Too much coffee, or maybe just coffee at the wrong time, along with too many thoughts filling my mind, has led to entirely too much tossing and turning in the middle of the night. My serious lack of sleep has left me overly emotional and equally unreasonable. I feel…strained at best. I am a boat being tossed about by a raging sea. Jesus, help me. I never thought it’d be so hard. I never thought it’d be so hard to sit still. I never thought it’d be so hard to sit still and wait patiently. Take my eyes off of me, off of my life. Help me to take a step back and see things as you see them, to see the bigger picture. Help me to look up and trust. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Heb. 11:1).
I read this thought-provoking blog post by Joy, the wife of a missionary pilot. She wrote about how to battle discontenment with thankfulness, and something she said really struck me. “Choose to be thankful for exactly where you are and exactly what you have.“
So I thought about Monday evening, and the gift that You gave me. I realized that I spent the whole night being thankful. I woke up at the crack of dawn still feeling thankful. And then by sunrise I was wondering when the next gift would come, if ever.
I find that I do this often. When You give me something, the thankfulness fades into a longing for the next gift entirely too quickly. I’m sure You don’t see anything wrong with me hoping for and expecting good things from You, as You promise me good things in Your Word. But I do see something wrong with my heart that begins to grow anxious and restless as I wait. And I’m sure You do, too.
So I just wanted to take a step back and take a moment to cherish the gift that You gave me. Thank You for dinner, and coffee, and a car ride home. I loved every moment of it, and I don’t want to lose my thankful heart because I’m too busy wondering whether You will ever give me another like it. I want to be content with the fact that You gave me such a special treat that made my heart smile. Thank You for loving me so well, and thank You for being such a generous and gracious Father. I love You. I praise You. I honor You.
I remember saying this a little less than a year ago. Interestingly enough, this phrase loses its clever ring when it becomes a description of you.
As the feelings of desperation ebb and flow along the edge of my reality, the tension builds, and I feel like a shaken up soda ready to explode. I fight the urge to scream, run around the room, and pull out all my hair. I fight the urge to shake the subject by the shoulders, as if that would fix the problem. I tell myself to be patient and wait. Then I ignore my own advice and go do something potentially stupid. I rein myself back in and chide myself, saying it will cost me my dignity. Then I retort that I don’t care. I wonder if this will dishonor God or go against something he has said along the way. I argue both sides of the argument with myself. The jury’s still out on who the winner is.
So my prayer continues: Let things progress, or take it away. And then I cling desperately to the truth that my God is good and that he is faithful to answer prayers.
In a day or an hour or a single minute, I go back and forth with myself, trying to decide where I stand, what constitutes faith, and what guarding my heart looks like. I stand there, aching and feeling like I might cry at any moment, the way I might have in kindergarten when my parents dropped me off in the morning. There is a longing, a yearning, an unfilled void within me. And I wonder when this moment will end and the next one will start. I wonder when I will stop feeling desperate, lonely, unwanted.
Questions of why and when bubble up inside, and I find that I am filled with a feeling that doesn’t belong: that gnawing and nagging in the back of my head that maybe I missed something along the way, maybe we took a wrong turn somewhere, and maybe we are going the wrong way. It is the subtle feeling of distrust, the one that says I don’t think this is right.
This morning I read about when the Israelites finally came out of Egypt, how God led the Israelites around the desert instead of through the Philistine country.
When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, “If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. The Israelites went up out of Egypt ready for battle. – Exodus 13:17-18 -
God knew their hearts and how they would easily turn back at every difficulty and road block. And he knows my heart and how I so easily return to the chains that he freed me from because they are familiar and comfortable. He knows how easily I back down, give up, and run. So he leads me around. But I see us going a roundabout way, a longer way, an illogical, incomprehensible way–at least from where I’m standing–and I panic. I cannot understand why I am where I am. I cannot understand why things are as they are. And all the while, I forget that God is sovereign, and he is in control. I forget that God does not withold good things from us to spite us. I forget that God gives us what is the best in every moment, to work all things together for good.
Have mercy on me, Lord. Have mercy on me. I am like dust, and I so easily forget. Have mercy on me…
God, is it true out of all things you’re doing on this planet,
Could it really be true that you’ve counted the hairs on my head?
God, is it true, every day of my life, you have planned it?
Well, if it’s all true, then that must be you I hear saying, “Trust Me.”
- God Is It True (Trust Me), Steven Curtis Chapman
I read through my private posts today. I found two that I had started and never published. They seemed acceptable in writing and content, so I published them. They were from around a year ago. I was deeply saddened as I read them, realizing that my struggles a year ago are the exact same struggles I have right now. Could it be that God wanted me to read these today, that my own words from a year ago would minister to my soul now?
I wrote the first one on March 23, 2011. If I remember correctly, I started writing the two posts at the same time, and they were a single entry. But they were two different throughts, and I thought it best to separate them. As my mind raced, I couldn’t draw any neat conclusions, so I gave up and kept them private. But here we are now.
