly or, to carry the thought further, that I ascribe to something earthly such great value or that I first transform something earthly into everything earthly, and then ascribe to the earthly such great value, is precisely to despair about the eternal.

What is this thing to which I ascribe such value, which keeps me constantly on the threshold of despair? It has a face and a form, yet it is an essence. It is immanent, and yet it is really a question of eternal consequence. In a word, and simply—it is sin. And it provokes me to despair simply because it reminds me, moment by moment, that I did not and cannot save myself.

The onset of the sickness last year was a unique kind of suffering; it did test the genuineness of my faith and result in praise to God (thanks be to God!). And yet the root of bitterness set in, or sprang up, as I grew inattentive. I learned very quickly that I had sowed the seeds of my hope in several different fields—independence, physical appearance, self-discipline, and the respect and admiration of others, just to name a few (How obvious and yet insidious these things are as they stare back at me from the computer screen!).

After I got sick, many of the trees that had borne good fruit--now deprived of some furtive water source--began to languish. Were my roots this shallow; could an axe or a worm or a fire obliterate them? I felt an unearthly stillness setting into the corners where life and hope (however false) had been before. This new and unfamiliar deadness terrified me; I was not eager to sow new seed, but only to reclaim what was previously mine. I ran, almost blindly, back to the wasteland of my youth. Almost blindly.

The eating disorder first began to whisper in my ear about a dozen years ago, saying, “Thou shalt not surely die”. I came to acknowledge its lies in my twenties and had recently come to believe—in my pride and zeal—that I was no longer susceptible to it. How little did I regard the weakness of my flesh or the haunting beauty of the siren song. That song echoes in my mind all day long now, relentless and sickening and yet nearly irresistible. It haunts me into the night, every night, until the night chases the day. Food and people and circumstances and control seem so enmeshed; the film of panic around me is as thick as a parched tongue or the silence after an alarm. I am so tired.

I let myself fall back into counting calories and was quickly engulfed by the shining blackness. That was nearly a year ago. Oh, how I wish I'd heeded the exhortation of I Peter 5: "Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour."

That insatiable appetite, the human desire for control, consumed the neat lessons I’d learned and turned a ravenous and indiscriminate eye on my faith, hope, and love. I could see myself in an iron cage like the man in Pilgrim’s Progress who mourns, “I am now a man of Despair, and am shut up in it, as in this Iron Cage. I cannot get out; O now I cannot.”

But I am not there.

I’m training myself to be suspicious whenever the word “can” is followed by the word “not.” How often do we wrap up possibility and duty with this neat little phase, as if it had the last word—as if invoking the “can not” settled the matter definitively? How presumptuous are we to assume that we know the limits, either the end or the beginning, of our strength or our faith or our endurance? Are these not fixed by God, whose ways are higher than ours and often inscrutable to us? Has the Scripture not plainly said that we have been given all that we need for life and godliness?

To my disgrace and in my blind despair, I have charged God with unfaithfulness so many times in recent months. I’ve reminded him of my prayers, my study of his word, my faithfulness in seeking and submitting to accountability and in generally positioning myself to receive grace—in short, parading about in my filthy rags. I have believed in my heart that he has not been true to his word or, alternately, that I am not among those whom he has called. Oh, that swelling self-righteousness that distorts and obscures the truth that is brought to bear upon a situation; oh, the Gospel that restores reality and hope in the face of despair.

This depression speaks with an authority that it does not righty possess, claiming to be both defining and determinate. But as Anne Shirley said in Anne of Green Gables, “The sun will go on rising and setting, whether I fail in geometry or not (how absurd and telling it is that this quotation has lived in my head since childhood!). Or, as C.S. Lewis wrote in his auto-biography, “Life is as habit-forming as cocaine.”

Many have spoken truth into my life during these days, offering me the "fig leaf of the Word with which to cover my nakedness." I thank God for this and for them; it reminds me again that he has not abandoned me to my own devices, that his Holy Spirit has sealed me for the day of redemption, that he will complete the work that he began in me. For if while I was an enemy, I was reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that I am reconciled, shall I be saved by his life (Rom 5:10).

In the face of this blessed security, I confess my loathsome and burdensome sin. I have so often shared my struggle with others, simultaneously admitting and denying it, creating a space in which they could make allowances and offer sympathies but never suspect the truth of my defiant fragility. I have confessed it, saying in my heart (Kierkegaard again):

I understand obscurely that it is required of me to let this torment go, that is, to humble myself under it in faith and to accept it as belonging to me—for I would hold it aloof from me, and thereby precisely I hold it fast, although I think that this must mean separating myself from it as far as possible, letting it go as far as is possible for man to do so. But to accept it in faith, that I cannot do, or rather in the last resort I will not do, or here is where my self ends in obscurity.

I want to accept the truth of my unworthiness in faith—not in resignation to my sin, but in simple faith that my sanctification will one day consume that which now consumes me. I am the greatest of sinners with the greatest of Saviors, in whom is found all the righteousness that I seek and more. I want to accept in my trials what Spurgeon learned to accept:

It would be a very sharp and trying experience to me to think that I have an affliction which God never sent me, that the bitter cup was never filled by his hand, that my trials were never measured out by him, nor sent to me by his arrangement of their weight and quantity.

How much time have I wasted in convincing myself—and others—that my sin struggles are somehow worse that what others face? One of the first things that our trials will tell us is that they are unique and disproportionate. They offer to us a million ways to deduce that I Corinthians 10:13 does not apply to the situation when it says, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” Or, if it admits that the temptation is measured, it will simply decry the means of escape as unacceptable.

I’m not certain what the means of escape is for me, so I’m leaning on the counsel of my brothers and sisters heavily during these days. Though I believe that the Lord could heal me instantaneously or remove the temptation from me entirely, I know that this is not usually the way he works. Perhaps a foreshortened trial would not have its full effect. Most likely, the means of escape for me will simply be the cumulative effects of deliberate and honest life in fellowship with God and in community with his people. It will involve keeping short accounts with God and others and resisting my flesh in ways I have not yet imagined. It probably looks more like the almost imperceptible movement that starts with rejoicing in suffering and ends in a hope that does not disappoint.

Proverbs 14:1 says, “The wisest of women builds her house, but folly with her own hands tears it down.” I have awakened recently to find myself engaged in the latter activities—distancing myself from the body of Christ, from the compassion of friends, and from my responsibilities to others. My guilt has been a sort of wild card that I could use either to deny myself the benefits of fellowship or to evade the duties of serving through love. You were called to freedom, Michele. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve others.

I want to, with all diligence, hasten to rebuild; the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do. That will be work enough for my thirtieth year; I will need daily—no, moment-by-moment—infusions of grace to do this. But time and truth and God Almighty through the sacrifice of his son, Jesus Christ, are on my side. This one thing I know: God is for me. And that changes everything else.

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy” (I Peter 1:13-15).

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire. For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ (II Peter 1:3-8).

Tagged and Tagging: Six Things

2008-10-08T14:18:00.011-06:00

Thanks to Georgia for the tag! Let me see if I can come up with six things that you probably didn't know about me.

Number One: Parallel Parking
I failed to learn how to parallel park until I moved to Illinois. In small town West Tennessee, it just didn’t matter; I can only recall one place in a 30 mile radius of my home where the skill might have been useful.

I still remember the day, as I was fighting to line my car up against the curb on Main Street in downtown Wheaton, when a friend pointed out to me that I should not go in head first. What a tremendous, life-changing piece of advice (and not just in relation to cars)! From age 16 to age 27, I parallel parked like this Norwegian girl:

Number Two: Tomewhyit
My sister and I once made up our own language, called “Tomewhyit.” Yes, the name of the language is just an amalgam of four short, rather inconspicuous English words. And it’s a bit of an exaggeration to call it a language; it was more of a code that served to camouflage names when we wanted to talk about other people publicly. Darling, huh? Since most English first names are only one or two syllables in length, we could have just called it “Tome.” My name was Mitochelme Leeto Bentonetme.

Not terribly imaginative or helpful. In fact, Mitochelme noto longtoerme thinksto thisto isto funto atto allto.

Number Three:Pencil Problems
I hold my pencil incorrectly when I write. I honestly thought that I was the only person who did it like this. But if the Internet has taught us anything, it has taught us that we aren’t alone in any of our oddities. Reference the “Don’t Do This” section of the diagram at left for a visual aid. I enjoyed reading about how the author has carpal tonal at 35 as a result of holding her pencil this way. Guess I've got five more good years...

Number Four: Muffin the Tiger
I’ve had only one recurring dream in my lifetime. In this terrifying dream (which haunted me most during daytime hours)our family cat, Muffin, had a split personality. One minute she was our demure little kitty; the next she was a tiger. Problem is that you never knew when she’d…er…split. I would sit at our sliding glass door and gaze wistfully at her for hours.

Number Five: Instant Oatmeal
I think that Peaches & Cream Instant Oatmeal is the ultimate comfort food. If you know someone who works for Quaker foods, tell them that I’ll offer an endorsement anytime. They can use my real name and my picture and interview my family (I'm sure they wouldn't mind). I’d only require a lifetime supply of oatmeal.

Number Six: Rice Krispy Treats
I have ruined Rice Krispy Treats before. I don’t want to talk about it. Neither Erika nor Kellye want to talk about it either.

I tag Kellye, Andrea, Barbie, Katie, Jen, and Joni.
Yes, I tagged only women. Somehow, I think that the dynamic of the meme would change if we brought men along.

An Overdue Update

2008-09-13T23:12:00.005-06:00

I remember my first big interview in DC. After months of first wooing and then being courted by the company, I flew in for a full day’s worth of interviews. This wasn’t just any company, though; this was the organization I’d been hoping to work with for four years. So I would have gladly filed my graduate degree to be a file clerk. But as my time on site drew to a close, an interviewer said something to me that I was too naive to appreciate at the time. Actually, it’s not terribly precise to say that I didn’t appreciate her statement; in truth, I was obstinate in my disagreement with it, as those with a freshly minted degree are apt to be.

“Michele, loving a company is not enough for the average person. Most people have to love the work they are doing in order to be really satisfied with the arrangement. I’m not sure you would love being an executive assistant.” I assured her that the job suited me perfectly and that I would thrive. But she knew better, and I didn’t get the job.

Many of you know that I am leaving Crossway soon. Some days, the reality is more bitter than sweet, since I love the company and support its mission with my whole heart. But I’ve come to appreciate the wisdom of the interviewer in DC; my love for Crossway has not, on a daily basis, translated into vocational satisfaction. After nearly a year of praying that the Lord would grant me contentment in my work, I finally began to consider that the stirrings in my heart might be promptings of the Spirit instead of sinful discontent.

The work of publicity has always been a tenuous fit for my personality, which is naturally introverted. I thought I could make it work because I love people and content and am generally adept with each. I tried to use those strengths as a springboard to somehow get me past my weaknesses. But I continued to fall short of my own expectations and to carry with me the uneasy sense that my day-to-day tasks should come more naturally to me than they did.

So when it came time for employee reviews this year, I shared my own observations about my weaknesses in relation to the role and made some recommendations—including internal relocation for me. Publishing is a good place for one who loves to write and is generally gifted in the area of interpersonal communication, so I was initially hopeful that I could remain at Crossway. But the growth area for the company is really in sales and marketing at present, so we came to realize that I would have to look elsewhere.

For the past four months, all of my so-called free time has been consumed with job searching. I’ve been applying and interviewing broadly, and I have been deeply encouraged by the responses and even job offers from business associates. But as my time here draws to a close, the next step is not yet apparent. In light of the uncertainty, I find it calming and quieting for my soul to remember the good purposes of the Lord in bringing me to Wheaton.

Personally and professionally, my work at Crossway has put me in contact with remarkable, godly individuals who have shaped me in critical ways. In fact, I found and joined a church full of such folks through my Crossway connections. I have discovered at Sovereign Grace Church a community that is unlike any other I’ve known. In the past three years, I have learned more about who God is than I did in the previous 27 combined; I have truly tasted and seen that the Lord is good. He has used this job at Crossway to get me where he wanted me, and remembering this fills my heart with gratitude and hope.

God’s hand has been so evident in this process that even when I blackly refuse to trust, I cannot wholly doubt. I know that he is in this—not just that he is infusing what is happening with meaning and purpose—but that he is moving the events himself. In light of my own weakness and confusion, what else but this truth can put my fears to rest? I look to verses like Psalm 4:8, which says, “In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” I read and remember my responsibility to lie down in faith and God’s promise to provide sleep for me, his beloved. Likewise, I do the hard work of researching, pursuing, and interviewing, and I trust that God provides the job. For he knows what I need, and he delights to give good gifts to his children.

Many of you have been writing and asking for updates, and I often issue a hurried and vague response, thinking that I’ll respond more gracefully when I have news to convey. But God’s work is accomplished both in the granting and in the temporary withholding. I’ve been thinking of Hebrews 11 and how the saints mentioned were commended for their faith in spite of the fact that they did not receive what was promised to them. I’m not saying that God has promised me a lucrative job that suits me perfectly, but I am remembering that he has promised to meet all my needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. And this prompts me to testify to God’s faithfulness and my confidence in him now, before I receive what I’ve asked from his hand. For without faith it is impossible to please God.

So I just want to let you know that I am still working and resting and waiting and believing. That may not sound like big news, but it is the work that the Lord has given me for today, and I plan to do it with all of my heart. SDG!

P.S. After I posted this, I spent a large part of my day transferring digital pictures from one computer to another. Sad but true! I found these photos and couldn't resist posting them. The first one, in the black suit, was taken just before I flew to DC for the interview I recounted above. Don't I look all nice and shiny and...green...in my very first suit? The second photo was taken recently as I prepared to fly to California for an interview. Don't the pictures say it all?

Testimony

2008-05-18T12:39:00.003-06:00

Growing up in one of the only admittedly non-Christian homes in my area, I quickly learned to associate Christianity with the order and security that my home lacked. Though my heart was, as yet, unresponsive to the Gospel, I affiliated myself with believers and mimicked their external actions. Yet I silently struggled to practice any sort of obedience, since I was fighting my flesh in the flesh, and I felt myself slipping farther and farther into sin—particularly into the sins of anorexia and bulimia. At this point, I had not experienced any heart change and, in fact, had no concept of it.

I spent most of the next ten years walking through and working through various theories of change and philosophies of hope. Each one left me emptier and emptier. I acquired two degrees—a BS in Christian Ethics and an MA in Church-State studies—but I walked away with little that I could use. I was still too consumed by my internal struggle to look outward, even at that which interested me. I was a slave in every way.

Though I professed Christ with my mouth, I did not believe in my heart that God had raised him from the dead or that the power of his Spirit was now available to me. In his mercy, the Lord began to take from me the things that I valued most. First, it was a relationship; then it was my health. In his kindness, he took no more than was necessary. In his astonishing love, he replaced these things with himself. Little by little, my heart softened to the “offense of the cross,” until one day I found that it was offensive no more. It was my only hope. It is my only hope.

For the first time since high school, I began to attend church regularly and to practice the most basic spiritual disciplines—bits of prayer, regular Bible study, tithing. Within a few months of this change in practice, the Lord began to reveal to me that I needed to pursue a fellowship of like-minded believers rather than staying, for the sake of comfort, in a church whose theology differed from mine in significant ways.

The Lord led me, quickly and clearly, to a new fellowship of believers at Sovereign Grace Church. Sovereign Grace Church is affiliated with Sovereign Grace Ministries and can be most easily characterized as charismatic and reformed. I am intimately involved in a small group ministry and participate fully and with great joy in the life of my church. I currently meet with my pastor about once a month and am accountable to several women from my small group and church. It is my desire to live my life increasingly before men that God may receive glory for the work He has done and is doing in me.

The Clause

2008-05-01T17:44:00.000-06:00

“When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?” (C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces).

"You were wearied with the length of your way, but you did not say, 'It is hopeless'; you found new life for your strength, and so you were not faint" (Isaiah 57:10).

Dear God,

Quite some time ago, a legal transaction took place between us. You adopted me as your daughter, and I confess that I’m still a bit perplexed as to why you did it. But you and I are both well-aware of what happened on that day. There’s no need for me to rehearse it. Let me move on to what has transpired since that time.

I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this to you, but I drafted up a little legal document of my own not too long after the adoption. It’s not even a separate document; it’s really a minor clause, just enough to allow me to set up some healthy boundaries (you remember how my psychiatrist encouraged me to establish these). And in light of what has happened this year, it is glaringly obvious that I need to let you know about the clause.

The clause clearly states that if you remove/withhold 2 or more of the following self-evident needs from me—health, beauty, marriage, or children—then I have the right to full control over my physical body and its care. Since the necessary preconditions have all been established (really, I was even willing to give you some latitude here!), I write to notify you that I will be invoking the terms of the clause. Thus far, I have implemented the following:

#1. In order to most efficiently regain control of my physical body, I’ve re-engaged my eating disorder. Now that my more carnal incentives for “getting better”—like feeling attractive and healthy, having energy, etc—have been removed and my body is in constant pain anyway, I figure that I might as well get some payback. This familiar misery and obsession is much more comfortable to me than the self-denial to which you have called me. I don’t really understand all the talk about walking by the spirit and fighting the flesh, so I’ll just feed the flesh and keep walking.

#2. I’m rethinking this whole “Gospel only” mentality. The truth is that, throughout this past year, I have only gotten sicker—physically and emotionally. So it would seem pretty obvious that this approach is inadequate. I’m quite certain that the time for healing is now, so I’m investigating a few “Gospel-and” strategies. I’ll let you know what I come up with in case you need some help with the next case.

#3. Your Word defines shame as that which fails to bring honor to you. But I would submit to you that shame is much broader than that. Since you have called me, repeatedly, to things that make me look weak, foolish, and inadequate, I have learned that shame has more dimensions than I realized. I mean, what does biblical shame have to say to the critical glances of the females around me when I’m dressed wrong or when my body doesn’t look like it used to or even should at my age? What does it say to the strangers who shift their eyes pityingly when I’m limping and in obvious pain? Believing that these changes are ways that you can be glorified has not made any of them go away. So I’m thinking that perhaps if I use this shame as a prod, it might motivate me to push harder and somehow overcome. Again, I just want to try out some options. I’ll let you know how it goes.

#4. In light of all the work I have to do (see items 1-3), it probably goes without saying that I will have to drop out of a few things. I know that you have called me to love and serve at my church and through some specific relationships, but clearly I need to rethink these things during this time. As you know, I can hardly be expected to care for others if I’m not first caring for myself. I'm sure you appreciate my focus here! Really, it's just good stewardship.

Now, I’ll admit that I never got your signature on the clause. But I’m certain that you will acquiesce when you consider the merits of my case. For you are a kind and compassionate God, and you would never give me more than I could bear! Remember? You promised. While I believe that you will ultimately work things out for my good, it seems as though I need to set an interim plan in place until you get things back on track. I'll keep close watch, though, and render the clause void just as soon as you do.

Respectfully,

Michele

Oh God, help me to look at all the provisions that I make for my flesh and to cry out, "It is hopeless." Help me not to just regroup and plot more evil; oh, bring me to the end of myself. Let me live not in my unbelief but in my faith! God, I write this ridiculous letter to "dig out the word"--to expose the pernicious lies. Let me see my face as it is and not as I imagine it to be. Help me, by your powerful spirit, to cast myself on the cross of Christ; to dwell in my adoption as a son; to hold fast to my sure hope; to have faith that you will not forsake the work of your hands. Help me to rehearse the Gospel when I am tempted and not to move beyond it; help me to see your kindness there and to be moved by it to repentance. Preserve me, oh God of my salvation. I trust in you.

"For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite" (Isaiah 57:15).

Getting Back to "Real Life"

2008-04-19T20:07:00.002-06:00

The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's "own" or "real" life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life (C.S. Lewis).

It has now been almost a year since I was hospitalized. These months of doctors, testing, and sustained physical pain have done little to provide answers. I am grateful to God for the prayers of those who have pleaded on my behalf that my faith would not fail in the face of this pain and uncertainty. By the grace of God and only by the grace of God, it has not. But as I await a new battery of test results and the corresponding array of potential diagnoses, I want to take stock of the past year. I testify to God's steadfast love and good purposes in this way in order that my own faith—and the faith of all who read—might be strengthened for what lies ahead.

Tragedy of any type has a clarifying effect on the mind. Instead of the many, there is the one. Instead of the functional beliefs and assumed priorities are the real ones. I learned so much about myself throughout the last year. Here are a few examples:

I learned that I believe in the Gospel, I cherish it, and I desire to see my life increasingly conformed to it. I was almost shocked to discover this, since I had not been faithfully living in accordance with it—not unless it was convenient (and when is the Gospel really convenient?). My faith felt like a veneer at times, hiding the real me from even my own eyes. Oh, thanks be to God! It is not. It is "by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain" (I Cor. 15:10).

