"Be Still and Know That I Am God"

    This has been one of those weeks when I’ve wanted to shout, “Enough!” Enough of the little things that combine to make up the big things which form into a snowball and come at me with increasing momentum.

     We left the girls at Faith Academy after a short visit and returned to Korea where we began our lives apart once again. We returned to an apartment with puddles on the floor and water stains on the wall from a huge storm, a notice that money wasn’t paid by our renters in the states, a lost bag of my favorite jewelry, and a statement from the school that they’d taken a huge portion out of my paycheck for who knows what. These situations, along with missing the girls, formed a lethal mix in my mind.

     I began praying about each problem and asking God to do something, quickly -- to fix it all so that I could feel better about life. But I woke up the next day and the next without any signs of resolution. I read in Luke about the blind man shouting out for healing and Jesus’ instant command that he be made whole, and I felt somewhat cheated. Why not me, Lord?

     Do you ever feel that way, like life is one big basket of mismatched socks that you have to figure out what to do with? Problems drop into our laps with little notice. One second there’s peace; the next chaos. It reminds me of the time last summer when we went down to the ocean with our younger daughter. As she was standing upon a huge rock in the water, smiling in the sunshine, an enormous wave snuck up behind her and literally engulfed her.  She was so shocked by the suddenness of it all that, for a few seconds, she stood there motionless.

     God isn’t surprised by mammoth waves, financial setbacks or anything else. He knows the beginning from the end and whispers to us in these moments of frustration, “Be still and know that I am God.”  I pictured Jesus walking past me on the road this week with me shouting out, much like the blind man, “Son of God, have mercy on me.” And I imagined him saying, “My child, relax. I’ve already healed you. You were once blind, but now you see. You were once in darkness, but now you’re in the light. I’ve put my Spirit upon you, calling you my own. You're no longer an orphan but a child of the King.”

     His word promises that when the waters come up around me they’ll not overtake me, when the fire burns in my life I’ll not be consumed by it (Is 43:2). Because I’m precious and honored in his sight and because he loves me, he promises to take care of me (Is 43:4).

    By faith I can thank him at this very moment in the midst of unsorted socks and a myriad of tangled threads that seem impossibly knotted together. I can praise him for his faithfulness and wisdom in allowing every single one of these inconveniences to occur. I can relax, put my head on a pillow and with a quiet sense of confidence rest in his promises to uphold, strengthen, provide for and encourage me. He will fulfill every last one of his promises which have been sealed by the blood of his own Son. "The one who calls you (and me) is faithful and he will do it” (1 Thes 5:24).

“He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” Rom 8:32

"Grace, Grace, God's Grace"

When life is going smoothly, I look out at the world’s problems and with relative ease shout a hearty “amen” to God’s promises. I sit among those weighted down by burdens and assure them with confidence of God’s faithfulness and competency to abundantly meet all their needs. His promises seem as clear as day, and declaring the truth feels as natural as breathing. But when the tide turns and these same trials engulf me, my heart tends to faint. I enter a protective zone -- preserving myself, begging God to take the trouble away. Those previously at the forefront of my concerns disappear to some obscure place where I can’t see or hear their needs. My own cries take center stage, drowning out the voices of everyone around me. “Help me God,” I cry. “Deliver me from this mess so I can serve you again.”

This week some difficulties formed an alliance, it seems, and overtook me in a weak moment while my armor lay carelessly on the floor. The “what if’s” were right behind them, reminding me that danger and further suffering were looming. Overrun with worries that these somewhat insignificant trials could morph into long-term, life-changing ones I surrendered to paralyzing fear.

As I sat googling my health problems and looking at pictures that resembled something out of a horror movie, the phone rang. It was a sweet young girl who had called me months ago to talk about struggles she was experiencing. Since I’d faced the same challenges, I was able to assure her of God’s faithfulness and his deliverance.  Most importantly, I emphasized the blessing in the trial, that God would use it for good in spite of the pain it was causing her at the moment.  

Her voice was calm and composed as she told me she had some really good news. Her story wasn’t one of instant deliverance like I’d been praying for but one of grace. God brought another hurting person into her life and gave her the joy and insight to encourage them, thus fulfilling his promise in 2 Cor. 1:4. The same comfort that she’d received in her suffering was now overflowing from her heart into the life of another, and the blessing was such that she was filled with joy. She explained that this picture of “God working all things together for good” was a huge turning point in her mind as to how she viewed her hardship. Though she was still struggling to some degree, she could now understand for the first time how God intended to use it as a blessing.

