Muted. Floundering. So many things to say, with a complete inability to say them well, so I say nothing at all. "Better to stay quiet and let others think you are a fool than to open your mouth and prove it." Paraphrased.
I wish I could have told my friend this afternoon that I'm praying my heart out for her. I wish I had the words so that would not bother her, only let her know God's child is pleading with Him. I wish I could have said that I wish there was a way she could know the truth and build a foundation on it. That I wish there was a way I could show it to her, build it for her.
I wish there was a way I could tell my sister who is leaving, that I might not know how to show I love her, because I don't know how to love on her terms, and I might be too selfish anyway, but I wish I loved her better, loved her wisely. As it is, I do love her, and I hope she knows I mean that.
I wish I could tell another sister sorry, for snapping at her this afternoon. I probably will--but not tonight, she's having fun, and it would just make her evening awkward. God, remind me. I don't want to forget this.
I wish there was a way I could tell a second friend that I want to be a part of her life, I do, but family needs clashed with her tonight, and I went with family. I wish I could have done that conversation better.
I regret what I do not know how to say.
I wish I could tell God that my live was completely dedicated to Him, and I would not turn away, and have that be the truth. I wish a small thing like a stomachache did not show me how completely selfish I still am. I wish I could retell God his glory in a way that would delight his heart and change mine. I wish I had the words to help myself and the world.
I wish my words could bring order, first inside myself, emotions and ADD thoughts brought under the framework of thought-out words. After, I wish my words could bring order to a chaotic world, healing here, smoothing there, uplifting and strengthening--or, if need be, breaking.
I was told, recently, that I had lived "My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins" (James 5.19-20). I have never been so humbled; my reaction, me? why me? Why would God use someone like me to do something like that? I have never been worthy of doing that, that He has done so through me is heaven touching my soul and my hands, a proof I don't know how to understand. I will treasure that and be bewildered by it for a while, I think. It broke a barrier built by a year and ten months of silence for God's kingdom, of faulty foolish words and clumsy gestures. A year and ten months, with no word of God that I could hear, though I had others tell me they could hear it through me.
If God used me to do that, logically, I need have no fear of what I cannot say. He will use me to say what should be said as I follow Him.
But I wish I could say the right words, when called, into the lives of my friends, my family. My sisters. They're scattered across the US, and I miss them. But can I tell them I miss them without burdening their lives? Can I let them know I want to be more than an echo of friendship across a distance, and not intrude? In some of them, yes; in some of them yes--at a later time, they're not ready to open now. In some of them, possibly not. God, give me words, and give me silence, each in your will and your good kingdom; keep a guard on my tongue, and a watch on my heart, keeping both in accordance with all you desire. In the name of Christ, amen.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Cruel Christianity
I read today that Christianity is cruel. It requires the impossible (the example here was love your neighbor as yourself--he had a wife and kids and was not able to give all the love to the neighbor that the commandment required). To require the impossible of people is cruel.
I wasn't satisfied with the answer given by the Christian responding. He pointed out that anytime he meets a standard he uses it as a condemnation for everyone around him who hasn't met it. It is only with impossible demands that such pride cannot happen. True. But not, I think, the truth at the heart of Christianity's impossible demands.
Because it is impossible. That makes me cry. I can't live as a Christian, I never could. I can't meet even the one command I want to meet the most, to reflect God's light. It's all my glory, mine, my pride...this is impossible. I can't even change my heart. Much less can I change my sin nature. So why did He give a command I know and He knows I could never meet?
Perhaps because we were made to be perfect, and God is not content with anything less. Perfection is at the heart of God's commands--a perfection of thought, of time spent, an accountability for every careless word (Matt. ... 11, I think? Or 12 or 13), a completely submissive will, unselfish, loving heart, and pure mind. Take a look at a life you know well, and tell it to meet those demands. You'll probably cry out, as I did--and even rebel.