In the face of the consuming uncertainty of the past year, I have tasted what it means to "walk by faith." And though I quickly revert to living by sight—every chance I get—the Lord has mercifully sustained me through the protracted trial. Would I have understood the Psalmist's cry—"Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Psalm 73:25)—had the trial abated six months ago? God knows. But I believe with all of my heart that as long as this trial endures, it is serving a necessary purpose in my sanctification.

Living daily with circumstances that provoke this natural man to despair, I am learning to challenge him. I've learned to ask him what's he thinking, and why he's thinking something so absurd! I've learned to—on occasion—laugh at him and to more regularly counter his arguments with Scripture. With greater frequency, I am aware when my thoughts are in opposition to the gospel. And while I don't always turn from those lies immediately, the Spirit is helping me to repent of my unbelief.

The laborious process of leaning into and living through physical pain has revealed to me my own beliefs about comfort. I believed that the world—that God—owed me comfort and health in this life. Being forced to live beyond that assumption in the physical realm, though, I began to see applications in the spiritual. Repenting of my own spiritual laziness, I am learning how to practice spiritual disciplines even without seeing fruit. Recognizing that even my powers of self-assessment are tainted by sin, I'm clinging to the truth that whatever God has commanded is for my good. "You are good and do good; teach me your statutes" (Psalm 119:68).

I don't document these things to say in any sense that I have "arrived" in these areas. But I, instead, offer them as evidence of God's faithfulness. Each area of growth corresponds with an increased awareness of sin and a fresh infusion of grace to turn from it. As Kris Lundgaard wrote in The Enemy Within, "The grace of God in Christ and the law of sin are the two fountains of all your holiness and sin, joy and trouble, refreshment and sorrow. If you are to walk with God and glorify him in this world, you need to master both."

No, my circumstances haven't changed much in the past year, but I have. His grace to me was not in vain, but is instead producing the peaceful fruit of righteousness in me! So when I'm tempted to think of my illness as an interruption in my "real life" I remember these words of comfort and exhortation from Colossians, which radically redefine the idea of "real life":

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (3:1-4).

Forgiveness, Not Understanding (Part 2)

2008-04-14T19:31:00.000-06:00

When "I forgive you" waits for “I understand you.”

If you look at the parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18, you'll notice something interesting about the plea offered by the servant in one case and rejected by him in another.

Be patient with me and I will pay back everything.

The words are exactly the same; in one case, forgiveness is granted; in the other it is refused. We aren’t given details about the circumstances of the two debtors or about their efforts to repay those debts. All we know are the words used with which to cry out for mercy and the responses that those words received. What might this reveal to us about the nature of forgiveness?

I would suggest that, at a minimum, we can see here that forgiveness between men is not extended or withheld simply on the basis of the words exchanged. I say that in spite of the fact that I have suggested very specific ways in which apologies should be proferred! We offer our apologies humbly and thoroughly in order that we might put no stumbling block in another man's path, not in order that we might merit forgiveness.

No, the particular nature of the words spoken was not the determining factor here. What was different in the two cases was the heart of the one of whom forgiveness was asked. Forgiveness, for the Christian, is not so much about understanding the wherefore and why of another person's heart; it's not about assessing his or her motivation or standing before the Lord or even the rectitude of his case. Forgiveness offered is about the work and the words of Christ.

Forgiveness is about the work of Christ in that it is a response of gratitude for the forgiveness received at the cross. And it is about His words, for it takes seriously his statement in Matthew 6, "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."

It's honestly not that hard to understand the motivation of the wicked servant; which of us hasn't reacted to the "offense of the cross"? Which of us hasn't thrown up his hands in disgust and said, "I want to do this myself." Who hasn't sought an independent righteousness in spite of the free gift of grace? Like the wicked servant, we despise the cross when we withhold the grace of forgiveness.

Oh, but I want to glory in the cross. I want to boast in the forgiveness that it bought me, and I want to allow that forgiveness to overflow into the lives of those around me. I do not have to wait to understand another man's heart; I know that mine was changed once and for all by forgiveness, so I freely give.

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony" (Col 3:12-14).

"Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit" (Psalm 32:1-2).

Forgiveness, Not Understanding (Part 1)

2008-04-11T06:29:00.001-06:00

We normally think of "understanding" as a cornerstone of human communication. After all, if we do not understand one another, it may reasonably be asserted that we have not actually communicated. So I’ll grant that understanding is a goal worth pursuing in most interactions. Yet there are circumstances in which understanding—or the pursuit thereof—can interfere with our duties to God and to each other. I’ll suggest two cases in which this is true, subordinating "understanding" to "forgiveness" in each. Here's the first:

When "Please forgive me" means, "Please understand me."

We've all made these types of apologies.

I knew better than to yell at you, I really did. But it was such a long day at work, and by the time I got home I felt like I was going to explode. When you said what you did, it was all over.

Now, this may pass as an apology simply because it recognizes the offense as an offense. But it is, in fact, no sort of apology. An apology starts with naming the sin, but it quickly moves into accepting responsibility and asking forgiveness. The following passage from John Ensor’s The Great Work of the Gospel radically changed the way that I think about forgiveness and apologies. Since reading this, I’ve seen similar formulations in other places, but I always go back to this one. Ensor is speaking here about the way that we ask God for forgiveness, but I think that many of the same principles apply in our horizontal relationships:

Even when we own up to our actual guilt, we usually attempt to shift attention to our woundedness and away from our waywardness…This is a clever way of admitting to guilt while justifying it at the same time. Another way we put the best spin on guilt is to say, “God, forgive me. I didn’t really mean it.” In other words, we meant well. Our hearts were good. This prayer for forgiveness is based on our really not needing it. It’s really a cry to be understood, not forgiven.

Our fundamental need as humans is not to be understood. The Psalmist cries out, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!” But his cry is not a cry for an understanding that forestalls forgiveness or renders it obsolete. His cry for understanding is for the understanding that leads to repentance. He continues, “See if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Psalm 139:23-24).

For those of us who have sinned and fallen short of the image of God—namely, all of us—forgiveness is our fundamental need. Every one of us could cry out with the Psalmist, "For your name's sake, O LORD, pardon my guilt, for it is great"(25:11). So when we are tempted to regard ourselves or our behavior in a self-righteous way, we should remember these words from I John 1:

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

Rather than offering to one another our extravagant explanations and excuses, let us offer up simple confession and repentance. Such honest work betrays a heart in which is "no deceit"--and such a heart is "blessed" (Psalm 32:2).

I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

2008-04-07T18:56:00.001-06:00

I rehearse reality in my morning prayers,
And live in unreality through out the day.
With my mouth I confess,
But with my heart I retreat.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

There is no patience in my well-doing,
And I submit myself again to that terrible yoke.
It is for freedom that I was set free,
But I content myself with slavery.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

But God’s righteousness has come
Not as a law but as a Son—
Though I don’t yet see him on his throne,
I trust his power alone.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

Let me see your wounds my Savior, for in them lies my healing.
Cover me in your blood, to stay my feeble bleeding.
By your grace alone I believe; complete this work in me.

“Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain” (I Cor 15:1-2).

OPEN

2008-04-04T21:28:00.005-06:00

Most of the time, people ask very little of me. They want a few minutes for a phone call or a lunch; they want some advice or maybe a small favor; they just want me to listen. Very reasonable requests, really.

Often, my internal responses to these encounters reveal that I consider myself to be the owner of my time. This is a sole proprietorship--this carefully managed Tuesday of mine. And the sign in the window really says closed, although I painted over it with the word OPEN.

As the Lord reveals to me more and more of my selfishness, I cry aloud to Him and ask that he would unfurl me. I return often to these words in Isaiah 58:

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.

In this passage, so much of what I have sought furiously and independently--guidance, healing, righteousness, satisfaction--is offered to me through a self-forgetful service.

I think also of the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr on this, the 40th anniversary of his assassination. In spite of his moral frailty (he, too, struggled with indwelling sin), he refused to live among the privileged and educated African-Americans, choosing rather to be mistreated with his people than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of what was--according to his conscience--sinful. I echo the language of Hebrews 11 intentionally, for his vision was motivated and sustained by faith. His example of self-forgetful service also challenges me to see the panoramic view--a view of a kingdom bigger than myself.

But we don't conquer the flesh in the flesh. I can't just download "I Have a Dream", put it on repeat, and stir myself up to seek justice and serve others. I must, all the while, be fighting the war that wages against any service that I can offer--the sin within me. A pursuit of justice starts with capturing those small moments--those little opportunities to mortify the flesh, to hold the tongue or to loose it, to dispense mercy and not judgment, to choose kindness and act in faith. In these ways and more, we pour ourselves out on behalf of others--in humility, considering them better than ourselves.

I have repented in my heart, though my honest desires are not yet changed. The Lord is at work; I'd stake my hope on it (Col 1:27). I changed the sign in the window a few days ago. The OPEN is no longer just a whitewashed CLOSED. I pray that the Lord would grant to me a legacy of servanthood for the sake of His Name.

No Excuse.

2008-04-01T16:46:00.000-06:00

“Therefore you have no excuse, O man, every one of you who judges. For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things. We know that the judgment of God rightly falls on those who do such things. Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God? Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance? But because of your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed” (Romans 2:1-5).

I read through this passage a few weeks ago and was taken aback by these words: “Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God?” The audience here has already been identified—anyone who judges. Sadly, I march beneath that banner of self-righteousness regularly. So I dug in my heels with this text, determined to let it show me the truth about myself.

I know myself to be judgmental in two discrete areas; I tend to judge others who struggle with weight or with laziness. Gluttony or sloth, to use the biblical terminology. While my eating-disordered past makes me peculiarly aware of my own weaknesses in this area, I caught myself thinking--almost consciously--that this text really doesn't apply with the laziness issue. Because I'm a hard worker, right? But in passing judgment on lazy people, I condemn myself, because I too am lazy, or at least that’s what a rough application of Romans 2 would seem to say.

This all fluttered across my mind several weeks ago, and I prayed about it a few times—not even with great diligence. Can I just tell you how the Lord has completely undone my understanding of myself and my own sin patterns through this verse? Suddenly, I see how my life is just fraught with thinly-veiled laziness. And I am shocked.

The revelation might seem burdensome or depressing, as you read it here. But I am deeply comforted and encouraged by it, for it shows me several things:

1. The Word is living an active, sharper than any two-edged sword. It still discerns the thoughts and intentions of my heart.

2. The Lord is at work in me in revealing my sin. He is sanctifying me and preparing me to bear the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

3. There is now hope for change, which starts with repentence.

Paul writes to the Corinthians:

"As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. For you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, but also what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what fear, what longing, what zeal, what punishment! At every point you have proved yourselves innocent in the matter. So although I wrote to you, it was not for the sake of the one who did the wrong, nor for the sake of the one who suffered the wrong, but in order that your earnestness for us might be revealed to you in the sight of God."

I know that this is godly grief, because it has produced in me repentance and an earnest desire to change. I don't want to indulge my flesh and judge others for doing so. But what is the alternative? In part, it is service. For, as I mentioned in my recent post on Galatians 5, if we are not serving others, then we are actively indulging our flesh. I really want to get to the other side of that equation! I am praying now that the Lord would show me where and how to serve those around me.

This is what my life would look like if I made no excuses for my sin:

"For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing" (II Tim 4:6-8).

Oh Lord, continue your good work in me that I might not hide behind my judgment of others and the sin that it both masks and reveals. Expose my excuses, and let me hide myself only in Thee.

Flesh Versus ... Service?

2008-03-28T20:51:00.000-06:00

Disobedience yesterday breeds self-centeredness today without a gospel reorientation. Disobedience breeds contempt, hatred, and apathy with such virility that I find it almost impossible to serve others when I am living in any type of perpetual sin. This verse in I Timothy helps to explain it, “But she who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives.” Though it’s written about widows in particular, I think that it points to the grave temptation to self-indulgence that those of us who live alone (or who tend to be introverts) will face. I find this to be one of the primary ways that I am rendered useless in serving the body. Galatians 5:13-14 says, "For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Paul Tripp writes, "The passage is particularly helpful because it tells us that the opposite of serving in love is not a lack of love and a lack of service, but an active indulging of the sinful nature! Either I am living as a servant of the Lord and accepting His call to serve those around me or I am living to gratify the cravings of the sinful nature and expecting others to satisfy those cravings as well" (“Speaking Redemptively” The Journal of Biblical Counseling, Vol. 16:3).

I am spending some time praying through where I am indulging the flesh, though some of these areas require little illumination. I don't just want victory over my sin so that my life will run more smoothly. I want a victory that enables me to live and to serve as a testimony to Christ's power over sin and death. I don't want a victory that improves me; I want a victory that transforms me.

But this means that I must be...transformed (which sounds painful). Father, enable me to recieve with meekness the implanted word which is able to save my soul" (James 1:21). Teach me what it means to look not only to my own interests but also to the interests of others. I don't do it naturally, even with the people I love the most, and I can't do it on my own. Help me to walk tomorrow in obedience and service--all to your glory. Amen.

Hi, My Name is Michele.

2008-03-27T15:23:00.005-06:00

Over the past year, I've found it hard to meet people. Though I've never considered myself an extrovert, I always enjoyed those initial interactions. It was a chance to make a careful and controlled presentation of myself—the Michele that is gilded with southern charm. That simple, "My name is Michele" has always been a confident assertion for me.

In my heart, I stopped extending my hand to strangers about a year ago. Sure, I’ve met dozens if not hundreds of people since then. The smile, the handshake, the pleasantries were all in place, but the self—the heart—went into hiding. Though it was never a conscious decision, I seem to have embargoed all new relationships until the return of the old health and confidence.

I look around my office, my church, and my life, and I see swarms of people who intrigue or inspire me—people to whom I would have reached out a year ago. But I slink away from them now, dragging a heart full of fear behind me. They don't know why I limp down the hallway and wear these ridiculous shoes; they likely wouldn't guess the path that these feet are walking. I don't want to just unload my story on them, but my pride cannot bear the thought that they would assume that this is just how I am.

I liked to think of my three-inch heels as an extension of myself, as a part of what made me “Michele.” But I now see that I was sowing lies. I was training myself to believe that my value—both real and perceived—lay in a pleasing presentation of myself. It seemed harmless, but lies never are. Have I, as a human being, changed fundamentally over the past year? Of course not! Why, then, this sudden reticence to love, to serve, to move boldly away from myself and into the lives of others? Let's call it what it is--it's just plain, old-fashioned pride. And that's just plain, old-fashioned sin.

If I suddenly find myself to be boast-less, then it is fair to ask what I was boasting in to begin with. Jeremiah 9:24 says, “Let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me.” The truth is that, over the course of the past year, I have come to know and to love the Lord more. Should I not therefore enter into his world with more confidence and humility instead of less confidence and humiliation? Yes, I should. But I am confessing to you that I have not.

In John 8:32-33, Jesus says to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” If I abide in God’s word, I am not a slave to the deceitfulness of sin. If, on the other hand, I abide in my "harmless" lies, then I will never be free—free to love, to serve, to live in the freedom of the glory of the children of God. And that is what I am! I am a child of God, and I have not "received the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear" but have instead "received the Spirit of adoption" (Rom 8:15-17). When I extend my hand, then, I can "kick off my shoes" and do so in the name of my Father--confident in him as my unfaltering righteousness and my immutable worth.

How People Change

2008-01-01T20:43:00.000-06:00

I requested several books for Christmas, and I spent part of my lazy New Year's Day exploring How People Change, by Tim Lane and Paul Tripp. Though I’ve perused only three chapters, I’d like to quote at length from the third one. Reading this on New Years' Day, pinned between the cultural phenomenon of resolution-making and the solicitous advice of well-meaning friends, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I believe, come what may; this is what I believe, in spite of myself. I do not want to live with merely the appearance of wisdom or to structure sin out of my life. I want to walk in holiness and, for this purpose, Scripture is my plumb-line and light.

“We all live on the continuum between slavery and freedom. The Bible warns about the deceitfulness of sin and its bondage. It is full of promises of the freedom we have in Christ. But our culture has its own warnings and promises of freedom, false solutions promised in various theories of change. These alternative theories seem appealing. They promise us that we can avoid chaos, live in freedom, and keep our own agenda and pride in tact.

Christians have always faced these problems. We have always had to sift through false promises and theories of change. Even in the first century, Paul had these words for fellow believers:

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits (or elementary principles) of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col 2:6-8).

Lane and Tripp go on to outline some of the deceptive philosophies that our culture proffers:

Changing the circumstance
Changing my behavior
Changing my thought process
Changing my self-concept
Trusting Jesus more

None of these solutions is entirely bad, but each is sadly incomplete. If I identify a circumstance, a behavior, or a thought as my problem and fight accordingly, I will quickly be defeated (think New Year’s resolutions). Change must happen by the Spirit in the heart of the believer, and it will flow out into behaviors and thoughts. As I look at the changes that are needed in my life right now, I’m reminded not to attack the behavior but to expose my heart before the surgeon.

The last two philosophies outlined must be addressed separately, starting with self-esteem theory. I've always been astounded by the fact that I could forget everything that learned in elementary school science--things like the number of planets in our solar system or the function of the lymph nodes--but could recount in detail the intricacies of Maslow's theory of self-actualization. Perhaps I shouldn't say "intricacies"--this was elementary school! But that theory took hold of me as a child; it purported to be vitally important, and it explained some critical things about myself, or so I thought. Self-esteem theory in one of its many instantiations has a monopoly on our (pop) psychology market. We have lapped up the poison, believing that we are essentially good and must learn only to love ourselves as such. We don’t want to hear that we feel guilty because we are guilty.

The last philosophy seems incongruous and even irreverent. How can it be inadequate to "just trust Jesus”? The strategy itself is right--we should trust Jesus, but we have to be clear about who this Jesus is and what we are trusting him to do. Lane and Tripp write, “In some approaches to change, Jesus is the therapist who meets all my needs…If he is my therapist, then he meets my needs as I define them. If he is my Redeemer, he defines my true needs and addresses them in ways far more glorious than I could have anticipated.”

Herein lies the common core to each of these false solutions. If we change only our behavior or our circumstances, we have not changed our hearts. We have not displaced the idol of self; in fact, we have likely propped it up with our short-term successes. We cannot live in freedom if our self-love-driven-agendas remain in tact. Our self must acquire new loves if we are to truly change, because man will ultimately follow after what he loves. People only change from the heart outward.

The Light Shines in the Darkness

2007-12-31T22:52:00.000-06:00

2007 has been the most difficult and most rewarding year in memory. I have known joy and pain on a deeper level than ever, and I have gained “strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.” And I must recount that this has happened together with all the saints, for I cannot tell the story of this year without talking about the people I love—about the babies born, the sicknesses fought, the weddings, the funerals—and the myriad ways that God has worked and is working in each of these things “for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.” The fellowship of the trinity truly does overflow into the life of the church.

And yet, as the year draws to a close, I feel as though I am quietly suffocating. Fear and sin have been regaining strength in strategic areas of my heart, and I’ve stood mutely by—-allowing myself to believe that my hands are somehow tied. I’ve watched the process unfold for months as I give in to this or that sin, excusing my own indolence and indulgence. And now I find that all the things I don’t want to do are strengthened in me, while the things I want to do are conversely weakened. We do reap what we sow.

As I look ahead to 2008, I’m tempted to make all sorts of resolutions—-some inane and some sensible. But I realize, even as I contemplate these resolutions, that the establishment of such goals can be a Babel-esque enterprise. I cannot do any of these things on my own. So what does it mean to go forward in the power of His might?

Jesus came into this world that those who do not see may see (John 9). This is my hope as I walk blindly on; the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. The darkness has not overcome it. I have steeped myself in my own sin and believed-—almost unconsciously—-that I was rebaptized into a gospel of self-reliance. False gospels always leave us flailing and alone. But the gospel of Jesus Christ says that I am being changed--progressively sanctified—-not because I implement the right strategies or impose the right restrictions, but because “he who began a good work in [me] will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil 1:6).

So, dear friends, I offer to you this word of hope as we enter 2008 together:

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Neither the darkness inside us or the darkness around us can contend with this light--in whom is our very life.

Happy new year to you and to me. Let us lie down to sleep in the knowledge that we have already received in Christ everything that we need for life and godliness.

Reality Check

2007-10-03T21:12:00.000-06:00

4 doctors' appointments, 2 birthday celebrations, and 1 trip to Chicago.

Why did I think that I was going to start a new discipline this week?

Lie Down and Sleep

2007-10-01T06:28:00.000-06:00

"In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety" (Psalm 4:8).

Lord, I have not done my part by lying down in peace, and yet you have preserved me--mind, body, and soul. You and you alone have made me to dwell in safety; you have kept my foot from stumbling even in my self-righteousness and anger. None of the things I fear as I lie awake on my bed--not one of them has overtaken me, though many have come upon me. You have raised me up to meet these challenges; my faith is increased according to your purpose. I praise you because you have not abandoned the work of your hands! I praise you because you are completing the good work that you began in me.