I hung up the phone with the certainty that I was standing on holy ground. I’d been crying out to God for mercy and deliverance, and this was my answer. Her call reminded me to shift my focus from the demand for deliverance to an acceptance of Christ’s grace and mercy in my weakness. Regardless of my circumstances, I needed to rest in God’s peace knowing that he would work them together for my good and use them to bless others. This trial and all the others I've endured aren’t just for me, though I know I’m being changed. Through suffering, he gives me mercy and compassion for people who are also hurting, possibly going through the same hardships.

God is at work in me “to will and to act according to his good purpose.” He’s conforming me and reshaping my desires, using these hardships to help me realize my finiteness and his greatness, to see them side by side in such a way as one would look upon a gigantic mountain from the valley beneath. It’s not to crush me, to overwhelm me, but to deliver me from the disease of self aggrandizement where I think somehow that I’ve arrived and that I deserve what I’ve been given. It’s to set me free to know with absolute conviction that it’s by grace I stand and by grace I succeed at anything.

My friend’s story brought me to tears. I was joyful for her victory through the fulfillment of God’s promises in bringing healing and restoration. And I was grieving my lack of faith and how my own trials had so quickly left me disillusioned. Turning to my husband who was just yards away I asked, “What would I do if I had cancer or some terminal disease? How could I handle it when something this small has freaked me out?” Without even a pause he said, “The same way you’ve gotten through…….” And he began listing off what seemed insurmountable trials in the past. “By God’s grace,” he said with a gentle and accepting face. Before he could finish I was in his arms and crying like a child, thankful that he loved me in spite of myself, and even more thankful that God’s love extended way beyond his.

That’s what the Christian life is all about, isn’t it? Growing, changing, tasting victory and then realizing through yet another trial that while we’ve grown we still have a ways to go. It’s about God’s love so amazingly poured out through his Spirit, his word and his people as together they cheer us on, challenge us, bind up our wounds, and love us when we feel anything but lovable. It’s about us comforting and encouraging others as they go through what we’ve experienced. It’s about amazing grace that God orchestrates in each of our lives as we trust in him.


 "He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us" 2 Cor 1:4. 

                                                                                                                                                         

Running Home

Today I removed the dusty down comforter from our bed -- the one that’s giving Mark allergy attacks every time his nose gets near it. Although putting it in the wash doesn’t sound like a huge undertaking, it’s one that I’ve avoided for months. Sitting in the living room I hear the washer spinning wildly in the background giving me a sense of accomplishment. Just outside the window, lines of clothes flap effortlessly in the breeze on the roof of a nearby building. Someone else carved out time in their busy day to carry them up flights of stairs and carefully secure each one.

Life is about doing the things that aren’t always glamorous. As a stay at home mom for fourteen years I spent a gazillion hours doing what would be considered mundane. When the girls needed me, I was there. That was my job, my joy, my calling. No one had to remind me that spending time with the children would enhance our relationship. Through instinct and experience with others I knew it. 

Most of us discern by the time we’re adults that if we want to have a strong relationship with another person we have to make time to spend alone with them. Getting to know someone is relatively easy, but maintaining a healthy, thriving relationship requires energy and determination fueled by love. Even when we love a person intensely we still find ourselves facing commitments that are sometimes just plain inconvenient. The most caring wife and mother doesn’t always get chill bumps when her husband walks in the door or warm fuzzies when she’s around her children, but part of her commitment is walking in love even when she doesn’t feel it. We listen when we’re tired, cook when we’d rather not, stay up late talking because someone we love is hurting.

While we seem to understand this need for loyalty and sacrifice in our human relationships, we have a propensity to forget it when it comes to God. He doesn’t need us, we reason, and if anyone is going to get the short end of the stick it may as well be him. He’s all-knowing, all-powerful and complete in himself. Our relationship has no way of transforming him or meeting any of his needs. Yet there seems to be a long line of needs outside our door that far exceed what we’re capable of giving. Our inclination and temptation is to put these first, to cast aside our quiet time and get to work. Logic tells us that with so much to do, we don’t have time for prayer and reflection.