But God is perfect, and demands perfection. And I could see that could be cruel, but for one thing: God has promised that perfection will be ours. But--that's in the future. I think of the commands that I couldn't meet, that you couldn't meet before--but we will one day, without effort and struggle. But that's in the future. And I don't know if that's enough to keep me holding on now. Except we were warned, weren't we? Over and over and over in the New Testament, commands to persevere, warnings to persevere--pretty much the whole book of Revelation is a call for the saints to maintain their faith through everything. Only we have God with us. But it didn't look like He was winning, did it? And the very person we turn to requires more than is possible of us. The Old Testament didn't even have the command to persevere, only the expectation that they would, and calls back when they didn't.
But there are two things that silence my rebellion. One, His forgiveness. A cruel person doesn't forgive. God's forgiveness isn't for yesterday alone, just like his commands aren't for tomorrow alone--his forgiveness is present now, for every sin and turning away. Command and forgiveness are present now. Two--and this is why it makes more sense that we have the command now--though we may not meet those commands to even the smallest extent of fulness, the obedience of the saints has led to glory and beauty on earth beyond our tasting or imagining. Amy Carmichael, Bonhoeffer, Wilberforce, my mother, their beauty is astonishing. His commands, though we can't meet them, still do wonders in us. That--I think that makes sense. But only if one looks at the full picture of God's commands and character, not just one reason for a command.
I wasn't satisfied with the answer given by the Christian responding. He pointed out that anytime he meets a standard he uses it as a condemnation for everyone around him who hasn't met it. It is only with impossible demands that such pride cannot happen. True. But not, I think, the truth at the heart of Christianity's impossible demands.
Because it is impossible. That makes me cry. I can't live as a Christian, I never could. I can't meet even the one command I want to meet the most, to reflect God's light. It's all my glory, mine, my pride...this is impossible. I can't even change my heart. Much less can I change my sin nature. So why did He give a command I know and He knows I could never meet?
Perhaps because we were made to be perfect, and God is not content with anything less. Perfection is at the heart of God's commands--a perfection of thought, of time spent, an accountability for every careless word (Matt. ... 11, I think? Or 12 or 13), a completely submissive will, unselfish, loving heart, and pure mind. Take a look at a life you know well, and tell it to meet those demands. You'll probably cry out, as I did--and even rebel.
But God is perfect, and demands perfection. And I could see that could be cruel, but for one thing: God has promised that perfection will be ours. But--that's in the future. I think of the commands that I couldn't meet, that you couldn't meet before--but we will one day, without effort and struggle. But that's in the future. And I don't know if that's enough to keep me holding on now. Except we were warned, weren't we? Over and over and over in the New Testament, commands to persevere, warnings to persevere--pretty much the whole book of Revelation is a call for the saints to maintain their faith through everything. Only we have God with us. But it didn't look like He was winning, did it? And the very person we turn to requires more than is possible of us. The Old Testament didn't even have the command to persevere, only the expectation that they would, and calls back when they didn't.
But there are two things that silence my rebellion. One, His forgiveness. A cruel person doesn't forgive. God's forgiveness isn't for yesterday alone, just like his commands aren't for tomorrow alone--his forgiveness is present now, for every sin and turning away. Command and forgiveness are present now. Two--and this is why it makes more sense that we have the command now--though we may not meet those commands to even the smallest extent of fulness, the obedience of the saints has led to glory and beauty on earth beyond our tasting or imagining. Amy Carmichael, Bonhoeffer, Wilberforce, my mother, their beauty is astonishing. His commands, though we can't meet them, still do wonders in us. That--I think that makes sense. But only if one looks at the full picture of God's commands and character, not just one reason for a command.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
The Word
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, such as God's word for convicting, encouraging, and bringing me back to Him.
God, I ask that you write your word on my heart, that I may remember it and act accordingly at all times. I ask that your glory shine brighter as the days go by, as I learn to walk by what I come to know. I ask, today, that you grant the "joy inexpressible, and filled with glory," that Peter speaks of, as well as faith, and sanctification. I ask these in the name of Christ, amen.
