Along the Wall

    It is mine to guard. A single stretch of wall, separated from other sections by a guard tower on each end, clearly marking the boundaries of what my responsibility is. The wall is tall, and had grown taller each day, firmly cemented together by the Word I love so much. At times the growth is large, block upon block holding each other up, at other times it takes weeks for one square to be placed. Currently, it felt like there was no growth at all.
   I was not the only one with a section of wall to guard. All throughout my relationships, each believer has a wall they walk upon, guarding as they guard their lives. I had, by what I said and did, helped some of those walls to place bricks, or had even spoken a steadying word written in my own wall as theirs started shaking. Therefore I loved their portions of the wall, loved seeing the house being built section by section. They had helped to build mine as well.
    But it had been a while. Guarding had not been a peace-time sentry's duty for a long time, for darkness had enclosed my wall. I could no longer see the sun or stars. The knowledge I had of others now came from distant sounds that I strained to hear, and, as I said, there had been no visible building on my own wall in a long time. There was darkness above, behind, before, to all sides, and the only certain thing was the wall beneath my feet, for it was founded on the Word. I had been losing hope, for I could see nothing, hope for nothing, and my own wall had started to crack from the strain. Earthquakes, loneliness, cold, and most of all, the dark, made it hard to pace the wall, hard to keep my heart and mind on the light I tried to believe existed beyond the darkness around my wall. All I could see or feel was the weight of my duty against a darkness I could not banish. I could not stop, for I had been trained and retrained and trained again in the course of my duty, since a young child, but the duty was joyless and heavy, and I knew that weight in itself was wrong, for written in the Word was that the yoke I had was easy, the burden light. But I did not know how to banish the thief of joy.
    I faced outward. I was too cold to pace the wall any longer, but I could stand and resist. I looked out, seeing nothing but darkness, and hardening myself to fight for however long it stayed. I refused to give in to the bleak despair at that prospect.
    Then I heard it. It was still a distant sound, unconnected with my own wall, but I knew it. It was a horn, blown only when a blatant victory against the dark had been won. It was sounding from one of the walls I had helped to build, and grown to love. It was sounding with joy, but more than that, with a strength beyond that of what is human. It made my heart cry, for I had longed for that sentry's escape from the darkness, and it had been given. Oh, God, thanks to you! I steadied myself, drawing in the memory to make myself warm. The memory of that friend's victory would be a shield against the dark. I drew myself up to start walking the wall again.
    The warmth faded as I walked, but the memory stayed, still helping to shield me from the darkness. Then I stopped in my tracks. There, again! Another horn, another clear note of exultation and thanks, rising from another sentry's portion. Another friend, whose fight had been longer than mine had been by two years, had been given rest. Sweet rest, where doubt broke up and strength and hunger for righteousness had been given. With the darkness pierced, she could see the goodness of our portion, and desire with joy to work for it. That desire made our burdens light, and our yokes a blessing, for they helped us along the way as we built our walls. Two triumphs in so short a time. God, what a blessing. I looked out at the darkness, and smiled grimily. The sound of victory from both my friends had reminded me; my turn was coming. I could not lift this darkness. But I was not alone, and someday, someday in God's timing, I would be sounding my own horn, and the darkness would be lifting. Someday. Today, I would go back to guarding the wall.