God has been knocking on my heart, opening my eyes to the hurts in my family that I had never seen, or perhaps had simply chosen to ignore. It was revelation after revelation, but in truth, the most crushing blow was this: I have lived for 26 years. Every single one of those 26 years, I have lived like a wicked unbeliever, as far as my family is concerned. I have called myself a Christian for 12 of those years, but all my family has seen is a wicked sinner. I was driven too my knees in repentance, and all I could do was to ask God how I would be able to ever redeem the last 26 years of my life. He alone knows. He alone is able.
I wrote the other entry on April 1, 2011. I didn’t want to publish it until I had some idea of what would come of the different things written in the post. But as I read over it now, I see that this was just a part of learning to grow in God. And strangely enough, I am in a similar place again, faced with similar decision.
In fact, I am faced with decisions every day. How many of those decisions are made in faith? How many of them are grounded in my firm belief that all of my life is to glorify God? How much thought have I put into considering whether this decision requires me to have more faith in God? How willing am I to allow God to challenge my faith, stretch it, and make it grow? These are the questions that are running through my mind…
I began writing this back on March 30, 2011, but am only now (nearly a year later) getting to finish it up. The truly sad thing is, as I read through my post below, I see that I am still the same person–still worrying, still struggling to reflect Christ, still showing the world through my actions that I don’t really trust God. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner…
Since I started reading the book Crazy Love with my small group girls, God has been refining me in his white-hot fire of holiness and has been showing me all of the impurities that are surfacing as a result. One such impurity (or area of sin) is my reaction to circumstances.
At work I often find myself responding to stress negatively, in anger and annoyance. I become prideful and judgemental, wondering why I need to correct the same mistake for the one hundreth time.
At home I find myself far too often responding to unappreciated comments in hot anger. A flash, and suddenly there is an irrational rage building up inside me. Curse words I would blush to speak in public race through my brain as I shout in my mind the emotions I am fighting to hold inside. But inevitably, some of it (and sometimes a lot of it) seeps out because, as Jesus said, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matt. 12:34b).
And with life in general, I worry excessively. Once something has my attention as a object of worry, I cannot get my mind to stop thinking about it. Even when I cannot do anything about it, I still need to think about it. I turn it over in my mind again and again, coming up with “what if” scenarios until I’ve exhausted all my options or myself. I sometimes find myself getting lost in a train of “what if” thoughts and running to the very end of the line.
For some time now, I have been struggling with the disparity between who I am and who I want to be. In this regard, the Apostle Paul and I are on the same page (Rom. 7:18-19). I want to be a gracious co-worker who outdoes others in showing honor (Rom. 12:10). And I want to be someone who honors her parents and loves and serves her family. But I am…simply not. I am often selfish, prideful, disrepectful, and impatient. And I worry like an unbeliever who doesn’t believe in an omnipotent and soverign God. If I am the only reflection of Christ some people will ever see, Lord have mercy on me and those people.
The realized chasm between the present me and the desired me birthed in me two very different and contradictory responses. Sometimes it drove me to beat myself over the head. I ran through emotions of guilt, self-deprecation, despair, and then hopelessness. “I want to be a better person, but I can’t seem to change,” I would say. Other times it would produce excessive mercy and grace. “It’s ok, you’re still a work in progress.” And I could easily label myself as one of those. “Hopless” or “Work-in-progress.”
But Francis Chan shines a different light on my worrying in Crazy Love.
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! …Do not be anxious about anything (Philippians 4:4, 6a).
When I am consumed by my problems–stressed out about my life, my family, my job–I actually convey the belief that I think the circumstances are more important than God’s command to always rejoice. In other words, that I have a “right” to disobey God because of the magnitude of my responsibilities.
Worry implies that we don’t quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what’s happening in our lives.
Stress says that the things we are involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace toward others, or our tight grip of control.
Basically, these two behaviors communicate that it’s ok to sin and not trust God because the stuff in my life is somehow exceptional. Both worry and stress reek of arrogance.
Francis Chan in Crazy Love (exerpts from pg. 41-42)
As my thoughts grow longer and more worried, I dishonor God. As I stress in certain situations and justify it by my circumstances, I dishonor God. But I don’t want to dishonor God. I want to honor him. I want my whole life to bring him glory. So what do I do? Where do I start?
“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Pet. 5:6). This might be a good place to start. The question, though, becomes…how do you cast your anxiety on Jesus?
All my devotion and misguided loyalty
Swinging my sword in the garden
While you pray for your enemies
All my allegiance, I loved You and You alone
But who’d believe that I could mean it
Now that the rooster crowed?
- Empty (Disciples), Music Inspired by the Story
“Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you” (John 21:17). These were the words of Peter when Jesus confronted him about his denial in a loving and indirect way, not to hurt him more and inflict fresh wounds, but to heal him. Peter already knew he’d blown it big time. That’s why he wept bitterly when he realized what he had done. And thinking he had disqualified himself as a disciple of Jesus, he decided to go back to his old life as a fisherman.