God, I ask that you write your word on my heart, that I may remember it and act accordingly at all times. I ask that your glory shine brighter as the days go by, as I learn to walk by what I come to know. I ask, today, that you grant the "joy inexpressible, and filled with glory," that Peter speaks of, as well as faith, and sanctification. I ask these in the name of Christ, amen.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Promotions
I didn't know success would be bitter.
Last week, my company sent out an email--two positions were opening, Team Leaders for the entire department. I'm currently a Customer Service Rep., one of those with minimal authority and maximum interaction with customers (the lack of the first probably explains having the latter). The coworker I eat with every day looked at me and said "You're applying, right?" Her tone didn't imply the question mark. Coming back to my desk later that day, another coworker emailed me, telling me apply. I walked by the second coworker later, and she told me to get busy. The lady beside her asked, busy with what? Apply for the job--and the other lady agreed I should apply.
I stayed fifteen minutes late that day, on a conference call with a customer and a bank, where a payment had been made electronically and returned, and another payment had been mailed through online bill pay. We had to sort it out. I'd asked for a ride earlier; I was sick enough I didn't think I could make my usual five-block-walk. My boss drove me home. I mentioned the job, and she said "I've noticed you haven't applied yet!" She's not the only one who will select the leader...but I have a good chance of getting the job.
If I apply.
I've never wanted to be a manager. I'd rather have my words weighted by my character than my position. This is not--exactly--a manager's position. I would enjoy at least 75% of it. It would look great on an resume (assuming I get the job). It might have better pay. It would make work a lot less boring. It might be more fulfilling. I'd get to know more. I'd have more practice for teaching.
But...success is lonely. Authority is lonely. And I would struggle with its twin tigers--pride and despondency. Pride, at being promoted. Frustration and self-annilation, the side effects of a perfectionist doing an impossible job. They tear my heart, deep scratches, just as a lowly rep. Could I even handle the weight of doing a manager's job well? Do I want that fight in my life?
I'm listening to Job's song, "Broken Praise" by Todd Smith, singing "how many more will wander past, / and find me sitting in this ash? / Will you hold me, will you stay, / so I can raise / this broken praise / to you? / But you were the one who filled my cup / and you were the one who let spill, / so blessed be / your holy name / if you never fill it up again; / if this where my story ends / just give me one more breath to say, / hallelujah!"
God, I didn't ask for a promotion. I asked that you would change my attitude towards a mundane job. God, I didn't ask for success, either, or to be better than others, and I don't know what to do. Is this your will? Could I do this well, to your glory? Can I do this with humility? Do you want me to apply, to conquer fear, and be turned down, one clear leading? Do you want me to work out what it is to be a team leader, to help define that for the company? I don't know what battles may be coming! I don't know if I am supposed to do this!
Fear, running through those words. Why? Has not my God proved he will provide, in all circumstances? He provided when I had nothing, why do I fear to trust him when he hands me success?
Perhaps because I am not used to it. Or perhaps, because I would rather be a child, with an influence that I do not feel, so I do not hold my words or actions as weight.
But I want to change the world, and sometimes grow frustrated by doing so only through prayer. Is this not what I wanted, to be used for him? If he wants to do that through success, is not his plan better?
God, I do not see anything but the weight of this job, far weighting the scales above the benefits. But I promise this, that I will do your will, to all my ability, for the taste of your kingdom is sweet, no matter how hard to swallow. Keep my eyes open, my heart fearless, my will obedient, my spirit joyful. I ask this as your daughter--a sinner, guilty, wretched, weak, but also redeemed, perfect, righteous, covered with the blood of Christ and able to come to the throne of mercy. I ask this of a God who walked with David as a shepherd and a king, who redeemed him when he feel asleep herding sheep and when he sinned for a year leading the precious people of God. Your grace is not measured by how righteous your children are, but by the depths of your forgiveness for sinners. Forgive my fear--I had no reason. Forgive my hesitation, and grant me wisdom. I would know where to go from here, and I trust you to lead me. May everything in my life be to your glory, all things, surrendered to you. Your will be done. In the name of Christ, amen.