Questions

       I've been reading through Lewis's Surprised by Joy. I may not agree with his definition of joy (though that is more because I am currently having trouble defining it myself, and it is difficult to agree with anyone when I do not yet have a clear idea of what we're agreeing about). But it has made me think about a few things. God, guide and guard my thoughts!
     Why do I believe in the Bible, and in the God described there? To ask these questions is not to say I have stopped believing in the Bible, or God, but I do believe God gave us brains for a reason, and I would like to examine my beliefs and see if there is a reasonable progression between what I know and what I believe. But I shall probably do so very poorly, because I am still testing out these things, and discovering assumptions. So perhaps this post should be labeled "nonsense," not "Questions."
    One, I believe there is a God. Creation hails to that. I found assurance of that in a high school sciencebook, where it spoke of to symbiotic fish. Most fish do not have teeth, because they would rot away underwater. This type of fish did. Its main food source was smaller fish. But there was one small fish it did not eat--it would seem up the smaller fishes' home, open its mouth, and the small fish would dart fearlessly into its mouth and eat away everything that would have rotted the teeth. The larger fish was the food source for the smaller, and somehow knew not to eat them while they were in its mouth. I honestly don't think that could have evolved; it would make no sense. Other points of creation point to a creator, as well.
    An incredible one, with infinite creative capabilities. Sunsets alone are proof of that, where beauty is common but the variety makes it new. The difference between a jungle and one of the Poles, between the plains and the mountains and the plateaus, even between the various types of beaches (sand, rock, cliffs, slopes, and the overwhelming variety of life there), point to being that loves to make things. Once again, if this was created by evolution, why is there such an abundance of life? Why so many variations? Evolution is about what works, I think, and yet that would mean a lot more simplicity. Why would things be so complicated if the only goal of life was to survive?
    Creation is beautiful and vast. Whomever created it is worthy of awe, infinitely (at least by my standards) complex, and I am a joke of intelligence beside him.
    The creation of humanity, though, brings up a million more questions. Humanity is as varied as the earth we live on. I've never known two people whom I could ever call the same. There are fundamental differences even in the ones who are similar...and, reading biographies and autobiographies, I find the same. Yet humanity has much in common--we eat, we sleep, we cry, we fight, we strive, we desire, we seek happiness, we think, all in varying degrees, yes, but we do. The English word "alien" illustrates this, for to have something alien there must be something in common with those who are not foreign. I find it hard to for humanity to tell me much clearly about God, save for this--we can be amazing beautiful, but there must be someone out there that is not broken, or there is no hope for us. I've been the one to bear the burdens, and I've been the one crying out for help, and I know how good fellowship is, but if I did not have hope of a God who was more than humanity is, I would have committed suicide. From humanity I expect to be hurt, to be let down, to be demanded of, and to be yelled at (thank you, Customer Service job, for the last). I know from myself, I will break every standard I have. I already did today, and paid for it with regret and the crumbling that brings me to my knees when I cry.  I cannot be perfect. No other human will be, or has been, other than one the Bible tells me of.
    I cannot know all of God form humanity, because I cannot comprehend even humanity. Yet I would say we are more like God than any other part of creation, for we are unique from it. We create wonders of beauty, travel through sea and air and on land, write, build, and keep a record of the past as we can. We also enslave, build wealth, and seek for more than our basic needs. Summed up, mankind is "both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth" (Lewis). Therefore, I know this--mankind is complex enough that its creator is going to have to make itself plain to me, or else not hold me accountable for knowing Him, for mankind is not enough for me, at least, to fully know him as I am now.
    Which brings me to Scripture. A struggle between good and evil makes all the sense in the world, considering what the world is. I see evil fighting evil or good fighting evil all over; sometimes, I see good fighting good over what each side considers to be truth. But most of the world is at war, and it makes sense to have a cosmic battle, if the world and even myself war so much. Everyone I know has fights in their life, Christian or not. Each one determines that he or she is right, and therefore has a right to win. What would the cosmic battle look like, though? What are they fighting over? We tend to fight for truth, for power (in any form), for entertainment, or for pride, but if I believe God is more than we are, would He be fighting for more? Would He be what is best in humanity, or, since that logic is twisted, would the best of humanity be molded after Him? The heroes that fight, the Resistance in the World Wars, the Underground during the Civil war, those who fight when they have no chance and no hope of gain, who teach us something about the strength of character, wouldn't they be more like God? Because they teach us about something beyond ourselves.
    Ugh. It's late at night, and I just realized that I have, in my reasoning, said "God must be like this, because we need Him to be." I should have discovered that earlier, but it's late. I may come back to this later. God bless. God, give us truth.

My Relationship with God

I walk on the edge of a precipice,
    and I am safe from falling.




I was up a ladder, about two stories in height, two days ago. I trembled inside every time the ladder shifted minutely, and called myself a coward. I thought I was not afraid of heights, but heights and no safety are a fearful thing. Someone holding the ladder made all the difference, even though it still moved. Tis the same with my relationship with God. I need have no fear of falling, but the precipice is terrible. Only when I remember who holds me does the fear leave.


I walk on the edge of a precipice,
    and I am safe from falling.

Spirit of God, Descend upon My Heart

Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;

Wean it from earth, through all its pulses move;

stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,

and make me love thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,

no sudden rending of the veil of clay,

no angel visitant, no op'ning skies;

but take the dimness of my soul away. 

Hast thou not bid us love thee, God and King?

All, all thine own, soul, heart, and strength and mind.

I see thy cross--there teach my heart to cling;

O let me seek thee, and O let me find.

Teach me to feel that thou art always nigh;

teach me the struggles of the soul to bear,

to check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;

teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Teach me to love thee as thine angels love,

one holy passion filling all my frame;

the baptism of the heav'n descended Dove,

my heart an altar and thy love the flame.