I know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself and that he hears when I call to him (Psalm 4:3). So for today, I will call and wait. "Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness! You have given me relief when I was in distress. Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!" (Psalm 4:1).

I will hope steadfastly as I walk through the trials of the day, and I will lie down and sleep tonight in gratitude and faith. I will wait upon the Lord the Almighty, for I know that he is safely within earshot...

Giving Thanks When I Don't Feel Thankful

2007-09-30T14:12:00.000-06:00

I met with my pastor and several other leaders at church this morning to pray for my health. Over the past two to three weeks, an alarming number of new symptoms have manifested themselves in my body--each one bringing with it new or increased temptations to anger, anxiety, fear, and self-pity. My specific requests were for bodily healing and for endurance, faith, and hope throughout this trial. We prayed for my body in accordance with James 5, and we prayed for my heart in accordance with Colossians 3.

I have been challenged several times in recent weeks to consciously practice gratitude. Gratitude is not my natural posture; my natural posture is a bit defensive and overwhelmingly cynical. My natural posture is that of a natural man. But that man, according to Gal. 2:20, has been crucified with Christ and no longer lives. If this cynical and defensive self has been crucified, then it's time he started acting like a dead man. The call to thanksgiving is not just for those who feel like giving thanks.

Two weeks ago, I received divine provision for my housing needs. The provision didn't come the way I'd expected or hoped; it came in a way that humbled me and called me to perseverance. Walk with me all the way back to the wilderness. Deuteronomy 8:2-4 says:

And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years.

In A Hunger for God, John Piper reflects on this passage:

"Notice carefully. Now he is saying that the giving of manna is the test. Not the withholding of food, but the giving of food--to teach them that man does not live by bread alone. He gave them manna, an utterly unheard-of food falling from heaven. Why? So that they would learn, Moses says, to live on everything that comes from the mouth of God. Now how is that? How does the giving of miraculous manna teach that? Because manna is one of the incredible ways God can, with a mere word, meet your needs when all else looks hopeless. So Moses' point is that we must learn to depend on God and not ourselves. We must trust him for every utterly unexpected blessing that is commanded for us from the mouth of God."

This provision itself is one way that God is teaching me that every thing I have comes from Him. God has been faithful to provide for my needs; the manna continues to come in different areas of my life. As I eat this strange bread, I must fight against self-pity and cynicism. I must fight for joy and for gratitude. For this reason, I intend to begin posting brief "bursts" of thanksgiving here. I have tried, in less structured ways, to cultivate a heart of gratitude. But my efforts have been anemic, at best. It is my hope that this blog will help to hold me accountable in this discipline of gratitude and that the Lord will change the orientation of my heart.

I will give thanks until I feel thankful. I will give thanks in faith that God will lift my eyes to behold his glory. "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble" (from Psalm 107).

Magnificent Defeat

2007-09-17T18:17:00.000-06:00

This old Wes King song has been ringing in my ears for the past few days. Perhaps it will help me explain to you my silence. I have not forgotten you. I have not abandoned this blog or the hope of ministering to others through it. But I am wrestling--night and day I am wrestling. From my first sinful thought to my last act of faith each day, I am fighting. I wrestle with my own blindness and dullness. I cry out to the Lord, "But now [my] strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (Num 11:6). I forget or I refuse to believe that manna is provided for eating in faith, and I demand food for my eyes. I "see no manna." So I pray for a grateful and contented heart, remembering all that I have in Christ:

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagles.

But there is more to wrestling than just fighting sin. As I limp, as I fight, as darkness sets in and I find that I am not alone, I remember Jacob and I wrestle again (Gen. 32:22-32):

And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

Jacob did not feel defeated as he limped away from this encounter, and I think of him when the pain feels like too much to bear. We see no sign of self-pity in Jacob's analysis of his own situation: "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered," he exclaims. Jacob had eyes to see--first, to see God and second, to see himself in proper relation to God. When I allow myself to be defeated in my own mind, I can still see God on his throne. But since defeat still feels like defeat, I draw strength from these words:

Magnificent Defeat

What is my purpose for being here?
I've had no burning bush or voices in my ear.
I have been wandering for all these years
But I've seen no manna, or angels appear.

Now I long for the solace of my soul
I have wandered from pole to pole.
here I lie, broken at your feet
Rejoicing at this magnificent defeat.

I have been wrestling all through the night
But the darkness hides the face of the one I fight.
Beloved enemy, demands my life and all I am.
But then he blesses me and gives it back again.

Now I long for the solace of my soul
I have wandered from pole to pole.
Here I lie, broken at your feet
Rejoicing, rejoicing, rejoicing at this magnificent defeat.

I am fighting on fronts other than this blog right now, though I hope to return soon. Until then, I am trusting God to make the bones that he has broken to rejoice!

No Water

2007-08-30T17:39:00.000-06:00

It's been hard to write lately. My silence has not fundamentally been a scheduling issue or even a case of writers' block. The problem is that my heart has been reluctant to embrace the mission of this blog: to take every thought captive to obey Christ and to rejoice in the sufferings that are producing endurance, character, and hope in me. It has settled for a self-analysis that doesn't produce transformation and reaped a stagnant self-criticism and latent anger.

The shift from liturgy of faith to litany of complaints was slow, but I can hardly say that it's been subtle. Last week, I caught myself crying out to the Lord in frustration, "Have you brought me here just to abandon me?" I am not the first grumbling Israelite to speak these words:

Now there was no water for the congregation. And they assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron. And the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Would that we had perished when our brothers perished before the Lord! Why have you brought the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness, that we should die here, both we and our cattle? And why have you made us come up out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place? It is no place for grain or figs or vines or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink.” Numbers 20:1-5

No water. That's how my life feels right now. But the truth is that water for the Israelites was quite near--it just wasn't yet in a recognizable form. A rod and a rock; an act of faith and an act of God.

It is so easy to believe that I will be satisfied when X, Y, and Z are resolved, but when I believe that these things are necessary for my sustenance, then I begin to challenge God. It's no forty-year journey from the "I need" to the shaking fist. Can't you hear the chains rattling? I am enslaved to the things I see, not liberated by what I believe.

No Water. If God did not withhold from me his only Son, how will he not also along with him graciously give me all things? If I see no water, it is only because I do not recognize it. I remember another woman who stood before the Living Water and did not have eyes to see:

A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.” John 4:13-15

I will not be enslaved by my own circumscribed vision; I choose to believe today that what does not yet look like water is truly water. And, by the grace of God, I will settle for no water but the water from the rock.

Apparently Irrelevant Decisions

2007-08-18T12:09:00.000-06:00

I talked with a friend last night about that critical moment of decision that precedes every sin. Sin always tells us that this one is insignificant. If it can't obscure our long-term goals, then it will work to convince us that this choice has no impact on them. The window of time between analysis and action is often narrow, and the role of deception cannot be overstated. My flesh will try to deceive me and, if it succeeds, I will sin. In The Enemy Within, Kris Lundgaard writes:

This is the art of deception: to make someone believe that things are other than they are, so that he will do something he would never otherwise do. This is the way your flesh makes you into the willing servant of sin.

The willing servant of sin. Surely those little choices do not aim at slavery? Or do they? Another friend, a counselor, mentioned today that recovering addicts are sometimes challenged to analyze their "apparently irrelevant decisions." I think that most of us would benefit from reflecting upon our own decisions in this way. Where are my sin patterns, and which "inconsequential" choices are reinforcing those behaviors? The ladies at Beauty from the Heart offer some solid insights into the consequences of these apparently insignificant choices that we make:

Choices—even seemingly insignificant thoughts concealed deep in the heart--can have a more profound affect than we realize. James wrote that sin starts small as a dormant desire, then grows. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.” (James 1:15) My soul, take note: “Insignificant” desires can grow to big sin. Little choices matter.

I had the opportunity to watch this process unfold in my own life this weekend. I watched how one seemingly insignificant choice based on one unholy desire left me spiralling downward into depression and hopelessness. (Just for fun, try telling that to the next person who asks what you did this weekend!)

And then, to add insult to injury, I took this sin upon myself. I wanted to bear it, to purge it, to do anything within my power to keep it within my power. I was even willing to admit my sin if I could be the savior. What I didn't want to do was to fall upon the cross, hate my sin and repent. Here's a picture (drawn from one of my favorite books, C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces) of what earning grace really looks like:

In Till We Have Faces, Istra, a beautiful, patient and loving girl, is ordered to be executed. As the best the land has to offer, Istra must die as a human sacrifice on behalf of her people. Her sister, Orual, of course, cannot bear the thought of Istra’s death, and implores the King to intervene. In desperation, Orual pleads: “You are right. It is fit that one should die for the people. Give me…instead of Istra.” The King then grabs poor Orual by the wrist and drags her until they both stand before a massive mirror. There, Orual sees the full extent of her own ugliness. The offering called for “the best in the land,” the King says, “And you’d give her that.”

In my own darkened and prideful way, I tried to offer myself for my sins. But, by God's sweet mercy, the light of the Gospel broke through! I remembered, with the Psalmist, that "my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me" (38:4). And I believed again that Christ has borne my grief and carried my sorrow and that in His hand the will of God will prosper (Isaiah 53). I took hold of the fears and failings that were controlling me, and I recalled that no action of mine will prevent the work of the Lord from being accomplished in my life or in the lives of those around me. Though I cling fervently to God's sovereignty in this, I remain gravely aware that there are no irrelevant decisions.

"Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil" (Eph. 5:15-16).

HT: Pure Church

Overwrought

2007-08-14T17:05:00.000-06:00

Overwrought. Lonely but without comfort in the presence of loved ones. Wearied so by self that all other things grow wearisome beyond measure. Can't eat it away, can't sleep it away. Neither words nor silence still it. “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night.” Assuaged not by the presence of light, though no longer preferring shadows. "Be careful lest the light in you be darkness." Even the darkness is not dark to Him.

Once innocuous desires charge past cursory defenses. "She who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives." Unblinking fear, frail yet defiant; sinful yet self-righteous; broken, yet self-sufficient. Strengths and weaknesses inverted by a heart deceitful above all. "But I have come to give you life." Knitted, broken, hemmed, held. Even my wrestling against is now wrestling with, and Orual's complaint is uttered in my voice. "Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God."

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge--not in the courts of my mind, the chambers of my hearts, or the audience of man. Wait in faith, soul, and be not overwrought! For the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save.

It is good that I should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.

Old Desires and a New Prayer

2007-08-10T18:00:00.001-06:00

These verses struck me today as I was reading, and I am making them my new prayer:

“O Lord, my Lord, the strength of my salvation, you have covered my head in the day of battle. Grant not, O Lord, the desires of the wicked; do not further their evil plot, or they will be exalted!” (Psalm 140:7-8).

Today is a day of battle, and my own sinful cravings are the desires of the wicked. As I go forth to fight the enemy within, my head is covered. The Lord is the strength of my salvation and my strength for sanctification. If he frustrates the plans of the wicked--even the desires of my flesh--then they will be frustrated. May it be so today. O Lord, my Lord--rescue me for your name's sake.

In His Loving Law, Our Lasting Legacy , Jani Ortlund challenges me to get to the root of these inappropriate desires--this covetousness. She notes, "When I am tempted toward covetousness, I need to ask myself, 'What is it about God that I don’t understand in this situation? Why isn’t God enough for me here?'"

This question puts my desires in the context of God's provision, which is right where they belong. It forces me to admit that God is working in this situation, even when my heart cries out, "My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God” (Isaiah 40:27b)! It forces me to see that my fears and accusations are ultimately directed toward God and God alone.

Anytime my desires are out of control, then I am evidencing a heart that is not satisfied in God. This is a significant confession, even if the desires are sinful only in degree. Have I remembered that "all of my longing is before the Lord, and my sighing is not hidden from his sight" (Psalm 38:9)? Have I remembered that "the eyes of all look to [Him], and [He gives] them their food in due season" (Psalm 145:15)? My needs are known and they are met. For the God who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? (Romans 8:32).

So, as I pray for the Lord's covering and protection in the areas where I struggle with sinful desire, I remember that this is a spiritual battle. It may feel like a fight with a friend, a grudge against a coworker, or a schizophrenic argument with myself--but it is a spiritual battle. And my head is covered as I enter in.

The Death of the Addict

2007-08-05T15:33:00.001-06:00

For years now I have warned people that I have an "addictive personality." It's not a flattering diagnosis, but I liked how it added a whiff of the clinical to the self-aware. I always felt a bit sagacious when labeled myself in this way.

It occurred to me today,though, that this diagnosis is anything but self-aware. What is an addictive personality? Is it not a personality that has been formed by yielding to the lusts of the flesh? Is it not a personality that so loves being in love with the flesh that it can transfer those behaviors from one lust to another to another in rapid and endless succession? As I say this, remember that I have already identified myself in this way. I am preaching to the choir here. But there is more than enough grace to cover even me.

When I say, "I have an addictive personality," I am actually confessing that I have no self-control. I am admitting that no matter what you give me, I will want more. Greed doesn't even get to the heart of this battle. Is it not an idolatry that tries to plead "God...and" when the choice is really "God...or"?

Ed Welch writes, "Consider the following proposition: cravings are best understood as spiritual problems. They are not unique to certain types of drugs. This is not to deny that cravings may involve physical features, because the 'one more' of sin is often experienced as a strong physical desire. Yet the primary problem is that addicts have given themselves over to sensuality, and such self-indulgence is always assocated with cravings for more" (Journal of Biblical Counseling, "Self Control: The Battle Against 'One More'").

I must remember that my old self is corrupt through deceitful desires. Or, to be even more direct, I must simply remember that my desires are deceitful. I will not want what I get; it will not deliver what it promised. As long as I seek my fulfillment outside of the story of redemption, I will be frustrated, furtive and empty even if I obtain the things that I pursue. "Wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin" (Romans 7:24-25).

We put the flesh to death because it tethers us to sin; the addict in all believers must die. But the old self was crucified with Christ in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. No matter what our personalities, no matter how long we have indulged our sin--there is hope for transformation because Christ has been crucified and we are crucified with Christ. The death of the addict is the life of the saint.

On Doctors and Diagnoses

2007-08-03T17:06:00.000-06:00

Why am I still surprised when I dissolve into tears in the parking lot at the doctor's office? Although I feel like I wouldn't even dare to hope that this visit would produce any answers, it's obvious that I do. The woman who walks in and the woman who walks out inevitably wear different faces. Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I don't like being sick. And I don't like having needs.

I'm fighting to apply Titus 2:11-14 to these fresh wounds:

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age, waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for himself a people for his own possession who are zealous for good works.

I can never really get my mind around this passage. It speaks of salvation and sanctification; it promises self-control and the desire--even zeal--to do good works. It promises that I can live a godly life on this side of heaven.

How is this possible? It's only possible because grace trains us in what we should give up and in what we should pursue. And Titus 2 says that we are to do or to receive these things as we wait for the fulfillment of our ultimate hope. When I am overwhelmed by the not yets in my life, I find it helpful to consider again that God redeems all of our time--even the time spent waiting. I must believe that now, because I feel as though I am waiting for answers and waiting for healing in so many areas of my life.

The Lord has allowed me to begin ministering to a woman with an eating disorder as a result of this essay. This ministry has come at a time in my life when there are more questions than answers and in which I am tempted to doubt God's kindness to me. In the midst of the waiting and all of the not yets, here is a now. I am so grateful to serve in this way.

And yet anything that is brought into the light will be exposed. When we submit ourselves to God's word (even in counseling others), we will find out just how sinful we really are. Perhaps the most surprising, humbling, and (yes) frightening recognition for me is that I don't really have freedom in this area of my life. No, I don't live like a woman with an eating disorder anymore. But much of it is just behavioral modification; my sin is domesticated and kept at arm's length (but never beyond). So, I humbly confess that I am not recovered but recovering. We are never, in this life, beyond the reach of sin. I know that it is always waiting for me, whenever my emotions are a little too high or a little too low. I return to it daily if not hourly, at least in my thoughts.

Luke 11 says, "No one after lighting a lamp puts it in a cellar or under a basket, but on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light. Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light, but when it is bad, your body is full of darkness. Therefore be careful lest the light in you be darkness. If then your whole body is full of light, having no part dark, it will be wholly bright, as when a lamp with its rays gives you light." While significant areas of my relationship to food and eating have been exposed to the light, other areas have remained in darkness. I like to think that I can set this little sin apart and pursue growth in other areas, but I know that scripture sets forth no such selective sanctification.

"Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." Here is one area in which I do have a diagnosis, and a Physician who can heal. I know for certain that the treatment for this disease is successful. I am called to repent and, by the grace of God and the help of His Spirit, I do.

I'd write more, but I don't know what to say...

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets

In Acceptance Lieth Peace

2007-08-01T20:51:00.000-06:00

He said, "I will forget the dying faces;
The empty places,
They shall be filled again.
O voices moaning deep within me, cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in forgetting lieth peace.

He said, "I will crowd action upon action
The strife of faction
Shall stir me and sustain;
O tears that drown the fire of Manhood cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in endeavor lieth peace.

He said, "I will withdraw me and be quiet,
Why meddle in life's riot?
Shut be my door to pain.
Desire, thou dost befool me, thou shalt cease."
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in aloofness lieth peace.

He said, "I will submit;
I am defeated.
God hath depleted
My life of its rich gain.
O futile murmuring, why will ye not cease?"
But vain the word; vain, vain:
Not in submission lieth peace.

He said, "I will accept the breaking sorrow
Which God to-morrow
Will to His son explain."
Then did the turmoil deep within him cease.
Not vain the word, not vain.
For in Acceptance lieth peace."

~Amy Carmichael

HT: Anas Corner

Negotiations

2007-07-29T21:32:00.001-06:00

These have been tough days for blogging. Several areas of my life are being simultaneously renegotiated, and the process has demanded and is still demanding my full attention. While God's hand is visible in some of these areas, I am praying for faith to see His work in others. Therefore I will walk by faith and not by sight (II Cor. 5:7) as I work out my salvation with fear and trembling (Phil 2:12).

The layout of my days and my nights has changed significantly over the past few weeks. It feels as though I'm slowly transferring all of the pieces of a puzzle from one table to another. I know that they all fit, but I'm having trouble remembering how. Blogging is one of those pesky pieces that now refuses to fit.

It seems as though I am emerging, somewhat reluctantly, from what has been a rather solitary season of my life. My vocation and my church have both thrust me out of my introverted self in decisive ways, but I suspect that even bigger changes are ahead. Ministry, accountability, relationships, community--As I see these things on the horizon, I remind myself that "the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised" (II Cor 5:14-15). From now on, then, I must regard no one according to the flesh.

Since blogging has been, in part, my way of preserving solitude while reaching out in ministry, I'm not sure how it will fit into the new equation (in which solitude is dissolved into new opportunities for ministry). I trust the work that the Lord is doing in my life. Now, Lord, grant that I may say with Luke, "But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God."

Pillar of Cloud, Cloud of Chenille

2007-07-27T17:02:00.001-06:00

I had planned to spend some time with the Lord last night, but those good intentions were first deflected by a rubbery bagel and then totally obliterated by a cloud of chenille.

There has been little time this week to tend to my soul, so I thought that my few free minutes would be best spent reading. I set aside an hour with my Puritan Paperback (The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs) and a cup of coffee. Burroughs writes, "So far as your heart sinks and you are discouraged under affliction, so much you need to learn this lesson of contentment." This seemed like an unreasonable contention, and I resisted in my heart. "Of course I'm discouraged under affliction," I thought. "Any sensible and honest person would be. That doesn't mean that I can't still please God."

I went to the counter to pick up the bagel that I'd ordered to-go. "Sliced but not toasted," I requested mechanically. I hate toasted bagels. They taste crispy and warm for about 90 seconds and then they turn to rubber. The cashier was a bit absent-minded, and I had a premonition that he might botch the simple request. But I held my tongue and thought sanctimoniously, "Just be content, Michele. It's not a big deal." Take that Jeremiah. I can be content without your little directive.

Then I fumed about it--a bagel!--the whole way home. It was no longer a matter of being sensible or honest. This was about something much closer to the heart. And since I've really been trying to avoid my heart lately, I decided that it was time to get busy. That would give me some time to think about my sin before carrying it to God.

There's been a chenille throw on my loveseat for two years. I applied an ugly mascara stain to the fabric about a year ago in a crying fit. It's bothered me ever since, but it took an avoidance strategy to make me actually do something about it. So, instead of going before the Lord with my confession, I did laundry. My plan was just to do the laundry first, but I should have known that my priorities would establish my plans.

My perceptive readers may already suspect what transpired. I did, in fact, put the chenille throw in the washing machine--along with an assortment of clothing that included my favorite blue jeans.

Thirty minutes later, salmon colored floss had erupted from the machine and was fast overtaking the laudry room. After running through two more cycles and throwing away a couple of expendible items, I was right back where I started. My circuitous journey through a roll of quarters left me with dirty laundry and a discontented heart. The evening seemed to me such a perfect picture of futility, and I chose that futility over the pursuit of God.