Peter was impetuous and passionate. He dared to rebuke Jesus when Jesus revealed that he would be crucified. He felt unworthy to have his feet washed by Jesus, but when he was told that he would have no part with Jesus otherwise, he asked Jesus to wash his hands and head as well. He swung his sword at the servant of the high priest and cut off the servant’s ear when Jesus was prepared to go in peace to fulfill his mission. And he denied Jesus three times out of fear for his life.
I am Peter. I say things without thinking, I am extreme in my response, I fight when I should hold back, and I cower in self-preserving fear when I need to be bold. When I sin, I tell myself, “You’ve really done it this time.” And though my brain knows the truth as a fact, my heart drags me back to my old ways to wallow and nurse my wounds, a victim of my own humanity.
But Peter had his moments. The same impetuous, passionate Peter also asked Jesus for permission to walk on water–and then did it. He declared that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of the living God, according to the revelation given by the Father. And he jumped into the lake to swim to Jesus because he didn’t want to wait for the boat to be rowed to the shore.
So if I am Peter, then I want to be this Peter, too. I want to have the kind of faith that asks to do the impossible and then does it. I want to receive the kind of revelations that declare the truths of God to an unknowing world. And I want to have the kind of love for Jesus that throws propriety and logic to the wind because it cannot wait even one more second to draw nearer to him.
I thought 2012 would be a year of sanctification. But from where I’m standing, just a little over two months in, I feel like I haven’t changed a bit. Or maybe I have, but in the other direction. So today I find myself asking, Am I getting closer, God? Am I getting any closer at all? Please tell me I am, if only an infinitesimal bit.
These days I feel like the best I can muster up is dragging myself out of bed and going through the motions of life, doing what I can to get by while ignoring all non-essential matters. And I hope that tomorrow I’ll have a little more energy, a little more time, a little more brain power and space to do something else for a change. Maybe I’ll finally get that jog in, or clean my room and organize my closets, or try that new recipe, or pack tomorrow’s lunch, or write and mail that letter, or lift up that thing in prayer, or journal about today. I always say that tomorrow will never come. I point to the matter of priority. But these days, I can’t tell if it’s simply a priority issue or something deeper…
Today was the kind of work day that you hope will never happen to you. I spent nearly my entire day wrestling with one piece only to have it rendered useless. Someone was offended in the process, and though I know and believe my sovereign God is in control and already knew this would happen and therefore was not fazed one bit, a mixture of strange feelings began to creep into the back of my mind and spread throughout.
Doubt – Maybe I am not fit for this job after all. Maybe I was wrong.
Emptiness – After a whole week of burning the midnight oil, I was exhausted and felt completely defeated.
Fear – What if this can’t be remedied? What if this happens again?
Guilt – What if I just inflicted irreversible damage to my company’s reputation?
I felt completely crushed under the weight of this enormous setback. And if it weren’t for the fact that my God is unendingly faithful, I would have already crawled into a corner and bawled, wallowing in my defeat. But…
Because He lives
I can face tomorrow
Because He lives
All fear is gone
Because I know
He holds the future
And life is worth the living
Just because He lives
Bad days come and go, but the Lord reigns forever.
You taught me something today. It was a lesson I really needed to learn. You taught me that what I do in the secret place matters more. It matters more because it’s the only place where what I do says volumes about exactly what I think of You…and only You.
When I choose good manners over bad in public, my primary concern is what others think of me. Surely part of it is what they will think of You. But mostly, I care about what they will think of me.
When I choose not to lash out in anger but rather respond with grace at work, my primary concern is how I will be portrayed to those around me. I want to be remembered as someone who was patient and loving and kind. Surely part of it is how they will remember You. But mostly, I care about how they will remember me.
When I choose to post things on facebook, my primary concern is letting people know that I am trying to live a “faithful” life. Surely part of it is how they might be encouraged and how You will be magnified. But mostly, I care about the picture of me I am allowing them to paint.
The truth is, who I am in public, who I am at work, and who I am on facebook is not entirely who I am. It is always a bit more who I want to be, who I want to be remembered as, and who I wish I were.
But who I am when we are alone, just You and me, that’s the real me. Yes, my family sees the bad me, in fact some of the worst me, but You alone see the real me. How I act when it’s just You and me, that tells You what I really think of You. And right now, I am telling You “not much.” If I can’t sin when others are looking because I am afraid of them, but I can sin without a second thought when the only eyes I need to fear are Yours, I am telling You that I don’t care a lick about what You think. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.
But that’s not what I want to say to You. I don’t want that to be the story I tell. I want to love You with a fierce love. I want to love You more than I love everyone and everything else. I want to love You with every ounce of energy I have and every breath within me. I want what I do in the secret place to shout loudly that I love You.
Make my desires and my reality collide before You. Make my heart look like Your heart, O Lord.