We forget that we're dependent upon God’s daily grace in order to walk in the Spirit and bear fruit. Time spent in prayer and in the word enables us to see life like he sees it rather than just a mass of tangled events that don’t have any eternal relevance. As we draw near to him, he opens our eyes to understand the spiritual in the physical and cultivates within our hearts a longing for his kingdom, rather than our own. His agenda for the day encompasses our plans and we’re able to place people, problems and passions in perspective.

I began learning some of these truths the hard way, and they didn’t become a reality for me until I’d been through a long season of suffering. I’d been a Christian for about eight years when we had our first daughter. Once she was born, my energies were spent feeding and taking care of her. Over the course of the next six years I greatly neglected my relationship with the Lord, though it wasn’t intentional at first. I woke up each day thinking I’d find time to spend in prayer and in the word, but cries from the end of the hall dictated otherwise.  Days blurred together as I traversed from one dirty diaper to the next, and my Bible lay unopened on a dusty shelf nearby. Sometimes I’d pick it up for a few minutes and say a quick prayer as I transitioned to what seemed an endless series of chores.

Changes took shape in my heart in such a gradual way that I hardly noticed them. God became increasingly distant, so I started making decisions based on my own judgment instead of relying on his guidance. My hunger for spiritual growth diminished, while tension in my marriage greatly increased. Instead of allowing the struggle to drive me closer to God, I followed my emotions which resulted in bitter arguments and further alienation.  Before I knew it, I was conjuring up ways to escape my marriage while fully justifying my decision.

Meanwhile, God was at work. I developed pneumonia, followed by mono which over many months gave way to what the doctors diagnosed as Chronic Fatigue. As if this wasn’t enough, I’d injured both feet through intense exercise which rendered me bedridden for almost two years. Just getting up each morning to drive the girls to school was enough to exhaust me for the rest of the day. 

 In desperation, I began crying out to God for help and going to his word for comfort and relief. I knew from past experiences that unless I made an appointment with him each morning, he’d quickly be forgotten again. So after taking the girls to school, I entered a quiet place where I could be alone with God. Out of need and longing I declared the time sacred and jealously guarded it. Slowly, the relationship that I’d avoided and neglected for so many years began showing signs of life. God rekindled love in my heart toward him, causing it to overflow into my relationship with my husband. With this came healing and restoration.

As I woke from a season of spiritual darkness, I saw with clarity the gradual decline which had taken place. The frog in the kettle analogy took on an entirely new meaning as I reflected on my own slow but progressive hardening toward God and others. I’d discarded once treasured convictions for new goals that met my selfish desires. And though I’d been on the road to rebellion for almost six years, until this point I was completely blind to my heart’s condition.

Eight years have passed since God brought me through this trial. While I’m certain I was a Christian then, I’m still shocked by my pride and the darkness I'm capable of walking in. God showed me and continues to teach me that abiding in his love is essential to a Spirit-filled walk of faith. Spending time in his word and prayer each day keeps me grounded on his truth, confessing my sins and asking for grace to change, to heal, to move forward in his strength and power and wisdom. Without the constant reminder of his love, I’m unable to give love to others or live victoriously in Christ.

Many people, like me, are tempted to believe that the Spirit’s work in regeneration is enough. They go to church, maybe attend a weekly Bible study and occasionally go to a conference or take part in a women’s retreat. Aside from these activities, they don’t spend time alone with God each day, delving into his word seeking to know him better.

Some resist this spiritual discipline by saying they're interested in a relationship and not a practice -- that expressing themselves freely when they're so inclined is what's important to their spiritual life, that knowledge about God is intrinsic while a systematic study of the Word would be merely academic. They claim they’re interested in a personal relationship with God, not just head knowledge. Yet if a person doesn’t know the truth about God as he’s revealed himself in his word, then there’s no way they can ever really become intimate with him. Additionally, it’s impossible to have an effective and powerful prayer life when we aren't praying regularly and we don’t know how to pray according to his will.

No matter how far we’ve wandered from these truths, the road home is always open. I still remember the first day I was alone with God with nowhere to go, no noises to drown his gentle voice beckoning me to come. I was scared of owning up to what I’d done, to admitting that I’d gone my own way for a long, long time. I dreaded the silence, the conviction. Like the prodigal, I made my journey back with little to offer but sorrow and regret. I was greatly surprised to find him waiting for me -- not with a frown and disapproval but with an abundant measure of mercy and grace. 

“…the LORD longs to be gracious to you, And therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you.” Is 30:18