Truly, a discontented heart cannot please God. For discontent reveals a lack of faith in the Lord, his justice, his steadfast love, his provision, and any of the food he provides "in due season." Hebrews 11:6 says, "Without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him." My anxious and demanding heart believed that its reward would come by my own industrious hands, the work of which came to naught.

I remember how the Lord guided the Israelites through the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day; it seemed like I got a cloud of chenille by night. Truly, the Spirit came as the light that reveals. But revelation alone will not transform us; we also need empowerment. Would you pray that the Lord would grant me repentance in and for my hard heart and that he would teach me and enable me to learn contentment in all things?

The Amazing Grace of Self-Knowledge

2007-07-25T11:17:00.000-06:00

Please, please read this post from Paul Tripp. I hope to have time to comment later on his reflections from Psalm 51.

In the meantime, here's a taste:

So, since sin is by its very nature deceitful, we need help in order to see ourselves with accuracy. Another way to say this is that personal spiritual insight is the result of community. We don't get it all by ourselves. We need ministry of two communities in order to see ourselves with the kind of surgical clarity with which David speaks in this Psalm. First, we need community with God. He's the ultimate opener of blind eyes. Through the convicting ministry of the Holy Spirit we begin to see ourselves with accuracy and become willing to own up to what we see. But the Spirit uses instruments and this is where the second community comes in. God employs people in the task of giving sight to other people. For David, that was the prophet Nathan. With the skill of a seasoned pastor, he got inside of David's defenses and told him a story designed to engage his heart and stimulate his conscience. Through the words of this wise man and through the lens of this simple story, David's heart broke as he saw who he was and what he'd done.

Seasons

2007-07-23T20:37:00.000-06:00

We spend a lot of time and energy wondering how we can control the seasons of our lives. Whether those seasons are gauged by age, marital status, financial or vocational status, or some other marker--we recognize them as they ebb and flow around us.

I am encouraged by this reminder from the new book by the GirlTalkers, Shopping for Time:

Scripture provides ample evidence that God sets the boundaries for each season. God determines when one closes and a new one begins. He is in complete charge and sovereignly rules over each season of our lives. And his purpose for our lives in each season cannot be frustrated.

The season is changing around me right now; In fact, I can hardly keep pace with the falling leaves. Will you bear with me and pray for me as I strive to make the necessary preparations? Will you pray that I will quietly know the path of preparedness that is pleasing to God and will reject the one that merely imparts security to man?

God Moves in a Mysterious Way

2007-07-22T15:11:00.000-06:00

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Lyrics by William Cowper. Bob Kauflin has done a fantastic arrangement of this song. Check it out here.

Report

2007-07-20T17:36:00.000-06:00

My visit to the podiatrist was encouraging, though it doesn’t seem likely to bear fruit.

Like all of the doctors before her, the podiatrist noted that my condition “just doesn’t add up” for someone of my age who is not overweight. Since I have flat feet, I expected her to prescribe a pair of expensive orthotics for me. But she very kindly explained to me that, since insurance won’t cover the cost and she has limited reason to believe that it will help, such a prescription might be premature. She’s not at all sure that the problem is something that her field can address.

Off the top of her head, she could think of only one type of testing to run on me—namely, vascular. But, again, she seemed fairly hesitant to proceed. What she did that no other doctor has done is to ask for a few days to research my condition, and she promised to call me next week with a plan of action. I do not know whether or not this doctor is a believer; what I do know is that she demonstrated integrity and compassion in an exemplary manner. I was blessed by her beneficence.

In the meantime, I am continuing to experience an increased level of pain—despite the fact that I’m wearing my tennis shoes and haven’t been to the gym in a while. To say the least, I am perplexed. I’d say more, but I would be complaining!

For those of you who commented or emailed today to encourage me, thank you so much for your perseverance in prayer. Your faithfulness is glorifying to God and edifying to me.

Sick and Tired

2007-07-19T20:15:00.000-06:00

The irony of a post entitled "sick and tired" after I put a moratorium on complaining is not lost on me. But, before the Lord, I say these things remembering that we are members of one another and desiring to humbly let my needs be known.

I don't speak all that regularly anymore about my actual illness. I talk about the derivative issues, such as anger, but I am typically silent about the physical struggles. It's not that I am trying to be brave; really, I'm just trying to live around my illness (with "live" being the operative word). I was reminded tonight, though, of what it means to inhabit a body that is sick and tired.

My small group had decided to attend an outdoor concert this evening, so I was poised to go--bug spray, lawn chair, etc. My feet and legs were pretty swollen, but I tried to ignore that and drove over to the concert site.

About half-way through the 20 minute commute, though, I had to admit to myself that it really was quite uncomfortable to drive. The swelling had worsened to the point that it felt like my tennis shoes would just burst. I got to the concert site and, to my dismay, could not find any place to park that wouldn't require at least 5 or 6 blocks of walking. Feeling frustrated and utterly defeated, I drove back home. Now it hurts even to stand, and I don't know why. Will you ask the Lord for healing and rest for my body? Will you pray for me as I go (for the first time) to a podiatrist tomorrow morning at 8:15?

In light of all that has happened over the past few months, particularly with the accumulated medical bills and related expenses, I have decided to give up my apartment. Though I live in the cheapest one-bedroom apartment around, I live alone. I no longer have that luxury, so I am exploring other options. By the grace of God, this search will be conducted diligently but not frantically or fearfully--even though I have only a few weeks to make a decision. I am confident that this move of fiscal responsibility is the right one to make, so I ask mostly that you pray that I will have faith enough (as I do due diligence) to await the Lord's provision. Truly, I have light enough for this step and this step only.

Though I am sick and tired tonight, I am still hopeful. I look ahead at the questions to be answered and the decisions to be made and I declare with the Psalmist, "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning" (Psalm 130:5-6).

Anger: A Question of Right and Wrong? (Part II)

2007-07-18T11:53:00.000-06:00

Anger can be right or wrong. When anger is levied because my personal rights have been violated, though, it is almost always if not always wrong. It is my way of saying that I don’t trust God to judge correctly or in my favor. Sometimes it reveals a heart that desires the fruit of anger—that desires to remain in bitterness, cynicism, and depression. You might think that no one in his right mind could crave these things. But I’ve even found myself desiring to quarrel lately. Desiring it! James 4 asks:

What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions.

Why do I want to pick a fight? I want to pick a fight because I believe that my needs (really, my desires or what I think that I deserve) are not being met, and I want to tear down others who have what I want. I covet and cannot obtain. The last verse in the passage cuts to the core: you don’t have these things because you will spend them on your passions. Oh Lord, you know.

But this recent quarrelsomeness did not spontaneously materialize. It, instead, developed as an extension and expansion of a form of anger that I've been entertaining for some time now—namely, complaining. Ed Welch writes:

Grumbling or complaining fits within the larger category of anger because it is a judgment. The grumbler has declared something to be wrong, be it a person, the weather, or the expensive car repair…but grumbling is more about us than it is about other people or our circumstances.

I had never considered complaining as a form of anger until I read Welch’s argument. His words force me to take stock of what is truly happening when I complain, even if the things I say are true. What do those things say or suggest about God and his provision? Do they evidence a heart of faith or fear?

Ephesians 4 instructs us to put off the old self that has been corrupted by deceitful desires, to be renewed in our minds, and to put on the new self. I think that part of what we put away here are things like complaining, sarcasm, and gossip. Verse 25 says, “Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.” These things may not always be falsehood, but they are certainly types of speech that deny that we are members one of another. A couple of verses later, Paul exhorts the Ephesians to “let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” Here we have the fuller guideline, which includes an exhortation to speak in a way that evidences and imparts grace.

You know, if I could practice this command for just a week--to speak only words that edify and give grace--I suspect that this anger would be largely quieted within me. By the power of God, who works in me both to will and to do his good pleasure, I will fight to obey in this area.

Anger: A Question of Right and Wrong? (Part I)

2007-07-17T19:12:00.000-06:00

After 28 years of living with this heart in this body, I am still astonished by my own anger. Standard-equipped with southern gentility and sweetness, I act like a girl who can’t get mad. I've always felt affirmed when people say, “I just can’t imagine you getting angry!” Actually, I don’t just feel affirmed; that sounds too innocent. What I really feel is righteous. Self-righteous.

Unfortunately, my anger is of the depressive type—the type that is colder and more subtle and usually manifests itself as jealousy, sarcasm, whining, gossip, self-pity. Anger has always been a stealth sin for me. I saw bitterness and depression and cynicism—but these things didn’t even suggest anger to me. What I did see, over time, was that I was constantly perceiving myself to be sinned against and responding accordingly. I admitted to being “judgmental,” even, but not to being angry. But the demand for compensation was killing me (Job 5:2). Was the problem with other people? With my analysis? Or with my response?

Ed Welch contends that anger is the most common co-conspirator with depression. He offers the following advice:

Anger is frequently revealed by depression. The wisest way to approach this subject is to assume that you are angry. Anger is as basic to our condition as bipedal locomotion and opposable thumbs. If you are a person with a mind and emotions, you will find anger.

He suggests several questions to consider when searching for your anger. The most helpful one for me is “What do I think I deserve that I haven’t received?” Be it a talent, a spouse or child, a job, or reciprocity in a relationship—there is typically some lurking thing that I believe has been withheld from me. And someone always has to pay. We can only respond to being wronged with anger or mercy, and it's usually clear which one we have chosen. It sounds like, at the very least, I have a response problem.

The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. Anger is a work of the flesh (Gal 5:20) and a characteristic of fools in proverbs. At its core, it is a judgment about right and wrong—and judgment is a tricky thing. There are times when anger is objectively the right emotion to experience; we should feel angry in the face of real injustice. What we must learn to distrust, though, is our assessments about justice and injustice. It is the nature of anger to believe that the judgments it makes are right. Welch writes:

Look at yourself earlier, longer, and harder than you do other people. This is hard at any time, but anger makes it even more difficult because there really may have been an injustice. With anger, finger-pointing is natural. We are absolutely persuaded that what happened was wrong and we are right. But think about the nature of anger. Anger always thinks it is right, but it is almost always wrong.

It's probably also fair to assume, then, that I have an assessment problem in addition to the response one. So, while anger is typically about a question of right or wrong, its judgments and responses must themselves be challenged by biblical standards.

Obedience

2007-07-16T21:13:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I asked my friend, “What do you do when spiritual things begin to feel tiresome and trite? When you feel almost dead and incapable of stirring yourself up to anything?” She smiled sardonically and said, “If you find out, let me know.”

This one’s for you, courtesy of Ray Van Neste. In his reflections on the poem "Do the Next Thing," he writes:

Since God is still in heaven and His steadfast Word declares His love for you, just carry on and do the next thing. Take the next step of obedience. Do you worry how your children will turn out, what the future will hold for your church, how the finances will look at the end of the month? Resist the allure of self pity, and just take the next step of obedience. We are typically given enough grace just for the next step. Fret not about what lies around the bend. Perform faithfully the next step, and we will make it home safely in the end.

We read in James that faith without works is dead, and I think that is what I have been experiencing. I can ask myself one simple question to get to the heart of the matter: Is there anything that I have been convicted about in my life but have not yet begun to change? Is there any area of my life that I have been unwilling to relinquish to the Lord's control? Whatever that thing may be, I must...

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, doe the nexte thynge.

The Lord will meet us when we take a step of obedience, and he will work in us "both to will and to work for his good pleasure" (Phil 2:13).

Friendship Pitfalls

2007-07-16T10:17:00.000-06:00

I don't link all that often, but I love the counsel offered here by my friend, Lydia Brownback. And yes, after reading this post, I am still very pleased to call her my friend!

There are several "tip-offs" listed, though, that challenge me to be more prayerful and intentional about how I serve my friends. May the net effect of each of our relationships be to "stir one another up to love and good works" (Heb 10:24).

For a Little While, Part III

2007-07-15T20:49:00.000-06:00

The fear of the Lord is the third comfort that the Lord has given to me during this season of suffering. You see, the fear of the Lord and the fear of man are mutually exclusive. Much of my spiritual and emotional distress over the years has been an outgrowth of the fear of man and a refusal to believe that “there is now therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” This time of suffering and uncertainty has forced me to rehearse what I know to be true about my life and my salvation—that God’s fundamental orientation toward me has changed as a result of a Gospel which declares that God is now for me in Christ. Romans 8:28 leaves little room for doubt; the design of God, for those who love him and are called according to his purpose, is salvation. What does salvation mean? In God is the Gospel, John Piper describes salvation as an “all-encompassing word” that “embraces all the gospel promises, such as the promise of healing, help for the poor, liberation for captives, peace, eternal life, global expanse, and the all-satisfying vision of the glory of God."

That—the vision of the glory of God—is what I had missed in my salvation for years. Yet there were moments, in the darkest times of suffering, that the Lord revealed himself to me in new ways. And what can I report? Yes, I was satisfied. I was satisfied in the midst of my suffering, because God is great beyond all measure. Even in my sanctified, glorified body, I will never be great. The people of whom I have been afraid will never be great. "Michele! Hear this." God is great. May those who seek him rejoice and be glad in him. May those who love his salvation say forever, "God is great!” (Psalm 70:4).

So I remind myself regularly that the Lord will accomplish His purposes for me (Psalm 57:2, Romans 8:28). And his purposes are not feeble like my own; he has purposed no less than my total salvation. So, after I have suffered a little while, the God all grace, who has called me to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish me (I Peter 5:10). There is no post-illness contingency in God’s plan. He will accomplish His purposes for my life; working in me a salvation that will be to the praise of his glory. So I will rejoice in the hope of the glory of God—not in the hope of a diagnosis or the alleviation of pain.

Reject Yourself

2007-07-15T05:58:00.000-06:00

God is calling us to look away from the little world we have made to the One who made us. God is calling us to stop putting our hope in what we can do and start putting our hope in the divine Doer. Regard him with desire and glad expectation, and you will discover that he is enough. Reject everything incompatible with him--the idolatrous altars of your heart. If you will suffer the loss of all things to gain Christ, he will make you too happy to care. That is faith, and God is calling you to live by that faith. Stop trusting in your own altars of incense. Let Christ alone be your sweet incense before a holy God. Reject yourself. Embrace Christ as your offering acceptable to God, and he will accept you without your own works-righteousness. No matter what you lose in order to gain Christ, don't worry about it. He's worth everything.

Isaiah: God Saves Sinners by Ray Ortlund

For a Little While, Part II

2007-07-14T20:48:00.000-06:00

I think back to this verse in Romans 15: “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” The encouragement of the Scriptures has been the primary way that hope has been produced in my heart throughout this time, and it is the only way that fear has been conquered. For example, the Lord brought this verse from Psalm 16 to my mind as I went for my first MRI, “I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” Every time claustrophobia and panic threatened to overtake me, I would envision the Lord before me, at my right hand. The comfort of Scripture was as tangible as I’ve ever known it to be at that time. I must have repeated that verse to myself 100 times during that 45 minute procedure! And the encouragement of the Scriptures gave me hope that I could withstand the next MRI, just a few hours later

You, the body of Christ, are the second of the comforts which the Lord has given to me. I truly do not know how I would have survived these last few months without this church and my colleagues at Crossway. I am grateful to the Lord that he has not called us to bear our burdens alone but has, instead, provided both His body and His spirit to sustain us here on this earth.

What exactly does it mean to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ?” Sometimes it means sleeping in a chair in his hospital room; it means feeding her cat or watering her plants; it means calling to pray with him or let him cry. It means cleaning her house or cooking her meals; it means praying for the things that matter to him when he is too weak to pray. It means, maybe above all else, that you pointed her to Christ when she could see only herself. You were the Lord’s hands and feet to me in these ways and more.

For a Little While, Part I

2007-07-12T20:46:00.000-06:00

Around March 1, I began to have some pain in my shins. Since I was then running between 15 and 20 miles per week, it seemed obvious that what I was dealing with was shin splints. I administered treatment accordingly, using the RICE prescription (rest, ice, compress, elevate) that all runners know by heart.

To make a long story short, I was hospitalized on May 1 after these progressively worsening “shin splints” rendered me unable to walk. A trip to the emergency room led to hospitalization and the seemingly inevitable diagnosis of MS. The nurses brought me literature on “Coping with MS” and talked about brain lesions as I lay alone in my room. A gruff but kindly neurologist patted my hand and asked, “Did you plan to get married? Have kids? What were your plans before now?” The rest of the conversation was lost on me. All I heard was that this disease marked the turning point in my life; there was a before and an after, and everything that I wanted was trapped in the before.

Two weeks, two MRIs and a spinal tap later, the doctors ruled out MS. In the meantime, I have a team of doctors that no 28-year-old should have—including a neurologist, an orthopedist, and a rheumatologist. Each one has commended me to another’s care, but no one has come up with a treatment plan or even a way to manage pain. Rheumatoid arthritis? Some other type of autoimmune disease like lupus? A subtle neurological disorder? A slipped disc? I’ve left almost all of my doctor’s appointments in tears. Sometimes the uncertainty is even harder to bear than the pain.

From early April to mid-June, my pain was unrelenting, even in the face of the narcotics that the doctors prescribed. Still, about four weeks ago and after more than five months, my pain began to diminish. I have no clear medical explanation for this. It may be an indication that an autoimmune disease is going into remission; it may be an indication that several months of rest has relieved an orthopedic problem; it may be an indication that the Lord has healed me. The uncertainty may well outlast the pain. Yet in all of this I rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, I have been grieved by various trials.

"If necessary" means that much work has been done in my heart and mind through this pain. Suffering renders everything foreign—the most familiar comforts, the day-to-day tasks, the furniture of life. Three comforts have been heightened for me in place of the hard work, independence, and various types of self-gratification that were my sustenance before. I had never known the comfort of Scripture, the efficacy of the body, or the clean and enduring fear of the Lord as they have been revealed to me in these past few months. I wish that I could say that the fleshly comforts were no longer appealing to me, but I can say that the severe mercy of God is breaking the stranglehold of sin in my life by all means necessary.

On Suffering

2007-07-12T15:45:00.001-06:00

My pastor has asked me to speak on suffering for about five minutes on Sunday. The next few posts will be excerpts from that longer testimony (which would take much more than five minutes to read in its entirety).

Some of this will be redundant for those of you who have been following along with me for the past few months. I pray, nonetheless, that it will bless you again and that it will stir up my heart and yours to fresh faith and fresh faithfulness.

2007-07-11T04:59:00.000-06:00

Click over to Boundless or Between Two Worlds to see a bit more discussion about my testimony.

Slave to Food: My Story

2007-07-09T05:33:00.000-06:00

Carolyn McCulley has posted my (verbose) testimony about eating disorders here.

On Coveting

2007-07-08T08:00:00.000-06:00

I trust that it is okay to covet, if we are coveting only the prayers of others.

My best friend and I, along with half of our colleagues at Crossway, are going to be attending the International Christian Retail Show in Atlanta for the better part of next week.

I fly out tomorrow and return on Thursday. This will be the first time that I have flown since the onset of the illness, and these days are also likely to be the most physically demanding ones that I've had since March. I have to confess that I feel a great deal of apprehension--about the travel and about fulfilling all the responsibilities that are mine as soon as I step off the plane. Most (if not all) of the apprehension and my response to it have been sinful. I have been coveting ease, comfort, rest, and safety and forgetting that the Lord ordained the timing of my illness, the need for this trip, and every single appointment and interview that clamors for my attention over the next few days. Not one of these things escaped his attention.

It's time to take hold of my wayward heart and mind; I have prayed that the Lord would enable me to will and to do so before I board the plane. I feel the will changing even now; Lord, continue this good work that you have begun.

I confess that my mind has been set on the flesh--on my flesh, with all of the new demands, expectations, and preferences so readily dictated by my illness. My legs hurt worse yesterday than they have in two weeks or more, so I have to force my mind to embrace anything but the thoughts of the pain and the fear of where it might lead. Romans tells me that dwelling upon these things is death to me, and I know well the truth of this verse. There has been something like death in my heart for several weeks now.

What is the remedy? As always, the remedy is the gospel--the remedy is to set my mind on the Christ-exalting Spirit of God, which yields life and peace. "If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you." Life to my mortal body. Spirit, I need the life that you give.

I was reading in I Peter that we purity our souls "by our obedience to the truth." Recognizing the hardness of my heart, I have reason to believe that I have not been obeying the truth. In fact, I have positive evidence of that in my conscience. You see, the coveting issue has been systemic for me lately. Ephesians 5 and Colossians 3 both show me that this coveting is actually idolatry. It's amazing how our sin is always worse than we think it is. This is when I must remember that the Gospel is so much grander than I can even imagine.

