Well, I feel like a low-down I don't even know what today. Or right now anyway. Oh Jesus, this is one of those "You know my heart" days. I must feel like slinking into a hole and hiding away-not even caring anymore. I know that that is a wrong attitude to have, but as sure as I'm breathing, I have it. It disgusts me-and yet I cling to it all the more. How ridiculous humans are. Just plain fool ridiculous. I'm sorry for my huge mess of sin, Jesus, I'm sorry for all my selfishness and plain ordinary absurdities. I admit that I want not only myself, but everything else around me to be perfect, and I fear it is creating a monster. It sickens me. I don't even know who I am or who I am supposed to be, Jesus. You, I know I could argue that too, but you know what I mean even more than I do. Oh Jesus, I just don't know what to do. There are so many, many things whirring recklessly around in my mind tonight. Help me to remain fixed on You, Jesus no matter where I and what what I do-or what I don't know to do. Make me like You, Jesus-I long for You and to be like You. For as a deer pants for flowing streams, so I pant for You.
Psalm 42:
I'm panting after You, Jesus, as the deer pants after the cool stream on the mountain's face. The deepest part of me-it longs for You, and it thirst like it has not been filled day after day. My own heart cried out to me-pleading-"When shall I come and appear before God?" Oh God, my God, Your love amazing, Your greatness everlasting. Oh Jesus, I long for You here and I long to be rid of this whole mess and just be with You. My tears have been my food, for my soul is anguished within me and the pain and hardships of life are overwhelming. So I cry. And I cry. And I pray that I would cry to You, and not to myself-leaning on You and following and trusting Your will rather than my own. Which I sorely-desperately-need. While I cry, my heart and those around me ask me where my God is-both in the pain, and in the joy. All these things, I do remember, and I pour out my soul to You, Jesus. I need You more than anything else I could ever dream of. I used to "go with the throng," and I would lead people to the house of God-with glad thoughts and songs of praise. But Jesus, my soul is still downcast within me-it rolls like the waves of the sea and cries it's own mighty waves. But I, Jesus, will hope in You, for I know I shall again praise You.
01 September 2013
23 August 2013
Tears Caught in my Throat
I'm not sure many people realize just how little things, material things mean until they find themselves with nothing. It doesn't matter whether you have the whole world or whether all you have is a rock you just stooped to pick up out of the dirt--in the end you will still be empty. So empty, without Christ. I always heard growing up in a Christian home that there is a God-shaped hole in all our hearts, and it wasn't until I found myself completely empty that I realized how true that really is. There is a God-shaped hole in every heart, because every man was made to be with God, and every man rebelled. I rebelled. I walked away. I faltered, and I fell. But God is sovereign, and God is faithful even when we are not.
So as I sit here, looking around me and cherishing every moment I have left in this house that I have called my home since the day I was born, I realize again that God is sovereign. I may not, okay definitely do not, understand why, or what purpose God has in this, but I know He has one, and I also know that His plans are to give me a future and a hope. Even though I'm sitting here near-hopeless and at the point of weeping away all moisture in my body, I trust Him. Because I know that whatever happens and whatever may come, He is with me, and I am precious in His eyes, even though the whole world despise me--even though the whole world, it seems, is searching to draw the life-blood out of my veins and spill it on the ground, I will give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God.
So I'll sit here and listen to the crickets chirp, and feel the breeze blow sweet and low. I'll be thankful for the time I have, and not bitter about the time I don't.
So as I sit here, looking around me and cherishing every moment I have left in this house that I have called my home since the day I was born, I realize again that God is sovereign. I may not, okay definitely do not, understand why, or what purpose God has in this, but I know He has one, and I also know that His plans are to give me a future and a hope. Even though I'm sitting here near-hopeless and at the point of weeping away all moisture in my body, I trust Him. Because I know that whatever happens and whatever may come, He is with me, and I am precious in His eyes, even though the whole world despise me--even though the whole world, it seems, is searching to draw the life-blood out of my veins and spill it on the ground, I will give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God.
So I'll sit here and listen to the crickets chirp, and feel the breeze blow sweet and low. I'll be thankful for the time I have, and not bitter about the time I don't.
21 August 2013
Calmed to a Quiet, pt. 2
It seems so unearthly, so unnatural, that I shall be soon ascending a witness stand and testifying before, as my mind imagines, a stern-faced judge, both for and against my own flesh and blood. If you had approached me even today a year ago and asked me if I ever imagined doing such a thing you would have found me shaking my head in horror. The funny thing is that I'm still shaking my head in horror--in unutterable anguish of spirit. An anguish of spirit so similar to that of what Job, our "other path person" faced, but overcame.
We ended before in the middle of a long nightmare. All that Job had was snatched away--was burned up like chaff in flame. In hot, burning, tortuous pain. And yet, he lay on the ground, face in the dirt, worshiping God, something that I am ashamed that I do not do as I should.
The next scene of the story is somewhat familiar...Satan has appeared again in the throne room of God Almighty. He hasn't changed what he has been doing much, for he hasn't stopped walking up and down the face of the earth. Then God said, "Have you considered my servant Job, that there is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil? He still holds fast to his integrity, although you incited Me against him to destroy him without reason." But that devil Satan had an excuse. I can just imagine his face twisting in disgust and his whiny little voice saying, "Skin for skin! All that a man has he will give for his life. But stretch out Your hand and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse You to Your face." My first thought would be: goodness, what gall to say that to the Maker of the universe, the very God who threw you, Satan, out of Heaven to wander the earth in hate and bitterness--what gall to say that Job would curse God to His face. Sheww. Glad I'm not him.