Last week, my company sent out an email--two positions were opening, Team Leaders for the entire department. I'm currently a Customer Service Rep., one of those with minimal authority and maximum interaction with customers (the lack of the first probably explains having the latter). The coworker I eat with every day looked at me and said "You're applying, right?" Her tone didn't imply the question mark. Coming back to my desk later that day, another coworker emailed me, telling me apply. I walked by the second coworker later, and she told me to get busy. The lady beside her asked, busy with what? Apply for the job--and the other lady agreed I should apply.
I stayed fifteen minutes late that day, on a conference call with a customer and a bank, where a payment had been made electronically and returned, and another payment had been mailed through online bill pay. We had to sort it out. I'd asked for a ride earlier; I was sick enough I didn't think I could make my usual five-block-walk. My boss drove me home. I mentioned the job, and she said "I've noticed you haven't applied yet!" She's not the only one who will select the leader...but I have a good chance of getting the job.
If I apply.
I've never wanted to be a manager. I'd rather have my words weighted by my character than my position. This is not--exactly--a manager's position. I would enjoy at least 75% of it. It would look great on an resume (assuming I get the job). It might have better pay. It would make work a lot less boring. It might be more fulfilling. I'd get to know more. I'd have more practice for teaching.
But...success is lonely. Authority is lonely. And I would struggle with its twin tigers--pride and despondency. Pride, at being promoted. Frustration and self-annilation, the side effects of a perfectionist doing an impossible job. They tear my heart, deep scratches, just as a lowly rep. Could I even handle the weight of doing a manager's job well? Do I want that fight in my life?
I'm listening to Job's song, "Broken Praise" by Todd Smith, singing "how many more will wander past, / and find me sitting in this ash? / Will you hold me, will you stay, / so I can raise / this broken praise / to you? / But you were the one who filled my cup / and you were the one who let spill, / so blessed be / your holy name / if you never fill it up again; / if this where my story ends / just give me one more breath to say, / hallelujah!"
God, I didn't ask for a promotion. I asked that you would change my attitude towards a mundane job. God, I didn't ask for success, either, or to be better than others, and I don't know what to do. Is this your will? Could I do this well, to your glory? Can I do this with humility? Do you want me to apply, to conquer fear, and be turned down, one clear leading? Do you want me to work out what it is to be a team leader, to help define that for the company? I don't know what battles may be coming! I don't know if I am supposed to do this!
Fear, running through those words. Why? Has not my God proved he will provide, in all circumstances? He provided when I had nothing, why do I fear to trust him when he hands me success?
Perhaps because I am not used to it. Or perhaps, because I would rather be a child, with an influence that I do not feel, so I do not hold my words or actions as weight.
But I want to change the world, and sometimes grow frustrated by doing so only through prayer. Is this not what I wanted, to be used for him? If he wants to do that through success, is not his plan better?
God, I do not see anything but the weight of this job, far weighting the scales above the benefits. But I promise this, that I will do your will, to all my ability, for the taste of your kingdom is sweet, no matter how hard to swallow. Keep my eyes open, my heart fearless, my will obedient, my spirit joyful. I ask this as your daughter--a sinner, guilty, wretched, weak, but also redeemed, perfect, righteous, covered with the blood of Christ and able to come to the throne of mercy. I ask this of a God who walked with David as a shepherd and a king, who redeemed him when he feel asleep herding sheep and when he sinned for a year leading the precious people of God. Your grace is not measured by how righteous your children are, but by the depths of your forgiveness for sinners. Forgive my fear--I had no reason. Forgive my hesitation, and grant me wisdom. I would know where to go from here, and I trust you to lead me. May everything in my life be to your glory, all things, surrendered to you. Your will be done. In the name of Christ, amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)