Back to the verse in I Peter: "You have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God." I am comforted by this description of the Word as "living" and "abiding." The living word is able to discern the thoughts and intentions of my heart; it is the power of God to those of us who are being saved. The adjective abiding reassures me that the word will outlast my waywardness; it will outlast my faithfulness; it will outlast my life and all my legacy. My hope is in the living Word that was made flesh and dwelt among us--in the abiding word of his righteousness faithfulness. In Him was life, and that life was the light of men--what a glorious Gospel!

It is highly unlikely that I will be able to blog from the conference, since my evenings are going to be spent catching up on the emails that I miss during days spent on the convention center floor. As I said, I covet your prayers for me and for our team during this time, that "many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many" (I Cor. 1:11).

Service and Equipment

2007-07-06T20:05:00.000-06:00

We have prayed this prayer together before, Kellye, and it is again my prayer for you tonight.

"Service and Equipment," from Valley of Vision

Thou, God of my end, Thou hast given me a fixed disposition to go forth and spend my life for thee; if it be thy will let me proceed in it; if not, then revoke my intentions. All I want in life is such circumstances as may best enable me to serve thee in the world; to this end I leave all my concerns in thy hand, but let me not be discouraged, for this hinders my spiritual fervency.

Enable me to undertake some task for thee, for this refreshes and animates my soul, so that I could endure all hardships and labors and willingly suffer for thy name. But, O what a death is it to strive and labor, to be always in a hurry and yet do nothing! Alas, time flies and I am but of little use. O that I could be a flame of fire in thy service, always burning out in one continual blaze.

Fit me for singular usefulness in this world. Fit me to exult in distresses of every kind if they but promote the advancement of thy kingdom. Fit me to quit all hopes of the world’s friendship, and give me a deeper sense of my sinfulness. Fit me to accept as just desert from thee any trial that may befall me. Fit me to be totally resigned to the denial of pleasures I desire and to be content to spend my time with thee. Fit me to pray with a sense of the joy of divine communion, to find all times happy seasons to my soul, to see my own nothingness and wonder that I am allowed to serve thee. Fit me to enter the blessed world where no unclean thing is and to know thee with me always.

"I have tried in my way to be free..."

2007-07-04T19:00:00.000-06:00

For those of you who just recently became acquainted with me, you will probably be surprised to know that I enjoy Leonard Cohen's music. His music is certainly not Christian, and it's often quite irreverent. What I enjoy about his music is that it is often self-consciously focused on redemption (or the lack thereof). All great stories are written and songs are sung about this theme. It is, after all, the great quest of human existence.

I woke up with this line from Like a Bird on a Wire in my head: I have tried in my way to be free. I guess that my thoughts about freedom and independence (it is July 4, after all) led somehow to this.

Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.
Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

I perceive two driving themes in this song. 1) The singer feels compelled to seek freedom and 2) he knows that he has not attained it. Cohen’s songs are rife with futility—with the quest for the unattainable. This song, in fact, is almost apologetic; he feels his lack of freedom and the burden of the enslaved world so keenly that he must assert the truth that he has tried. As I listen, I wonder who he really wrote the song for. To whom do you apologize for your slavery? Was he looking in the mirror or staring into the sky? Oh, friend—“It is by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” (Acts 13:39).

In some ways, Americans are the most enslaved people on earth. Take a look around at the interplay between our consumerism and our self-help industry. We will squander almost all of our time and money getting enslaved (to debt, to drugs, etc) and then spend the rest of it trying to get free. We believe one liar after another, and we "save all our ribbons" to placate him. Where is our Isaiah, to ask us pointedly, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” No, the question is wrong. Isaiah is where he has always been. Where are those with ears to hear?

As an American, I am blessed to enjoy a freedom that most people around the world can only dream about. They write songs and poems and books and even theologies about things that I overlook every day. Their prayers, passion, and service condemn me when I don’t vote or when I turn an apathetic eye toward politics in a thousand subtle ways. And yet we, as Americans, hold political freedom in one hand and cultural slavery in another.

By the grace of God, though, I am what I am; and his grace to me was not without effect! Therefore, as a Christian, I know a few things about freedom. A few passages come to mind but, if I am to join my friends to watch the fireworks, I can only reflect on one of them tonight.

“So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” They answered him, “We are offspring of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?” Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the house forever; the son remains forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:31-36).

As Americans, surely we cry out that we “have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?” But beneath our cries lies a recognition that, though we have tried in our way to be free, we are as free as a worm on a hook. All our glory is temporary; we will not remain in the house forever. I’m not making a political statement here about the end of empire or anything like it. I do believe that God will judge nations in time and that he will judge people in eternity, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. As I listen to Cohen's apology for the impotence of his efforts, I can only say that if the Son, the heir, sets us free, then we will be free.

So, Leonard and Karl and Gustavo and all of the thousands of others who speak about freedom in this life—yes, it is truly a gift and it is worth fighting for. But "it is by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” or by the laws of nations.

The Dawning

2007-07-03T18:34:00.000-06:00

"The Dawning" by George Herbert

Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns;
Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth:

Awake, awake, and with a thankful heart His comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel His death, but not His victory.

Arise, sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ's resurrection thine may be;
Do not by hanging down break from the hand
Which, as it riseth, raiseth thee:

Arise, arise; and with His burial linen drie thine eyes.
Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.

Suffering with Christ

2007-07-01T14:33:00.000-06:00

It is natural to try and make sense of our suffering. We say with Job, “Cannot my palate discern the cause of my calamity?” (Job 6:30). For those of us who tend toward condemnation, we are likely to believe that we are being punished. It is truly a testament to God’s grace that I have not struggled in this way over the past few months.

By his spirit and through his word, God has enabled me instead to know that this suffering is about him, ultimately, and not about me. Why do I say that my suffering is about God? First, look at the connection between my suffering and the suffering of Christ. Romans 8 says that we are heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ “provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.”

What does it mean to “suffer with him”? It cannot mean that I bear the weight of my sin, for Christ had none to bear himself. In fact, he bore my sin instead--draining the cup of God's wrath so that none was left for me. Condemnation dies here, if I am suffering with Christ. I Peter 3:18 says that he suffered once for sin, that He might bring us to God. His suffering was unique and uniquely effective, accomplishing the restoration of the children of God. My suffering, though it happens with Christ and can never separate me from him (Romans 8:35), cannot be like his suffering in this way.

But watch our Lord in the garden, sweating drops of blood. Hear him cry out, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” Read Philippians 2 and see how he was obedient unto death, "to the glory of God the Father." Christ's suffering was ultimately about God's glory; he suffered for the purposes of another. Then turn back to Isaiah 53 and read the prophecy about Christ, "Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied." Though he submitted his own desires and was obedient to death, Christ was satisfied. He was satisfied. He looked upon the earth and saw that it was good.

Though the Lord uses our suffering to do His work in us, we think too little of his global and eternal purposes and about our own salvation if we believe that the suffering is only about our own sanctification. I realize now that the hope of my sanctification cannot sustain me in suffering; I can hope in nothing less than God himself. Nothing that has its origin and its terminus in my life can bear the weight of my faith. I have tried to assign little errands to my suffering—fix this, mend that—and I walk away disappointed when that area of sanctification proves to still be "in progress."

How do I talk to myself in these times? I remind myself, first and foremost, that the gospel declares that God is now for me in Christ. Romans 8:28 leaves little room for doubt; the design of God, for those who love him and are called according to his purpose, is salvation. What does salvation mean? John Piper writes, in God is the Gospel: "This all-encompassing word, salvation, embraces all the gospel promises, such as the promise of healing, help for the poor, liberation for captives, peace, eternal life, global expanse, and the all-satisfying vision of the glory of God."

The all-satisfying vision of the glory of God. This is the second thing I must remind myself when I am tempted to disappointment. There were moments, in the darkest times of suffering, that the Lord revealed himself to me in new ways. And what can I report? Yes, I was satisfied. I was satisfied in the midst of my suffering, because God is great beyond all measure. Even in my sanctified, glorified body, I will never be great. "Michele! Hear this." God is great. May those who seek him rejoice and be glad in him. May those who love his salvation say forever, "God is great!” (Psalm 70:4).

I had circumscribed salvation in my own mind, believing it to be only or even mainly about the restraint of sin in my own life, and my suffering has brought this fallacy into the light. I was glorying in the gift of sanctification and not in God the giver. I had lost sight of the fact that my suffering brings glory to God, and I had forgotten that my salvation brings me into the presence of his glory. God's glory was not even on my radar, when it should be my hope and my satisfaction. My suffering has reminded me to “rejoice insofar as [I] share Christ's sufferings, that [I] may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (I Peter 4:13). I will count it a privilege to suffer with Christ, and I will rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

"The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Romans 8:16).

Staying Current

2007-06-30T13:01:00.000-06:00

It's been tough to keep my blog-and my life-current. Lately, as I've recounted in agonizing detail, my schedule seems to have spiraled out of control. Thanks to those of you who are helping me to think through my priorities. You may have noticed that I'm a big fan of letting other people speak into my life. Now may the Lord himself grant to me discernment and power, that I may please him in the management of my time.

I know that I have several blog readers who aren't your typical, tech-savvy blog connoisseurs. With them in mind, I offer this little tip for watching blogs that (like mine!) are not updated every day. It's called Google Reader, and it functions almost like an email inbox. Simply subscribe to the blogs you want to track, and Google Reader will let you know which ones have been updated each time you log in. Just another way to stay current!

HT: HM

Methodology Meets Theology

2007-06-28T20:50:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking lately about the way that I work. My often unhealthy motivations and my sometimes unhealthy practices have been exposed by my sickness. You can interpret my absence from the blogosphere, in part, as a failure to integrate those practices with the other necessary components of living. You can interpret my filthy apartment and car, my backlogged email, and my unanswered voice mails in much the same manner.

Now that I conduct life inefficiently (read: slowly), I have to think seriously about where I spend my time. Here is where my methodology meets my theology. For example, I rarely apply makeup in the mornings now; it's simply not where I want to spend my time. The good news is that my whole triage system is completely redesigned; the bad news is that my mind is not wholly renewed in this area. So I find myself feeling confused and despondent quite regularly. I'm not yet sure how to distinguish between and among frustration, lethargy, and conviction. You know you are in a new spiritual place when both sin and surrender feel so uncertain.

Scripturally, how do I think through these things? To which things do I apply myself, and at what level?

When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.” Then they said to him, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

This passage in Luke addresses these often contiguous issues of motivation and vocation. Most of us have seen the motivation question play itself out in our own lives. We pray because we have seen prayers answered and because we have needs. This is not wrong. But if we come to our prayers with only our hunger in mind, disinterested in the redemption that is signified in all of God's provision, then we seek him wrongly.

Christ recognizes here our tendency, even in the face of the eternal, to get bogged down in the temporal. We see this as we go about our daily tasks. Our calling, the outworking of the gifts that the Lord has given us to bless the body, gets submerged beneath the excesses of our day to day duties. Maybe that work happens at the office; maybe it happens at the gym. Maybe your answer, like mine, is C) both of the above or something entirely different.

Perceiving this weakness, the Lord warns them, "Do not labor for the food that perishes." Do not steward your time and energy to win the approval of man, a heftier paycheck, a better body. Receiving this warning, they then look to him and ask, "What must we do to be doing the works of God?" They did not know what this eternal bread looked like, and they didn't know what kind of work produced or secured it. And so they asked, and they asked wisely. What is Christ's response? Believe. Interesting.

This verse helps me to center my thoughts on the Gospel as I attempt to steward my time. For example, I contemplated going to the gym tonight—even though my legs and feet are aching. How do I evaluate this plan? I asked myself, "Am I believing in Christ?", and I have to confess that the question didn’t get much traction. So I got more specific. I asked myself this: "As I consider this plan, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?" My throbbing legs made this lie fairly easy to expose. Of course, this is slavery.

It's less obvious when I try to determine how many hours a day to work. First, I must heed the exhortation of Scripture, "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." This means that I work heartily "unto the Lord" no matter how many hours I work. But I am rarely tempted to indolence.

I tend, instead, to over-work to prove my adequacy to others or to silence that voice in my head that tells me I'm not enough. So as I look at the work that I do after hours I have to ask myself, "What is my motivation? Am I believing in Christ? As I consider this plan to work another hours’ worth of overtime, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?"

I've put some parameters on myself in light of these question and answer sessions. I can not go to the gym two days in a row (even if my "workout" is just riding the bike for a very few minutes); neither can I work more than one hour overtime per day. The regulations may sound legalistic, but I believe that the Lord will honor them. Here's why:

You may be surprised that the parable of the talents hasn't yet entered into my discussion of stewardship and work. But, as I think about my "spare" time, this is where it seems most applicable to me. There are passions in my heart that I believe are God-given, and yet I have made little investment with or use of them. In many ways, I have been like the evil servant who hid the talent since he perceived that any ventures involving it would be risky. He saw with earthly eyes, blinded by fear.

As I reflect upon these loves of mine—writing, counseling, family—I know that I am doing little to pursue either the cultivation or the use of these gifts right now. These other "good things" in my life, such as working overtime and going to the gym, prevent me from faithful stewardship in other areas. I want my theology to change the way that I conduct my life—on the clock, on the bike, and in every other place that the Lord leads me.

My Big Break?

2007-06-25T18:16:00.000-06:00

My accommodating general practitioner called me today to give me a detailed explanation of the results of my bone scan. First, a little lesson:

In a bone scan, the patient is injected with a radioactive isotope which spreads throughout the bloodstream. In areas where bone injuries or abnormalities are present, cellular activity is increased--because the cells are busily working to repair the damage. A bone scan looks for these areas in which the radioactive isotope is most concentrated.

Now, back to me:

My bone scan revealed a minor increase in cellular activity around the lower part of my right tibia and upper part of my left tibia (closer to the knee). The lab techs who read the results noted that this was "subtle, but could suggest a mild fracture or rheumatoid arthritis." My doctor is calling an orthopedic specialist for a consultation. I'm hoping for a big break, if you'll pardon the pun.

Of all the problems that have been suggested over the past two months, the orthopedic ones are the least life-altering and have the best prognosis. Please, Lord. Let this be it!

Reluctantly Finite

2007-06-24T13:10:00.000-06:00

Some great insights here about using and refusing to use our gifts:

“Our resentment [toward God] often masquerades as modesty. What appears to be humility is often actually risk-aversion rooted in shame. I won’t take the risk of using my gifts because I am ashamed of the ‘real’ me—with all of my God-given limits—and there is a strong likelihood that those limits will be revealed if I go public. But to be ashamed of the real me is to be angry at God for the way he made me.”

. . .

"It has taken me a long time to understand that behind my dread-saturated ‘modesty’ was something deeper than a tenth-grade trauma. It was a form of self-serving protectionism, which was itself an expression of an ungrateful heart. Speaking was not, for me, the occasion to love people to the best of my God-given ability; nor was it the occasion to offer up gratefully to my Creator and Redeemer the fullest expression of the talents he had given to me. Speaking, rather, was simply (or largely) about me—about me either looking good or avoiding embarrassment. If I was reasonably sure I could get by without looking like an idiot, then I would take the gig. Otherwise I often would not. I had to be the best, and if I could not be the best—or at least look like the best—then I would keep my gifts to myself."

A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World by Charles Drew

Nine to Five, Part I

2007-06-23T21:09:00.000-06:00

“I know, but that’s just how I am.”

I can’t tell you how many times I made this statement last week as concerned coworkers converged upon my office. "Shouldn't you be going home now?" "How long are you staying today?" I went from working half days on-site to working 9-10 hour days overnight. I tested the waters and discovered that I could swim. So I spent the whole week swimming.

As the week drew to a close, though, I noticed that bitterness and frustration were edging out my gratitude for these restored abilities. It seemed to me that it was time to examine the "that" in "that's just how I am.” Nine times out of ten, I find myself using that statement to excuse some pattern of sin in my life by an appeal to genetics, environment, or tradition. Could that be true here?

I’ve always been a workaholic. I learned in high school that the difference between a 99 and a 100 on an exam might be as much as three hours of preparation, and I decided then that it was worth it. Yes, I was the valedictorian. (No one else in my class was as crazy as I was, although a number of them were smarter).

Oh, for those report card days--when I knew where I stood among my peers! Success is not easily quantified in my current field, and so I have to seek out mechanisms by which to gauge achievement. One easy way that I can affirm myself is by working overtime. I suspect that this is the primary reason that I do it; it silences my fear that I'm not doing enough, that I'm not measuring up.

I could have gone on indefinitely working in this manner, but my sickness has forced me to think through what happens on autopilot. I guess that I absorbed a bit of my coworkers' concern last week, so I took two days to work only the requisite 7.5 hours. By the third day, though, I was a disaster (as was my desk). So this is what my workload would look like if I didn’t work after hours?

A little frustration or anxiety might be normal responses to this scenario, but there was nothing little about my frustration and anxiety. I was so traumatized by the experiment that I had to evaluate it seriously. Some unconscious thing that I was "needing”, wanting, or fearing had been jeopardized by my new plan.

I demand a lot of myself at work, and I also demand a lot of my work. I give so much to my job that I expect some reciprocity. The satisfaction of knowing that I have "conquered" a certain amount of work or approval from my boss are typically adequate for my purposes. But there are days that I walk away and wonder what I really used 75% of my waking hours to accomplish. Often these are days on which my greedy heart needed more than I got, and bitterness grew up in the absence of reward. In A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World, Charles Drew writes, "The simple joy of working hard at something eludes us. Whether we are at school, on the playing field, on stage, in the boardroom, or on the net, the desperate need to ‘win’ in some sense—to get ahead by our efforts, to define ourselves over against the competition, or just to keep up—strangles our souls." Always the need to win, even if I am the only witness to the victory.

But if it provokes me to bitterness and resentment, then why do I work so hard? It is perfectly obvious to me that I am working to meet self-esteem needs, to quiet fears of inadequacy and to satisfy desires for power. It is equally obvious that this food cannot satiate the appetites toward which it is applied. There is never enough approval to satisfy one obsessed with self. So I cannot work for that purpose.

Colossians 3 instructs, "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ."

Could "serving the Lord," then, be a better purpose for my work. Colossians 3 does not assure me that I will receive any temporal reward for my hard work. And it's interesting that this statement about working as for the Lord is nestled into a chapter about putting on the new self. Our attitude toward work can be a very important way that we fight our flesh. The flesh will find some purpose in work; the spirit must work to redeem that purpose.

Obviously, there is nothing wrong with working hard at my job, so long as the work is "unto the Lord". But I wonder, sometimes, if I work doggedly in that context so that I can ignore other arenas of service. No matter how hard it is to gauge success at work, it is easier to gauge there than in most types of ministry. Drew writes, "'Pursuing my vocation' does not, rightly, mean 'working hard at my job.' It rather means 'enjoying God and loving people as I seek faithfully to use my gifts and opportunities to his glory.'" By working 50-60 hours per week at the office, am I able to love and serve the people whom God has called me to love and serve?

My vocation is bigger than my job, and the former should never suffer at the hands of the latter. Nine to five is good; seven to five may not be. Lord, reveal to me how I may faithfully glorify you with the work of my hands. Release me from the bondage of my need for approval and achievement, that I may serve you with a pure heart all my days.

The Wells of Salvation

2007-06-21T17:20:00.000-06:00

From my morning reading in Isaiah 12:

You will say in that day: "I will give thanks to you, O Lord, for though you were angry with me, your anger turned away, that you might comfort me. Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation."

With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. And you will say in that day: "Give thanks to the Lord, call upon his name, make known his deeds among the peoples, proclaim that his name is exalted. Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously; let this be made known in all the earth. Shout, and sing for joy, O inhabitant of Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel."

Lord, hasten the day in which your people live joyfully out of the abundance of your salvation. Lord, I am parched right now; I feel as though my soul is shriveling up under the heat of this trial. Forgive me for believing that your salvation is not satisfying, sufficient, or sustaining. Forgive me for seeking my satisfaction, my sufficiency, and my sustenance in myself. I know that I am peering into the well of salvation, but I cannot drink. I know the gift of God, and I know who Christ is. So I ask, like the woman at the well, "Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water."

Be near me in my confusion. Reveal to me that part of my sadness that is a holy grief for sin, that part which is a "blameless" articulation of pain, and that which is a sinful expression of wrong priorities. I feel too overwhelmed to even sort it out, Lord. I believe, help my unbelief!

Suffocating

2007-06-20T20:33:00.000-06:00

I've always associated losing control with suffocating. This probably gives you some idea how much of a control freak I am. I feel like I'm suffocating when I walk into my apartment right now. My dining room table is covered with medical bills and EOBs and, as one who always pays a bill immediately upon receipt, I'm becoming more than a little frantic. I've never even had a fine at Blockbuster, for crying out loud! So what happens when...what happens if? How will these accounts ever be settled? Debt = Oxygen debt. Suffocating.

My tidy little life is anything but tidy right now, and I can see quite clearly that peace has flown with order. Romans 5:1 tells me that, since I have been justified by faith, I have peace with God through Christ. If I have peace with God, why do I not have peace?