But we shall see that Job proved Satan wrong. So wrong, in fact, that Satan had to use his back-up plan. And not only that, but he ended up slinking away defeated. And he didn't show back up at God's throne room saying "Ha, ha!" either.
But I'm running ahead of myself.
Satan, after making such a bold, defiant remark to God's very face, went out from the presence of God and struck Job with a terrible case of "loathsome sores" that covered his entire body from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. I am pretty sure that I would have screamed in torment and ran wildly throughout the village pulling my hair and begging someone to shoot me. Well, maybe not that dramatic, but you get the picture. Apparently Job and I are not the same person, because he calmly sat where he was, in a pile of cold ash. I can imagine him sifting his fingers through the white dustiness and finding a piece of broken, red pottery, forgotten and useless. I can see him holding it up to his eyes and looking at it...then looking at his oozing body. And he scraped his flesh with the broken piece. Not saying a word, just enduring his agony in silence. What is the agony of body though, compared to the agony of spirit when one has lost what is most dear to him.
I know not how long the silence dragged on, but Job's wife was apparently having a harder time than Job, because she came to him and said, "Do you still hold fast (to) your integrity? Curse God and die." But Job, patient Job, spoke softly in return, "'You speak as one of the foolish women would speak. Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?' In all this Job did not sin with his lips."
I, my friends, am ashamed. I am ashamed of my lack of faith, my lack of patience, my lack of perseverance in the face of trials. Literally, in my case. God has taught me time and time again that He allows things to happen in our lives--things that are the result of the free will of all men--to refine us as gold is refined in the fire. A lump of gold dug straight from the earth isn't worth much, but after it has been melted and the dross removed, over and over and over again, it becomes more and more pure. Until it is as clear as glass. I need to be willing to endure, and be willing to grow through every trial so that I am not a black chunk of stone, not even a polished nugget of gold, but a clear, smooth piece of treasure, so that when others see me, they shall not see me, but see God on the other side, shining through and using me for His glory, and His great, good purposes.
We ended before in the middle of a long nightmare. All that Job had was snatched away--was burned up like chaff in flame. In hot, burning, tortuous pain. And yet, he lay on the ground, face in the dirt, worshiping God, something that I am ashamed that I do not do as I should.
The next scene of the story is somewhat familiar...Satan has appeared again in the throne room of God Almighty. He hasn't changed what he has been doing much, for he hasn't stopped walking up and down the face of the earth. Then God said, "Have you considered my servant Job, that there is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil? He still holds fast to his integrity, although you incited Me against him to destroy him without reason." But that devil Satan had an excuse. I can just imagine his face twisting in disgust and his whiny little voice saying, "Skin for skin! All that a man has he will give for his life. But stretch out Your hand and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse You to Your face." My first thought would be: goodness, what gall to say that to the Maker of the universe, the very God who threw you, Satan, out of Heaven to wander the earth in hate and bitterness--what gall to say that Job would curse God to His face. Sheww. Glad I'm not him.
But we shall see that Job proved Satan wrong. So wrong, in fact, that Satan had to use his back-up plan. And not only that, but he ended up slinking away defeated. And he didn't show back up at God's throne room saying "Ha, ha!" either.
But I'm running ahead of myself.
Satan, after making such a bold, defiant remark to God's very face, went out from the presence of God and struck Job with a terrible case of "loathsome sores" that covered his entire body from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. I am pretty sure that I would have screamed in torment and ran wildly throughout the village pulling my hair and begging someone to shoot me. Well, maybe not that dramatic, but you get the picture. Apparently Job and I are not the same person, because he calmly sat where he was, in a pile of cold ash. I can imagine him sifting his fingers through the white dustiness and finding a piece of broken, red pottery, forgotten and useless. I can see him holding it up to his eyes and looking at it...then looking at his oozing body. And he scraped his flesh with the broken piece. Not saying a word, just enduring his agony in silence. What is the agony of body though, compared to the agony of spirit when one has lost what is most dear to him.
I know not how long the silence dragged on, but Job's wife was apparently having a harder time than Job, because she came to him and said, "Do you still hold fast (to) your integrity? Curse God and die." But Job, patient Job, spoke softly in return, "'You speak as one of the foolish women would speak. Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?' In all this Job did not sin with his lips."
I, my friends, am ashamed. I am ashamed of my lack of faith, my lack of patience, my lack of perseverance in the face of trials. Literally, in my case. God has taught me time and time again that He allows things to happen in our lives--things that are the result of the free will of all men--to refine us as gold is refined in the fire. A lump of gold dug straight from the earth isn't worth much, but after it has been melted and the dross removed, over and over and over again, it becomes more and more pure. Until it is as clear as glass. I need to be willing to endure, and be willing to grow through every trial so that I am not a black chunk of stone, not even a polished nugget of gold, but a clear, smooth piece of treasure, so that when others see me, they shall not see me, but see God on the other side, shining through and using me for His glory, and His great, good purposes.
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