My lack of peace is indicative of a lack of faith. It is not my standing before God but, instead, my running from him that leads to this lack of peace. My faith is other things right now, like in my own ability to manipulate all the data of my life. As goes my ability, so goes my peace.

Though my physical pain is abating for large portions of the day, a spiritual and emotional ache seems to have settled into its place. As I told a friend earlier, it almost seems as though for each little bit of physical stamina that I gain, an old fleshly desire comes back with it. So I find myself afraid of the unknown and even more afraid that the pain has been wasted—because I thought that I knew what the pain was for.

How can I be honest, humble, and teachable before God during these days? I am a poor man to relate to Job, and yet I confess that his words minister to me. I cried when I read this verse in Job 9, "He will not let me get my breath, but fills me with bitterness." Job knew this feeling of suffocating, and he confessed it to God. Lord, this is how I feel, too. Teach me how to see your truth in this situation; grant me faith to say, “Though he slay me, I will hope in him.”

A few days ago, a friend pointed me to this verse in Isaiah 30: “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” I've thought of this verse often since that time. This taciturn surrender is a difficult remedy for me, and yet I know that these are days for endurance. Lord, grant me eyes to see your strength and your salvation. Make me willing to rest in you and to trust in your good purposes. You have given me life by your very breath, enable me to wait for you to provide all that I need to sustain it.

The Soul of Suffering

2007-06-19T16:33:00.000-06:00

"In retrospect I can see that a large part of my anguish was rooted in the fact that there really was nothing I could do to control what was happening to me. I was absolutely helpless, and it is this, perhaps that is the soul of suffering, this terrifying impotence. It is a little taste of the final and most terrifying impotence of all, which is death.

We Christians do not like to think about being absolutely helpless in the hands of our God. With all of our faith, and with all of His grace, we still prefer to maintain some semblance of control over our lives. When difficulties arise, we like to think that there are certain steps we can take, or attitudes we can adopt, to alleviate our anguish and be happy. Sometimes there are. But anyone who has truly suffered will know that when it comes to the real thing, there is no help for it, no human help whatsoever. Simply put, when we are in a deep dark hole we cannot think our way out; neither can we hope, sing, pray or even lover our way out. In fact there is absolutely nothing either we or anyone else can do to better our situation. We can have faith, yes; but in itself faith will not change anything. Neither faith, nor any other good thing that a person might have or do, can actually lift the cloud, move the mountain, or bring about an end to the problem. Only the Lord Himself can do that and when He does, as Exodus 6:6 puts it, 'Then you will know that I am the Lord your God, who brought you out from under the yoke.' How will we know? Simply because nothing and no one else could possibly have done it. In this kind of crucible, therefore, we come to a new understanding of what it means to be saved, what it means to be snatched away from the brink of destruction. Here we get down to the bedrock of the gospel."

Mike Mason, The Gospel According to Job: An Honest Look at
Pain and Doubt From the Life of One Who Lost Everything

The Enemy in the Psalm, the Victory in the Battle

2007-06-18T17:22:00.000-06:00

Most of David’s psalms feature “the enemy” prominently, and the psalmist quite brazenly asks for victory over him and devastation for him. Who could blame the guy? He was maliciously pursued by men intending to take his life.

But I tend to skip over those portions of each psalm. I've never really had men seeking to put me to shame, much less to take my life. The literalist in me wants to neglect those portions and focus, instead, on the declarations of faith and confessions of fear. Those elements can often be cleanly applied to my life and my situation; just cut and paste. But that spurious "enemy" always seemed to get in the way of any grand proclamations that I tried to make.

I am not certain why this disconnect between my enemy and David’s enemy has remained in place as long as it has. But I've tried, over the past few days, to force myself to consider my own indwelling sin to be this enemy--the enemy within. It is this force of which Paul writes, "So it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." Truly, this relentless enemy seeks to take my life.

Here's an example of how this type of interpretation/application has been helpful to me. Consider this verse from Psalm 13, "How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?"

Reading this verse with an eye to indwelling sin seems particularly poignant to me. It paints a picture of one who is aware of and grieving over her sin and yet still finds herself in submission to this enemy; it's very Romans 7. I consider how my sinful desires or wayward plans, in their very realization, have proven to be an enemy exalting over me. I remember the self [centered] talk and the sorrow that abide so long as the enemy is victorious.

But it is God to whom I look when my enemy is exalted; it is God to whom I direct my cry. It is he who enlivens the counsel of my soul and infuses joy into my heart; it is he who changes both heart and soul to bring the enemy low, for his glory. So I cry, “ How long?” and I give my enemy and my battle to the Lord.

In thinking through how I may apply all of Scripture to my life, I do not want to minimize the importance or verity of the specific situations about which the Psalms were written. David often addressed the danger of being sinful and of being sinned against even in the same psalm. These are not one and the same thing, and yet they both emperil us and force us to look to God. We can recognize and we can strategize against the enemies in all of our psalms, but it is the Lord who gives us the victory in battle.

"I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies" (Psalm 18:1-3).

Grace in Trials

2007-06-17T15:52:00.000-06:00

I was truly blessed by this prayer that we prayed at church last Sunday, so I asked one of our pastors for a copy of it. The prayer was adapted from the Valley of Vision prayer, “Grace in Trials.” I would encourage you to read all the way through, search your heart, and offer this prayer up to the Lord.

Father of mercies, I am sinful even in my closest walk with you. Yet your grace has given me faith in the cross by which you have reconciled me to yourself, drawing me with your great love, counting me as innocent in Christ though I’m guilty in myself. By thy grace, you have saved me. And now, by your grace, please sanctify and sustain me. Giver of all graces, I look to you for strength to persevere, for it is hard to practice what I believe. Strengthen me against temptations. My heart is an unexhausted fountain of sin, a river of corruption since childhood days. Without your grace to sustain me, I fall. Keep me aware of my weakness; keep me aware of my dependence upon your strength. Let every trial teach me more of your peace, more of your love. The Holy Spirit is given to increase your graces, and I cannot grow unless he works continually in me. Let me walk humbly in dependence upon your grace.
Amen.

One Story

2007-06-16T16:22:00.000-06:00

I had dinner last night with some friends who were formerly acquaintances. Until recently, we'd shared some common circumstances and bumped up against each other regularly, but we'd never really had a reason to push beyond niceties and polite self-sufficiencies. I’m OK, You’re OK.

This all changed when I got sick. I (re)discovered the fact that I need people and that the Lord's servants are blessed by serving. I discovered that the work of ministry happens when the body of Christ is built up and that all suffer when a part of the body suffers. People like these new friends have made this lesson palatable and even pleasant! No man is an island. I could not be if I tried; and yet what freedom I find when I give up that pursuit to live in grateful and gracious community.

As each of us spoke about our own journey last night, I was astonished to see how the Lord has used our own sin and the sins of others to accomplish his purposes. I recall Genesis 50:20, which reads, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” Joseph was sold into slavery by the evil intent of his brothers, and yet that very act was a part of the same story that would later have Joseph to serve as an agent of their physical salvation. I think of the slavery of sin in my own life and I remember how even this slavery has taught me new truths about grace and redemption. Even when I intended evil, God has wrought good in inconceivable ways. What a mighty and sovereign God we serve!

If the Lord's will for our lives was merely based on a destination, it would seem as though he picked some obscure "scenic" route to get us there. But the truth is that the story of today is just a part of the same story that involves where we came from and where we are going. There are, of course, pieces of the story that don't yet make sense and others that still hurt too much to tell, that haven't yet been redeemed in an obvious sense. Still, this one story is the practical outworking of the redemption narrative in each of our lives. Redemption is both already and not yet in our lives; redemption is our destination and the inevitable conclusion of the story, for those who love the Lord. Our one story is part of the one story. Thus, "my mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge."

Sovereign God, I thank you that “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." I thank you that your hand is always guiding the resolution of each conflict in my life; that you know the end from the beginning and have shaped both character and plot. I thank you that your purposes will succeed, among those who love your name and even among those who hate it. I thank you that you have removed my heart of stone and made me one who loves your name. Help me to walk worthy of this calling.

2007-06-15T17:02:00.000-06:00

"The discovery of Christ is never genuine if it is nothing but a flight from ourselves. On the contrary, it cannot be an escape. It must be a fulfillment. I cannot discover God in myself and myself in Him unless I have the courage to face myself exactly as I am, with all my limitations, and to accept others as they are, with all their limitations. The religious answer is not religious if it is not fully real. Evasion is the answer of superstition."

Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island

Learning to Sweat

2007-06-14T20:51:00.000-06:00

I didn’t intend to contemplate obedience tonight. Instead, as I passed by the mirror, I reflexively thought about how hard I had worked to get myself into shape and how wasted it all is now. Poor Michele. Six hours a week at the gym—lifting, running, sweating. One hundred and forty-four hours in the past six months, all for naught.

My diligence was even obvious to the staffers, one of whom commented that I was among the “most fit” members of our gym. “Most fit.” “Most fit.” Yeah, I was proud. It didn’t come easy. It involved a lot of planning, a lot of determination, and a lot of….sweat.

Though fitness wasn’t my “work,” there was a level of devotion to this pursuit that was rivaled only by my real job. I remember that verse in Genesis 3, “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen 3:19). By the sweat of your face you will provide for yourself. But what was I providing?

One hundred and forty-four hours. I wonder how many hours I spent in Scripture during that same period of time. It seemed so arduous to spend time every day in Scripture. And yet, even though it was inconvenient to get to the gym and laborious once I got there, I got there.

I've been willing to continue to fight my flesh where fitness is concerned, and yet I'm tempted to view obedience differently. I tend to believe that, if I can just put my heart in order, obedience to the will of God will begin to come naturally.

Then I recall Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. Luke writes, “And he withdrew from them about a stone's throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:42-44).

Christ sweat drops of blood, for what? That He might do the will of the Father. His heart was (of course) in order, and yet he had to fight for obedience. By the sweat of his face, he ate his food—which was, as he said in John 4, “to do the will of him who sent me.”

I can remember only a few times in my life that I have fought for obedience even to the point of tears. Lord, teach me—in this suffering—how to sweat. Enable me to, like Christ, learn obedience by what I suffer and to be willing to fight for your will. Even now, Lord, be my strength...

Too Tired to Blog

2007-06-13T20:05:00.000-06:00

This is the first night, since May 1, that I have not posted on my blog. But I am simply too tired to do it tonight. The decision came down to either answering my personal emails or blogging.

I decided that I am just too tired to blog. Will you come back tomorrow? I promise I'll do better...

P.S. Congratulations to us. We hit 1000 page views tonight!

Raiding the Inarticulate

2007-06-12T20:52:00.000-06:00

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets

The quote from Eliot expresses something of the way I feel about "The Fig Leaf." Though I can never say precisely what I want to say, I am content to be Moses instead of Aaron.

Writing has been a part of my life for years now, and I've tried on styles and philosophies like bad pen names. I'm amazed at how much of a chameleon I can be. I recall words spoken for effect—more style with less substance; I even recall words intended to turn black to white and vice versa. Surely the things that Scripture says about the tongue apply also to the pen or the laptop.

I am "shabby equipment," and yet I must remember that the Lord made me as I am to show that the surpassing power belongs to him and not to me. He chose what is foolish to shame the wise, what is weak to shame the strong. I once thought that my significance—no, my glory—would be exposed in dark and profound words and the distinctive thoughts behind them. But the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

The Michele that now writes will never "get the better" of her subject. This thing that I am learning (being taught) to say is eternal; the words that go forth, Lord willing, are used to magnify the Word. This is a new beginning, the investment of just a little talent. May the Master be pleased when he returns.

Lord, in the words that I speak, help me to always lift up "Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”

"And so each venture is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate..."

Beyond WebMD

2007-06-11T16:34:00.000-06:00

I finally ventured over to the public library this weekend, advancing my personal research efforts beyond the ubiquitous WebMD. I walked away with about 8 books, each cloaked in primary colors and screaming “the answer” in brazen white letters. Some were books on autoimmune diseases and others were books on inflammation in general. Each of them resembled a diet guide, and I felt as though they were all silently and simultaneously trying to persuade me even as I deposited them in my car. They still seem a bit…overzealous…as they sit there on my shelf. I don’t like to look at them.

Some have been helpful, others have not. Each one contradicts and refutes its predecessor; I understand why Beatty wanted the books burned in Fahrenheit 451. It is easier not to confront the ideas than to sift through them. The most frightening part is that every time I read one of these books I want to go to GNC and spend money. I guess that I spent a lot of time thinking about how I might prepare my body for action.

What about my mind? I find more breaches in that wall than in the obviously compromised body. How can I prepare it for the battle that continues to rage? I Peter I says:

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” And if you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one's deeds, conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile, knowing that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. He was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you who through him are believers in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.

Verses 20-21 tell me that Christ was revealed to me so that my faith and my hope might be in God; verse 13 tells me to take an action in response. I am to "set" my hope on the grace that will be mine at the revelation of Christ. That means that, when I am tempted to put my hope in the bone scan that I'm having tomorrow, I must actively "set" my hope on Christ. The truth is that there is life beyond WebMD and beyond even the prodigious feats of modern medicine; there is life beyond this broken body and weak mind, and I am ransomed from the futile ways that teach me otherwise. I now wait, groaning with all creation, for my adoption as a son--the redemption of my body. For in this hope I was saved.

Hanging in the Same Briers, Part II

2007-06-10T16:33:00.000-06:00

In a sense, we should probably be both more and less confident when we face temptation. We can be more confident when we turn our eyes toward Christ and away from ourselves. We can be more confident when we find, in the cross, the truth that we are neither forsaken nor condemned. For there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus—even those who struggle repeatedly with the same sin, who cry out repeatedly for the same forgiveness, and who pray repeatedly for the grace to turn. There is no condemnation. None. Back to Romans 8:

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Look at “all these things” listed here, and remember that you have been called a conqueror. Remember that God gave to you Christ, and that he will withhold from you no truly "good" thing (oh, if we only knew what was "good"). No one can stand against you, for you are already justified by God. Is that celebrated diversion growing smaller and darker as you look into this glory? Romans 8 is why we are more confident as we enter temptation.

But we are less confident in the face of temptation as we come to better understand our hearts. Looking into the perfect law of God, we recognize the banality of our pet sin. We realize, more and more, that this sin—like every other-is a manifestation of the evil in our hearts. It can’t be blamed on a situation or even a disposition. If we have looked first into the Gospel, this awareness will teach us to be humble, watchful, and prayerful in the face of temptation. If not, we may fall into condemnation. This is why we must fly to the Gospel. As my pastor said this morning, “When we see our sin, we must preach the preach the gospel to ourselves and rely upon the pardon and perfection of Christ alone.” I think this is also true for temptation.

We can modify our circumstances, and we are often wise to do so, and yet the provisions against temptation must always be made in our hearts. We can try to reflect upon the temporal consequences of our sin, but we won’t find them efficacious for long. Anyone who has failed at a New Years’ resolution understands that the threat of the law can only motivate obedience for a short time. Only, as Owen says, “Gospel provisions will do this work; that is, keep the heart full of a sense of the love of God in Christ. This is the greatest preservative against the power of temptation in the world.”

Owen gives several practical suggestions. Here are two that I find to be particularly helpful:

*Consider the end goal of this temptation: “It never rises up but its intent is the worst of evils. Every acting of it would be a formed enmity against God. Hence look upon it in its first attempts, whatever pretenses be made, as your mortal enemy.”

*Meet temptation with thoughts of faith in Christ. “Entertain no parley, no dispute with it, if you would not enter into it. Say, ‘It is Christ that died—that died for sins such as these.’ This is called ‘taking the shield of faith to quench the fiery darts of Satan.’”

Owen is calling us here to disrobe these temptations-to expose them for what they are and what they would be. We won't call them addictions and predispositions at this point; we will call them sin and we will make short work in our minds of what might be a long journey in our lives. No, one cigarette won't make me a smoker...yet. But what does it aim at? And, at an even deeper level, who does it aim at? I think we know that the answer is God.

The answer is God. Indeed, it is. We cannot dabble around with our temptation, considering how we might domesticate it or just appease the lust in less destructive way. A lust appeased will only grow stronger. If we truly desire to fight sin we will look to Christ, in whose flesh sin was condemned and through whom the righteous requirements of the law are met in us. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. It is our flesh that is weak; it is His that was and is sufficient.

"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree'" (Gal 3:13). Thus, when we are caught in those same briers, we remember and rely upon the one who hung in our place, that we no longer have to.

And Are We Yet Alive?

2007-06-09T16:00:00.000-06:00

A beautiful hymn that celebrates salvation and sanctification in community. Very appropriate for a Sunday:

And are we yet alive, and see each other's face?
Glory and thanks to Jesus give for his almighty grace!

Preserved by power divine to full salvation here,
again in Jesus' praise we join, and in his sight appear.

What troubles have we seen, what mighty conflicts past,
fightings without, and fears within, since we assembled last!

Yet out of all the Lord hath brought us by his love;
and still he doth his help afford, and hides our life above.

Then let us make our boast of his redeeming power,
which saves us to the uttermost, till we can sin no more.

Let us take up the cross till we the crown obtain,
and gladly reckon all things loss so we may Jesus gain.

-Hymn by Charles Wesley

HT: MO

Hanging in the Same Briers, Part I

2007-06-09T13:15:00.000-06:00

Be acquainted, then, with your own heart: though it be deep, search it; though it be dark, inquire into it; though it give all its distempers other names than what are their due, believe it not. Were not men utter strangers to themselves—did they not give flattering titles to their natural distempers—did they not strive rather to justify, palliate, or excuse the evils of their hearts that are suited to their natural tempers and conditions than to destroy them, and by these means keep themselves off from taking a clear and distinct view of them—it were impossible that they should all their days hang in the same briers without attempt for deliverance.

-From Overcoming Sin and Temptation, (John Owen's works on sin and temptation, edited by Justin Taylor and Kelly Kapic)

How many of us have spent all our lives hanging in the same briers? We reflect often on how our personalities and our circumstances have ‘conspired’ to render us particularly susceptible to some one great temptation. We tend to forget that God was and is sovereign over these things, and so we find it easy to excuse ourselves where this one thing is concerned. “All the other points of the law I have kept,” we say. And we focus on the fact that, as my pastor says, we were “deprived” rather than the fact that we are depraved. Thus the lust, the indulgence, the addiction—the sin—lives on. We do the things that we hate even as we do the thing we love. The things are less important than the thing.

While I can’t be sure, I suspect that most of you can pinpoint this one great temptation in your life. It may have changed over the years, wearing different faces at different seasons, and yet you see it to be the same damned brier. You know that your chances of being tempted in this area are almost the same as your chances of waking up in the morning. I woke up weary of the fight today, and so I turned to John Owen—whom I trust to give me a clear picture of my Savior and of myself:

Do not so much employ your thoughts about the things whereunto you are tempted, which oftentimes raises further entanglements, but set yourselves against the temptation itself. Pray against the temptation that it may depart; and when that is taken away, the things themselves may be more calmly considered.

In the throes of temptation, then, it seems that we need to think much more about the cross of Christ than about the sin in question. We need to focus our hearts on his faithfulness unto death instead of our paltry disobediences. I prayed this morning that the Spirit would help me to replace my fear, hopelessness, and condemnation in this area with concrete and specific thoughts about Christ’s faithfulness unto death. Obedience derived from fear is not a sustainable obedience; obedience derived from faith is the only way to fight.

I'm considering Hebrews 2 today:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

I no longer hear a "Sunday School answer" when people counsel me to focus on the Gospel. The Gospel is the solution to every problem about our hearts and our behavior. May God, by His Spirit, make it clear to us how we can apply the Gospel in our times of temptation, that we may mortify even that one great sin, to the praise of His glory.

Diagnostic Gymnastics and Other Assorted Conditions

2007-06-08T09:43:00.000-06:00

I’ve been compared to a gymnast all my life. It’s just how I’m built. But I’ve never heard it from a doctor before.

Let me back up. The rheumatologist pored over the medical history that I gave him, and I felt really encouraged. I told him how my pain was, in comparison to how it was a few weeks ago, and he made some assessments. I later learned that I erred on the side of optimism in describing the pain, since he didn’t understand that I can hardly walk. I guess that I was trying to fight my natural cynical tendencies and focus on the progress.

He told me, with some fanfare, that there was nothing neurologically wrong with me but that I was, instead, “hypermobile.” It’s not uncommon with women (stats say 10-20%), but it’s most common among female gymnasts. It means that my limbs bend a bit too far in the wrong direction. His incisive prescription was to wear running shoes, to stay off my feet as much as possible, not to run (as if!!!) and to come back and see him in 6 weeks. He also wants to do a bone scan to see if we can identify any injuries that might have been caused by this hypermobility. Otherwise, I guess we are just assuming that such injuries exist...

I realized, if he was cautioning me not to run, that I had not made it clear how debilitating this pain is. I teared up and told him about how far I can walk without being in excruciating pain. He looked perplexed and said that I need to come back in 6 months to be tested again for lupus, rheumatoid arthritis and for something else that I have already forgotten (I’d never heard of it before; how could I forget this?). He said that it could be serious. I felt like he was the one doing gymnastics.

I asked him what to do for the pain. He said to keep taking ibuprofen. When I suggested that it hadn’t helped, he said that it would now that I’m wearing running shoes every day. I'm insulted. I felt like he had made up his mind and was simply refusing to let any new information get in the way.

“What about pushing myself just a little bit? Can I keep trying to walk a little farther, do a little more? Can I travel? I really need to fly this time next month.”

Emphatically, “No.” I cannot push myself—not now, not for a long time. And I can travel if I can walk.

So, if I just don't move for the next six weeks (or months)--then this is all going to go away? Is that what I'm hearing? I'm trying not to be discouraged, but I'm not having a lot of success at the moment.

Doctor's Appointment

2007-06-07T15:13:00.000-06:00

I have my first appointment with a rheumatologist tomorrow at 9:15AM. The poor doctor is going to wish that he'd downed a few more cups of coffee when I arrive. I'm taking 20 pages of test results, a spreadsheet of my personal medical history, and the extensive family medical history that my dear mother compiled for me.

Please pray for insight for the doctor. I know that he is not going to be able to diagnose me immediately, unless the Lord intervenes in a supernatural way. Pray that he will be able to sift out what is significant and what is not. Pray that he will be able to make connections between some of my seemingly discrete symptoms if connections exist.

Please pray also for wisdom for me. It's so hard to know what's relevant, what to say, what to ask, when your hope is so tightly bound up in every word that the doctor utters. Perhaps more to the point: pray that my hope would be in the Lord, even as I sit in that doctor's office.

I'll let you know how it goes!

Gratitude is Vulnerable

2007-06-07T14:30:00.000-06:00

In the first line Future Grace, John Piper says (much more articulately) what I have been trying to say about gratitude:

Like most precious things, gratitude is vulnerable. We easily forget that gratitude exists because sometimes things come to us 'gratis'--without price or payment.

Yes, gratitude is vulnerable. That's a much better way to say it. Here's another way, from Thomas Merton's No Man is an Island. I don't think he's accurate on some theological points, but I still find this quotation useful:

As long as we secretly adore ourselves, our own deficiencies will remain to torture us with an apparent defilement. But if we live for others, we will gradually discover that no one expects us to be 'as gods.' We will see that we are human, like everyone else, that we all have weaknesses and deficiencies, and that these limitations of ours play a most important part in our lives. It is because of them that we need others and others need us. We are not all weak in the same spots, and so we supplement and complement one another, each one making up in himself for the lack in another. Only when we see ourselves in our true human context, as members of a race which is intended to be one organism and 'one body,' will we being to understand the positive importance not only of the successes but of the failures and accidents in our lives.

Divine Multi-Tasking

2007-06-06T18:07:00.000-06:00

"I will turn my hand against you and will smelt away your dross as with lye and remove all your alloy. And I will restore your judges as at the first, and your counselors as at the beginning. Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city" (Isaiah 1:25, 26).

In Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, Ray Ortlund notes that the Hebrew verbs translated "I will turn" and "I will restore" are actually the same verb. He explains the significance of this fact:

We translate this with different English verbs, "turn" and "restore", because our idiom requires it. But Isaiah is implying that one God, acting in one way, is able to accomplish two things at once. When God turns his hand against us, it isn't a disaster; it's an act of restoration. The discipline of God achieves just what he intends, in purification and in restoration, both at the same time. We can expect the goodness of God to show up in unlikely experiences. When he turns his hand against us to purify us, let's trust him to restore us.

This illness is not a disaster; it is an act of restoration. Every morning, I have to sweep aside all of my cherished hopes and dig into the Word for evidence of this truth. I find that the Lord disciplines those whom he loves, and he works all things together for their good. In my better moments, I am encouraged by the fact that the Lord is treating me as a son and I am fortified by the truth that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him." Still, I can walk away from the Word and moan over my aches and inadequacies with a heart as wobbly as my legs. I am dissatisfied far too easily--a word, a thought, a mis-step and I am undone.

But dissatisfaction is not my deepest problem. The strength of my desire for temporal things (as evidenced by my dissatisfaction when they are removed) points to my lack of love for eternal things--or my lack of faith that such things will truly fulfill all of my desires. In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes, "Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." My dissatisfaction is not an isolated problem; I have a satisfaction problem, too.

Purification (I will turn) sets us free from the weak loves that satisfy and dissatisfy us in order that we may be captured by a new love through restoration (I will restore). In one act, God achieves what this heart can neither ask nor imagine, in its current state. But "the Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands" (Psalm 138:8).

Place is Always and Only Place

2007-06-05T12:45:00.000-06:00

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love. For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise? I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief; it grows weak because of all my foes. Depart from me, all you workers of evil, for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled; they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment (Psalm 6).

I can't help but notice David's confidence as he concludes this Psalm. "The Lord has heard" and "the Lord accepts," he boasts—though he had opened the Psalm with the plaintive, "How long?"

The "how long" question is a consequence of looking around. It is a natural question to ask, particularly in the midst of a trial and is, in itself, morally neutral. It may be a prelude to faith or a prelude to doubt. If the question is fostering doubt or fear, though, then it is the wrong question to ask.

Over the past few days, I have been plagued by a sort of emotional tedium. “My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, ‘My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.’” All around me I have seen loss and lack; pain and emptiness; absence where presence once stood. All around me…

But David’s boasts, in Psalm 6, are not yet manifested in his present circumstance. He boasts in the fact that the Lord has heard his plea—maybe the same plea that he has uttered now for days, weeks, months—although he has seen no salvation. He looks ahead and predicts the shape of his victory—the degradation of his enemies—though they are still encamped about him.

In general, I think that we can extract a guideline from David's example that may serve us when we get mired in the "now." Like David, we may be better able to boast in the Lord if we look back and look ahead instead of always looking around.

Looking back is the easier of the two charges. This discipline has served me, even today, with reminders of God's faithfulness in the face of my faithlessness. When hope is in short supply and sin is threatening to fill the vacuum, the remembrance of God’s goodness to us in the past can steady our hearts.

Looking ahead is a bit more challenging, since it depends upon faith and not sight. Piper, in Future Grace, suggests that remembering can "incline our hearts to trust in future grace." This remembering is not an end in itself, but when combined with the living and active Word, it is a motivator to faith and obedience. Several of you directed my attention to one or the other of these affairs today, and the Lord brought them all together to strengthen my weak faith.

It’s hard for me to let go of my expectations for today—for what my life, at 28, should look like. But by remembering what the Lord has accomplished, I am encouraged just enough to be willing to look ahead with hope, nay—with faith.

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are…

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Men as Trees

2007-06-04T16:43:00.000-06:00

Something in my heart switched off a few days ago, and I just can't feel anything right now. It’s almost as though the glut of emotions over the past few weeks—toward God, toward my friends, toward my family—has just saturated my heart. I cannot hold one more tear (of joy, sadness, or any commixture of the two). The puzzling thing is that I can’t seem to release them either. Suspended. Frozen. There’s something in front of me that I cannot see.

I'm going through the motions of interacting with people, of praying, of studying Scripture, and yet everything is wearisome. I feel restrained or sedated, or somehow reduced to an unresponsive state. There’s something in front of me that I will not see.

I think that I'm a little bit afraid to hope now. It's been five weeks and I still (for all practical purposes) can't walk. I have no diagnosis, no treatment, and no clear path to a sustainable lifestyle. People assume that things are "getting back to normal" for me, but normal is not yet in view. There’s something in front of me that I haven’t yet seen.

Like the blind man, who had received Christ's healing touch and yet whose vision remained distorted, "I see men as trees, walking." I am not blind, yet I hardly see. I am not walking in despair; neither am I walking in faith. In the face of the indistinct, I am tempted to rely on what is most clear—the weakness of my limbs, the limits of my stamina—and stand warily where I am. Jesus, touch my eyes and restore my sight—that I may see you clearly and see myself and my circumstances in your light.

"It is no longer I who do it..."

2007-06-03T13:32:00.000-06:00

Whenever I read through Romans 7 and contemplate indwelling sin, I always hesitate over verses 17 and 20. In fact, to call a spade a spade—I feel embarrassed by them. They seem to advocate a denial of responsibility for sin which, you may realize by now, I fight against vociferously. The verses read as follows:

17) So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

20) Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

As I was driving home from church today,* I confessed my sins again to God and felt as though the confusion of these verses obscured even my confession. “How am I to even think about this?” I asked. Clarity consumed the confusion all at once. Indwelling sin is “mine,” though it is no longer “me.” Paul’s attribution of his sinful acts to the "sin that dwells within me" is not a question of culpability but of congruity.

Romans 7, extracted from its context, conveys tension and incongruity. This divided man is wrestling against an enemy within himself, and he knows well the weakness of his own defenses. Sin remains and exerts a powerful influence over him, though he is being delivered from his “body of death.” It would be easy to walk away from this chapter wondering if the doctrines of sin and salvation were somehow inconsistent. Verses 17 and 20 help to make the distinction between my remaining sin and my new identity in Christ—bolstering both doctrines, along with those of us who fight to build our lives around them.

*Note: I drove myself to church today. Whereas most of my prohibitions have been instituted to deal with the pain, my driving restrictions were strictly based on fear. I faced that fear today and drove the 35min drive to and from church.

God Saves Sinners

2007-06-02T20:47:00.000-06:00

“The biggest obstacle to our spiritual progress is that we feel healthy.” Ray Ortlund, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners

Throughout the past month, my reading of Scripture has been self-consciously topical. The needs of each day have been so insistent that I have required immediate and obvious application from my reading. Over the past few days, though, I have been sensing the need to immerse myself into a more settled book study. I’ve decided to add Isaiah to my readings in the Psalms and in Colossians.

I'm fortunate to have a copy of Ray Ortlund's commentary, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, to use as a reference in this study. Here's a little tidbit from the introduction. You'll notice immediately how my recent reflections situate me right in the middle of the "we" of whom Ortlund speaks:

"[Isaiah's] Hebrew name means, 'The Lord saves.' This man's very identity announces grace from beyond ourselves. We don't like that. We want to retain control, save face, set our own terms, pay our own way. Every day we treat God as incidental to what really matters to us, and we live by our own strategies of self-salvation. We don't think of our choices that way, but Isaiah can see that our lives are infested with fraudulent idols. Any hope that isn't from God is an idol of our own making.”

These strategies of self-salvation are what is under attack in my life right now. I recognize in myself both the search for salvation and the resistance to receive it; I know that I have positively located that salvation in Christ and yet that I continue to search for it in other places. And I know the slavery of those “other places.”

Isaiah describes Judah’s spiritual crisis in chapter 1:

The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but bruises and sores and raw wounds; they are not pressed out or bound up or softened with oil.

He uses imagery of physical sickness to speak about the spiritual malady of Judah; in a similar fashion, I look at my physical condition and draw conclusions about my spiritual health. I don’t draw these conclusions to suggest that this sickness has befallen me because of my spiritual condition. Instead, I look at it as a manifestation of the overwhelming tendencies of the human heart to self-destruct and to rebel. I think of my portable altars and am saddened. But I do not hope in my heart or its rightness or righteousness; I hope in the fact that God saves sinners.

Father, you have made known to us through your Son and in your word that you save sinners. Your spirit has opened my eyes to the truth that I am such a sinner and that your salvation is my only hope. I confess that I could not pay my own way, save face, or set my own terms. It was on your terms that I came to you, in order that you might receive all the glory for my salvation.

I thank you that you continue to awaken in me a fresh sense of my own sinfulness through conviction. Help me, Father, always to turn from that sin and focus upon Christ. Help me to see that he has borne those sins and put them to death at the cross. Help me to live in Spirit-empowered freedom instead of fleshly idolatry. I give you thanks, even now, for the physical suffering that reminds me of my spiritual need. I thank you for the helplessness that points to hope; for the emptiness that points to satiation; for the pain that points to joy. I trust you that what is mortal will be swallowed up in what is eternal, and I long for that day. Sustain me until I see you face to face, in the strong name of Jesus. Amen.

From Foot-Washing to Feet

2007-06-01T14:24:00.000-06:00

No theological or philosophical reflections today, friends. Just the facts:

After being off those horrible steroids for only two days, my feet are swollen again (for the first time in nearly three weeks). I had to search for a pair of shoes that would fit this morning and have had much more trouble walking.

It seems logical to now assume that the steroids have been serving some useful purpose. But the new facts beg further questions, like this one: If my pain level was that high on steroids, what am I to expect now that I'm not medicated?

It is hard not to dwell on these questions and fears, so I am grateful that Scripture makes known to us the consequences of doing so. I read in Romans 8 that "to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace." Here I am warned of the effects of clinging to this fear, which is neither fruitful nor faithful.

But to actually fight it, I must throw myself upon the God who is faithful. I must remember the God who has forgiven all my iniquity if I am to trust him to be the God who heals all my diseases. I'm going to spend some time doing that now.

The Foot-Washing Kind of Love

2007-05-31T17:25:00.000-06:00

It's satisfying to pay the people who serve me. It maintains my equilibrium, you know? It perpetuates my illusions of control, and it even infuses me with a delicious sense of my own magnanimity.

It feels completely different to be served. I do not give and yet I receive; I am honored by admitting weakness. My needs are met by ceding control to another. This feeling cleanses me—feet, head, hands—with a humbled gratitude.

So many of you have been asking me regularly, "What can I do to help?" You have offered to assist with meals, shopping, transportation, housekeeping, and even finances. For the most part, though, I have "graciously" declined your help. I can do many of these things right now; I simply do them very slowly and with a great deal of pain. I mean, isn't it wrong for someone like me—who can do these things—to accept help? Doesn't God help those who help themselves? (As absurd as the words sound, the thoughts seemed much more plausible).

My small group, in particular, has been relentless. One of the women in the group cornered me again on Sunday. She asked if they could begin to provide regular meals for me and, anticipating my automatic answer, explained: "We know that you can take care of groceries and food yourself, but we're asking if it would bless you and serve you to have someone else help." When she put the question that way, I had to say yes.

Yesterday, I received an email from another member of my small group. She and her children wanted to clean my apartment for me and, within just a few hours, they were on my doorstep—buckets, rags, and smiles in tow. They might as well just have washed my feet at the same time…

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34

In John 13, Christ provides a commandment and an example. He commands us to love one another and exemplifies that love in his washing of the disciples' feet. Likewise, our service to one another is a way that we can manifest the love of Christ to "all people." My small group is, right now, living out a testimony to the transformative love of God in their service to me. I truly thank God each time I remember these dear brothers and sisters, and I hold them up to you as an example of the extravagent, foot-washing love that binds us together in Christ.

From Suffering to Hope

2007-05-30T18:44:00.000-06:00

About three or four months back, I began to meet with my pastor and a couple from my small group to talk regularly about some persistent, indwelling sin in my life and the ensuing temptation to depression. In fact, I met with them just a couple of weeks before I went into the hospital. Without going into detail, I was battling specific issues related to control, self-gratification, and hopelessness.

What I was surprised to realize today is that these are the specific strongholds now under attack. Consider control and self-gratification. What can I control right now? I can hardly do my own grocery shopping! With what can I now gratify myself, when all of my ordinary pleasures—in work, food, exercise, AND in control itself—are suspended or so transformed as to be barely recognizable. All of the touchstones by which I would assess my own success or failure are moved; all of the rewards I would give myself are now altered.

The curse of my sin—of my controlling works and my hedonistic indulgences—had become a flight from grace and a temptation to despair. I knew that my system was defective, even if it remained intact, and I hated it. David Powlison explains, in Suffering and the Sovereignty of God:

"It is worth noting that Christians, as new creations in Christ, also live in an essentially different relationship to their own sinfulness. Your sin now afflicts you. The 'dross' no longer defines or delights you. Indwelling sin becomes a form of significant suffering. What you once instinctively loved now torments you. The essential change in your relationship with God radically changes your relationship to remaining sinfulness. In Christ, in order to sin, you must lapse into temporary insanity, into forgetfulness. It is your worst cancer, your most crippling disability, your most treacherous enemy, your deepest distress. It is the single most destructive force impacting your life. Like nothing else in all creation, this threatens your life and well-being."

Let’s examine again the three sins that I mentioned as the most pernicious and persistent for me: control, self-gratification, and hopelessness. These were sinful patterns of living that I had been unable to undo; with Paul I cried, "I do the things I hate." The first two sins are being ravaged by this physical suffering, and I know that the third one is under a similar (if more subtle) attack. Remember Romans 5, where we learn that "suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope"? This text makes a direct connection between suffering and hope. So, while I never would have anticipated my need to suffer, I knew well my desperate need for hope.

Though the Lord has not revealed to me all the means, I know and trust His purposes. This is why we are exhorted to rejoice in our sufferings! It is not some type of masochistic feat; it’s faith. It's faith that all the promises of God—including this one—are YES in Christ. Faith is how we move from suffering to hope, and our God is the (unmoved) mover who grants that faith.

Lord, increase my faith!

Love Not the World

2007-05-30T17:03:00.000-06:00

Thomas Chalmers explains how we can love not the world:

"Nothing can exceed the magnitude of the required change in a man's character—when bidden, as he is in the New Testament, to love not the world; no, nor any of the things that are in the world—for this so comprehends all that is dear to him in existence as to be equivalent to a command of self-annihilation. But the same revelation which dictates so mighty an obedience places within our reach as mighty an instrument of obedience. It brings for admittance, to the very door of our heart, an affection which, once seated upon its throne, will either subordinate every previous inmate, or bid it away.

Beside the world it places before the eye of the mind Him who made the world, and with this peculiarity, which is all its own—that in the gospel do we so behold God as that we may love God. It is there, and there only, where God stands revealed as an object of confidence to sinners—and where our desire after Him is not chilled into apathy by that barrier of human guilt which intercepts every approach that is not made to Him through the appointed Mediator. It is the bringing in of this better hope, whereby we draw nigh unto God-to live without hope is to live without God, and if the heart be without God the world will then have all the ascendency. It is God apprehended by the believer as God in Christ who alone can dispost it from this ascendency.

It is when He stands dismantled of the terrors which belong to Him as an offended lawgiver, and when we are enabled by faith, which is His own gift, to see His glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and to hear His beseeching voice, as it protests good-will to men, and entreats the return of all who will to a full pardon, and a gracious acceptance—it is then that a love paramount to the love of the world, and at length expulsive of it, first arises in the regenerating bosom.

It is when released from the spirit of bondage, with which love can not dwell, and when admitted into the number of God's children, through the faith that is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is poured upon upon us—it is then that the heart, brought under the mastery of one great and predominant affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its former desires, and in the only way in which deliverance is possible."

From a (10 page, single-spaced sermon!) entitled The Expulsive Power of a New Affection

The Haves and the Have Nots

2007-05-29T14:45:00.001-06:00

On my five-minute drive home from work today, I heard two lines of a sermon from Tony Evans. I remember only one of them. It went something like this:

"If you are busy thinking about what you don't have instead of what God is doing, then you are in enemy territory."

Though I had spent quite a bit of time over the last few days reflecting upon what I have lost, my heart was disguising this dialogue as a supplement and not a replacement. Surely I can think about what God is doing and still maintain a little energy for self-pity, right? I'm just being a realist here...no need to start talking about "enemy territory."

Both Paul and Tony seem to disagree with me:

"For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God" (Romans 8).

Wow. I consider anew the losses that have plagued me, each bandying about its own fears and threats as though it was of ultimate importance. Loss of efficiency. Loss of beauty. Loss of self-sufficiency. Loss of physical comforts.

While it's not wrong to notice these things and even to be saddened by them, it is wrong to dwell on them. It is wrong not to take these thoughts captive by considering who the Lord is and what He is doing. Why? Because those who are in the flesh cannot please God.

Want more evidence? I wish you could have seen what a miserable few days I've had; that experience would illustrate the point better than I can do with my words. As my mind has been focused on fleshly matters, I have reaped a harvest of profound bitterness (to which several of my friends can attest). Should I have been suprised at the hostility that I felt toward God? Or in the disobedience that rapidly followed those first allowances of self-pity? At what price did I buy those trinkets for myself?

"Father, heal me from the nearsightedness that sees only my loss. Enable me, by your Spirit, to see the presence of your hand in my life and to look toward my future with faith. Because I trust in you, I will not feel sorry for myself. Because I have been raised with Christ, I will seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. I will set my mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For I have died, and my life is hidden with Christ in You (Oh! What security!). And when Christ who is my life appears, then I also will appear with him in glory." This is my hope and my comfort. Have or have not, I shall not want."

Plumb Lines and Worship

2007-05-27T13:37:00.001-06:00

I have noticed that the preparation for a remarkable worship experience usually starts much earlier in the week—with a breaking of the will, a breaking of an idol, or some diligence in Spirit-led labor. That work started for me on Thursday, and I could sense the fruit of it almost as soon as I walked through the door of the church this morning. With the help of a dear friend on Thursday night, I held my heart up to the plumb line of Scripture and found it lacking in some very specific ways. With the help of the Spirit, I repented of that sin and turned from it. I turned from it again on Friday, on Saturday, today. No, I have not turned perfectly, but I continue turning. And God did not despise my broken and contrite heart.

When I have met the Lord in worship, my whole being is permeated with a sense of purpose. There were infusions of that to my heart this morning…and it was evident to me that my brothers and sisters were also worshipping in Spirit and in truth. I think of the friend a few rows ahead of me who was praising the Lord in diligent abandon, both choosing and chosen by joy. Her fervent worship in the Spirit spurred me on when I was feeling weary. I remember the countless ways that the Gospel was presented—in our songs, prayers, and recitations—long before we ever got to the sermon. I rejoiced at the realization that unbelievers were hearing this good news, even as I rejoiced at my own salvation. We prayed corporately through Psalm 51 and my heart was made hopeful and glad again:

“Have mercy on me,O God,according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight…For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Never, no never, despised.

My small group gathered around me after the service to pray for me and to learn how they could serve me. They honored the Lord, and even me, for the work that is being accomplished in my life right now. I was reminded again of the verse in I Corinthians 12, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” I couldn’t help but thinking that the Lord must be pleased with their obedience--an obedience that was truly the overflow of their hearts. The bond of unity in the spirit held us tightly together this morning; truly, we are members one of another!

For perhaps the first time since I got sick, I was able both physically and emotionally to sustain interaction with my brothers and sisters. In general, Sundays have been a good plumb line for me in assessing this type of improvement. I could see how much more endurance I demonstrated this morning in my ability to stand and converse with friends before the service, rise at appropriate intervals in worship, and pray with my small group after the service.

I thank the Lord for physically renewing me in these ways, that I might be spiritually strengthened by the body. I thank him that the members do not all have the same function, but that each is gifted for particular service. And, seeing today the proper functioning of the parts of the body, I eagerly anticipate the building up of the whole body in love.

Strangers and Exiles

2007-05-26T18:31:00.000-06:00

My approach to Scripture right now is to examine the prevailing emotion of the day and to submit it to the Word. I’m always a bit discomfited by my own surprise at Scripture’s ability to pierce and to discern (Hebrews 4:12). We think of ourselves as the exception and find ourselves to be the rule.

For today, I'm fighting a feeling akin to loneliness that is probably most accurately defined as a sense of exile. I am expelled from the native land of my heart and mind—desires, hopes, ambitions, pleasures, plans—and forced into a period of wandering and wondering. Hence I turn to Hebrews 11:

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city."

These men and women of faith who are being commended by the author of Hebrews acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles. They did not seek to disguise the fact or to remedy it in their own strength; in fact, the text seems to say that they could go back to their native lands. Yet they chose to remain in exile because they desired a new and better country. They chose exile because they trusted the one who was changing even their desires and the "home" that formed their identities.

When my old desires, hopes, ambitions and pleasures taunt me, it is helpful to me to remember that I am now seeking a homeland. Mine is a purposeful exile—though I did not choose it—and it is leading me to a heavenly country. Acknowledging that I am truly an exile is an important way that I can expose both the truth and the lie. The truth is that the Lord has sent me into this period of wandering; the lie, which is rehearsed in my mind almost hourly, is that I am “cut off from his sight.” In this way, I must talk to myself rather than listen (as Martin Lloyd Jones would say).

I also take this counsel from Hebrews 11: I must fight the temptation to think constantly of the country I left, lest I should turn back at the first opportunity. I must submit those old desires and dreams to the plans and promises of God—even if I only greet them from afar. He can be trusted to fulfill each and every one of his promises to me, and he is not confined by time or space in that fulfillment. In fact, of these exiles it is written, “Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”

A home. A homeland. A place where desires are pure and purely satisfied, where hope is seen, and where pleasures are eternal. You are an exile, Michele. Keep walking.

In the Valley

2007-05-25T22:54:00.000-06:00

In the Valley by Bob Kauflin (as recorded on Valley of Vision)

When You lead me to the valley of vision
I can see You in the heights
And though my humbling wouldn’t be my decision
It’s here Your glory shines so bright
So let me learn that the cross precedes the crown
To be low is to be high
That the valley’s where You make me more like Christ

Let me find Your grace in the valley
Let me find Your life in my death
Let me find Your joy in my sorrow
Your wealth in my need
That You’re near with every breath
In the valley

In the daytime there are stars in the heavens
But they only shine at night
And the deeper that I go into darkness
The more I see their radiant light
So let me learn that my losses are my gain
To be broken is to heal
That the valley’s where Your power is revealed

Results

2007-05-25T10:18:00.000-06:00

The results from my EMG today were completely normal. My protein factors are normal, which means that this is probably not a muscle disorder. We haven't yet seen anything to give a solid indication that something is wrong with my nerves (though my pain seems to act like nerve pain). The only abnormal numbers on my tests were my RH factor, which was 20.

The RH factor is a strong indicator of rheumatoid arthritis. I read somewhere online that, even with a factor of 20 (which is on the low side of the positive diagnostic spectrum), the patient has an 80% chance of having the disease. Yet there are a number of other autoimmune diseases, infections, and conditions that can cause false positives.

One of the primary treatments for rheumatoid arthritis is steroids which, as you know, I've been taking for nearly 4 weeks now. The fact that my condition has not responded to the steroids is of concern here, since it could mean the rheumatoid arthritis is a secondary condition or merely a symptom of something else.

I have already been on the phone with a number of rheumatologists, and the earliest I can get an appointment is for two weeks from today. As you can imagine, that is disheartening. But at least, for the first time in several weeks, there is a "next step." I, of course, use the word “step” quite gingerly…

Prayer Request

2007-05-24T21:08:00.001-06:00

I almost forgot to mention that I go in for my next round of tests tomorrow morning at 8:30AM. Please pray that the doctor would have insight and skill as he conducts the tests.

Afflicted in Every Way, But...

2007-05-24T20:14:00.000-06:00

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:7-12).

I feel afflicted in every way tonight. The coordinating conjunction that appears in the title to this post is added as an act of discipline and an assent to a truth that I don't feel. I have to ask myself, what does it mean that I am "not crushed." I feel utterly crushed. Where is my Christ? I must see him tonight.

[I could have ended the post here. I felt so desperate and forsaken even as I typed. What you can't see between these two brackets is just a period of sobbing before God-making anemic confessions to him about how I feel, even indulging in self-pity, and yet pleading that he reveal Christ's presence to me. He is faithful to meet us in our weakness.]

I'm reminded in the silence that Scripture uses the word "crushed" in both II Corinthians 4 and in Isaiah 53. Therefore, as I contemplate this truth that I am "not crushed," I remember one who was. "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed."

What does it mean that I am not crushed? It means that Christ was. I spent some time in the Servant Songs at Easter, and I read this commentary from John Piper on Isaiah 53:5-

"Now we start to get to the heart of the heart of God: it was the will of the Lord to crush him, NOT because of his own sins, but because of our sins. What God desired was that we not bear our own sins. Seven hundred years before Good Friday God announced why his Son was being put to death: to bear the sins of many—to take our place. Sins are not borne twice. God does not sentence his Servant and us to death for the same sins. If he bears them, we don't. And that is the glorious gospel of Jesus. He bore our sins."

God's heart desired that I not bear my own sins, and he willingly afflicted his own son in order that I might not be crushed. Even as I lie here tonight, sobbing in pain and fighting despair, I am not crushed. My sins are separated from me that I might not be separated from God. Because Christ was crushed, I am not--no matter what my affliction.

My heart is steadfast, O God. My heart is steadfast...

Spurgeon on Affliction

2007-05-24T10:51:00.000-06:00

"It would be a very sharp and trying experience to me to think that I have an affliction which God never sent me, that the bitter cup was never filled by his hand, that my trials were never measured out by him, nor sent to me by his arrangement of their weight and quantity."

Darrel W. Amundsen, "The Anguish and Agonies of Charles Spurgeon," Christian History, Issue 29, Vol. X, No. 1, p. 25.

HT: EA

All Things Are Subservient

2007-05-23T20:47:00.000-06:00

The Heidelberg Catechism gives me a fresh opportunity to reflect upon the profits of pain.

Question: What is thy only comfort in life and death?

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

My favorite phrase in this rich answer is "all things must be subservient to my salvation," because it shifts the onus of the activity from the pain itself to the purpose behind it. These momentary afflictions are achieving for me an eternal weight of glory!

So, it is in light of this truth that I ask myself, “What are my afflictions today?”

Yes, I am afflicted with physical pain. Yes, its tentacles have managed to invade almost every part of my life. But is this my deepest affliction?

The afflictions that I have felt almost as keenly as the pain today are these: despair, pride, self-pity, and anger. The pain with which I am currently dealing has this prescient manner of pinpointing those deep-rooted struggles in my life. It’s almost as though the pain is serving in this sanctification which is a part of my ultimate salvation. Do you hear the echo of the catechism? Or, more importantly, do you hear the reverberations of Scripture?

If you had asked me a month ago, I would have vigorously denied that I felt any pride in my physical appearance--in my body or the way I took care of it. I would have denied that I felt pride in my workaholism or in my tendency to “give, give, give” in relationships. I truly did not know that these things were my (false) righteousness; I did not know that I took comfort in them. But if you ask me these questions today, I will be forced to humbly give you a different account. For this fire is both revealing and refining. I am wounded that I may be healed.

A friend sent me this quotation today from Octavius Winslow's The Precious Things of God: "You will know more of Jesus in one sanctified trial than in wading through a library of volumes or in listening to a lifetime of sermons." Let it be, Lord! Let it be.

Trial, be sanctified. Soul, be comforted. All things are subservient to the salvation of those whom the Lord loves.

On Commutes, Steriods, and Bedtime Negotiations

2007-05-22T04:42:00.000-06:00

I've waxed so philosophical with my last few updates that I have failed to give you any practical idea of how things are progressing for me.

On Friday, I started back to work full-time. On Monday, I actually returned to the office on a half-time basis. It is good to be on-site with my colleagues again, although it's alarming to discover how much even those familiar four walls have changed in the past month. The hallways, the parking lot—everything is so extensive and discrete now. The distance that I formerly spanned in less than a minute (3 inch heels notwithstanding) now takes 6. I laughed and told my boss that my commute from the parking lot to my desk takes 15 minutes. It's only funny because it's true!

I started my fourth and final week of steroids today. I cannot begin to describe how much I loathe those chalky white pills. For three weeks now, I have not been able either to fill my stomach or to taste my food, and the combination is decidedly unpleasant. My face and my body are suspiciously swollen now, and I avert my proportionally-shrinking eyes when I walk past the mirror in my bedroom. That mirror is not where my battles are now, but I'm so accustomed to fighting on that turf that I occasionally forget. The Lord is certainly teaching me new things about beauty in these days, so I try to pay as little attention as I can to those tattling pieces of glass. The lessons that the mirror can share are not important right now, even if they are true.

I will visit the doctor again on Friday for an EMG test, which will—at least—be less painful than a spinal tap! I won't venture to say exactly what we hope to learn from this test, but it seems as though it might evidence either a muscle or nerve conduction problem. The data could pinpoint a specific conduction problem, isolate a range of problems, or reveal nothing. Results should be available early next week.

My sleep is restless and fitful, but it does come now, and I am intensely grateful for that. But I guess that a few days’ worth of poor sleep is catching up with me, because I feel utterly exhausted tonight as I write. In fact, all the emails and phone calls that I’d hoped to complete will just have to wait. Neither my plans nor the belligerent assertions of my clock are going to dissuade me from believing that 7:30 PM is an appropriate bedtime.

I will leave you with a brief word of encouragement which the Lord brought to my mind tonight. As I was praying a few hours ago, I was reminded of the Lord’s kindness in the timing of my illness—kindness toward me and toward my beloved community. Though I noticed my “shin splints” less than a week after my best friend’s wedding, there was not one hint of physical pain to slow me down from my maid of honor duties or to mar anyone’s enjoyment of that precious event. This realization actually hadn’t occurred to me until now, and so I’m resting upon a fresh gratitude as I lay me down to sleep.

P.S.

2007-05-21T21:18:00.000-06:00

For all my analysis of Romans 12 in the previous post, I didn't touch on the verse that says, "Never be wise in your own sight." As I'm studying back over the passage, I can't help but notice that glaring omission. Point taken.

Critical Mass?

2007-05-21T14:42:00.000-06:00

So many of you, my dear friends, are writing or calling to tell me that I am being too severe with myself during this time--that I am demanding too much in the midst of the pain and uncertainty. In fact, if you'll pardon the pun, I began to feel today as though the sentiment was reaching critical mass.

There are ways in which I have been hard on myself all my life. I've been a perfectionist, an idealist, and a workaholic. In these overt and quantifiable ways, I have tended toward a works-based-righteousness and the inevitable condemnation that follows. Some of you have seen my long hours at work, my diligence at the gym, or the demands that I put upon myself in relationships and assumed that my deepest need is to show myself more grace.

But I have known my heart for a long time, dear friends. Where my emotional and spiritual condition is concerned, I have tended toward license and have used the disciplined lifestyle to hide the permissive soul. But, thanks be to God, that slavery to license was loosened in my heart about 1 1/2 years ago. Knowing the changes that God has worked in the intervening time, I can stand before you today and say with confidence that most of what you see in me now is the fruit of a changed desire—a desire for holiness. And the pursuit of holiness is no arbitrarily critical demand--like calories burned at the gym or hours worked overtime. This is categorically different from the condemnation under which I've lived most of my life. The standard is objective.

I don't want anyone to make excuses for me right now--I spend enough time combating the incessant, inadvertent excuses that I offer on my own behalf. I don't want you to justify my irritability or my selfishness, and I will--by the power of God's spirit--fight against the manifestation of these traits. Because we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another (Romans 12:5). My license is taken at your expense and it whispers to all who witness it that the cross is not adequate for this trial. No, I cannot give myself room for excuses when this is the message that might be conveyed. The standard is unchanged.

I'll back up a bit in Romans 12:

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.

I don't want to be a different person as a person in pain--unless the pain makes me a better person. During this time, I am tempted to think of myself more highly than I ought—as though my circumstances changed for me the requirements of a righteous life. But I will fight with the Word of God for the sober judgment mentioned above; I will not be conformed but will be transformed by the renewing of my mind; and the Lord will reveal to me what is good and acceptable and perfect. These truths are not changed by my circumstances.

I thank God that so many of you are invested in my life--so invested that you would take the time to challenge me and to share your concerns. May the Lord continue to reveal himself and his will to each of us, even as we "rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, and be constant in prayer."

Forsake Me Not

2007-05-20T11:08:00.000-06:00

Psalm 71, Part II

“God has forsaken him; pursue and seize him, for there is none to deliver him” / "You who have made me to see trouble and calamities will revive me again."

Many people are watching me right now and, while they may not be uttering the words of the Psalmist's enemies, some of them probably believe that I am forsaken by the Lord or that I have no deliverer. There are those who fear that I have, somehow, either set myself or been set by God (or fate) upon a path of sure destruction. The Psalmist anticipates these attacks--both on his physical body and on God's character--and cries out to the only one who can save.

He asks the Lord to be his defense and then conceptualizes and affirms his own appropriate response, namely to hope, praise, and tell. This response is instructive to me when I feel my heart vascillating under the weight of others' beliefs about my condition--medical, emotional, or spiritual--or their resulting actions toward me. "And my tongue will talk of your righteous help all the day long, for they have been put to shame and disappointed who sought to do me hurt." I cry out to the Lord in faith and express that faith to others through hope-filled words that point beyond my condition and my pain to the God who has allowed it for my good.

Yet the danger posed by the opinions or actions of men is not the crucible in which the most arduous testing occurs. The same Psalmist who pleads for help against his external enemies makes an astounding statement when he exclaims, "You who have made me to see trouble and calamities will revive me again." The Psalmist indicates that my hardships are ultimately coming not from the hands of my enemies but from the hand of my God.

You who have made me to see trouble-this truth changes everything. It changes both the way that I cry and also the way that I cry out. My pastor used a medical metaphor this morning to explain how the law functions in the life of a Christian. I won't quote him perfectly, but I believe that he described the law as a "sharp scalpel in the hand of a skillful surgeon". Though it inflicts pain, it does so only to expose and cure sickness. I see my illness as functioning in a similar way. It is, first, revealing and then parsimoniously extracting deep-seated areas of unbelief in my heart.

This fact changes the nature of the danger that I face entirely (as I blogged about earlier this week). Danger, for me, is not located in a physical condition but in a faithless heart. Peril is not the absence of a vindicator but the presence of the wrong one. "Forsake me not when my strength is spent" is the cry of one in danger who knows his own need and does not rush to meet it in his own strength. This is my model.

What, then, is an appropriate response to such a severe mercy from the Lord? Lord willing, my response should be one of faith, characterized by confidence and hope. He will revive me again. Will my life look exactly like it did before? Will my body look like it did before? These questions are not answered for me by the Psalm, but they are rendered penultimate by the knowledge that the Lord will bring me up again, even from the depths of the earth. The one who created my life and my body is welcome to recreate it; in fact, he has already promised to do so in the image of His Son, Jesus Christ!

Remember Christ upon the cross and burdens upon believing shoulders, and know that the Lord does not forsake His own.

When My Strength is Spent

2007-05-19T15:48:00.000-06:00

Psalm 71, Part I

"Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother's womb" (Psalm 71:6).

Born almost six weeks early and weighing less than 4 pounds, I was not created as a physically strong person. While I don't think of strength as being among my chief concerns (beauty, knowledge, and acceptance) come immediately to mind in that regard), I suspect that I have spent more time that I realize in trying to prove that I am not weak or needy. Even as a five-foot-tall southern belle, I was loath to let men or anybody else do things for me because I couldn't do them. Open my door? "Certainly! Because we're all clear that I can do that myself but am simply allowing you to do it instead." Carry a ridiculously large box across the office at work? "No, thank you. I'll just take care of that myself." While I've matured through the overt arm wrestling games, I find in this time of utter dependence that the old strongholds still stand.

As usual, the most significant and sobering applications of this tendency are spiritual in nature. I recently discussed with a friend the debt of love among believers as expressed in Romans 8:13 ("Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law"). I've always envisioned myself as the one who is zealously fulfilling the law in this. This exhortation to "owe no one anything" has been such a natural part of my philosophy that I almost mechanically consider how to “one-up” a gift or a gesture from a friend. That creeping legalism, always demanding proof to legitimize its righteousness, has played out in so many of my relationships. I think that I forced myself to prove that I was a better friend simply to alleviate the fear that I was a worse one.

I cannot remember a time in my life in which I been indebted to as many people as I am right now, and the debt forces me to reevaluate my true condition. If I don't see myself as a debtor, I will not be grateful for the provisions that are made. Until I embrace my need for mercy—both from God and from others—then I won't ask for it with humility. So long as I believe in my own autonomy, I will stubbornly enslave myself to that freedom until my impotence condemns me.

Now that my life is not functioning, my humility is—which drives me back to the mercy of God where it unites my heart with the psalmist. I will only cry out “forsake me not” when I believe that my strength is spent. And the strength-spent child is perfectly situated to receive the promises of the psalm.

Psalm 71: Forsake Me Not When My Strength is Spent

2007-05-19T15:45:00.000-06:00

Over the past few weeks, the Psalm to which I have most regularly returned is Psalm 71. Lines from this meditation have served as a salve for specific wounds, and I have extracted and rehearsed those lines regularly. Today I want to look at the whole Psalm in order to make broader applications—the type of application that serves long-term soul healing instead of immediate pain relief. I am posting the text first and separately, since you will gain infinitely more from reading the Psalm than you will from my reflections upon it.

In you, O Lord, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame! In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me, and save me! Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come; you have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress. Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel man. For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth. Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you. I have been as a portent to many, but you are my strong refuge. My mouth is filled with your praise, and with your glory all the day. Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent. For my enemies speak concerning me; those who watch for my life consult together and say, “God has forsaken him; pursue and seize him, for there is none to deliver him.” O God, be not far from me; O my God, make haste to help me! May my accusers be put to shame and consumed; with scorn and disgrace may they be covered who seek my hurt. But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge. With the mighty deeds of the Lord God I will come; I will remind them of your righteousness, yours alone. O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. Your righteousness, O God, reaches the high heavens. You who have done great things, O God, who is like you? You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again. I will also praise you with the harp for your faithfulness, O my God; I will sing praises to you with the lyre, O Holy One of Israel. My lips will shout for joy, when I sing praises to you; my soul also, which you have redeemed. And my tongue will talk of your righteous help all the day long, for they have been put to shame and disappointed who sought to do me hurt.