When Love is Hard to Discern

Sometimes love seems hard to discern.
I mean, the divine love, the God-love.

When you feel that despite your best efforts, your life is out of control.
When you feel on the verge of a physical, mental, emotional breakdown.
When despite thorough studying and many prayers, you get a C on an exam.
When you come down with some variety of bug you picked up on a quick trip to Phoenix.

There are many things that happen on a daily basis that can make you question Love.

But I've found that actually, the reason that love is hard to discern is not the fault of Love.
Rather it is my problem because I have the wrong perspective.

It's like picking up glasses with the wrong prescription and expecting things to be clear.
You'll never see clearly until you have the right prescription.

And so it is with life.

Because when I realize my life is out of control, I run to Him for wisdom, not myself.
When I am on the brink of a breakdown, I cling to Him for strength, energy, renewal.
When I get a C, I realize that it's not the grade that really matters in the end, it's how I handle it.
When I come down with a bug, I'm thankful it's the weekend, and because of it I have a quiet Sabbath.

Through all these I realize that my God does love. Very much.
And these things are but proof of that love.

Love is only hard to discern when you have on the wrong glasses.

"He has given you continual evidences of His love in that He has given you adversity time and again..." 

*The Upward Look, 208

When God Goes Home

I climb out of the car after driving home from a week away. It's hard to be so close, yet so far.

The evening settles in. I am home. And I couldn't be happier.

We talk and we laugh and we share. 

We are family. 

Yet my mind begins to wander. 

I picture God in an empty heaven. 

(One person can make a place empty, you know.)

His Son has been thirty-three years away from home.
(I hope I never have to experience that.) 

Yet when Christ ascends and steps through that portal, excitement rebounds off of every galaxy, every constellation. 

He is home. 

But He wants me to experience His home too. For me to call it my own.
Because when God goes home, He says He cannot be completely content until I'm there too.

He watches me down here. 

I'm so close, yet so far. His heart yearns. 

And I ask myself, How earnestly do I long for that home?

Fire Dweller

Fire.

It seems to be a common theme when discussing the Christian journey. 

I have frequently experienced it in various forms in my life.

But of course, my "fires" are all relative. 

I'm not suffering from cancer.

I'm not in a dysfunctional, abusive family.

I'm not malnourished, neglected or unloved.   

And I don't take those things for granted. 

I am very grateful. 

To me, "fires" always punctuate life. 

It's just something to expect. They come and they go. 

I had a change of perspective this week though in that regard. 

I was reading through Isaiah 33.

"Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire?"

Dwell? Really? Not someone who just experiences fire every once in awhile?
Someone who dwells in the fire?

The description continues…

Walk righteously. 

Speak uprightly. 

Despise oppression. 

Hate bribes. 

Avoid hearing of bloodshed. 

Close your eyes from seeing evil. 

Sounds pretty saintly to me. 

Sounds like a description of perfection. A description of God. 

Then the familiar promise is given.

"He shall dwell on high: his place of defense shall be the munitions of rocks: bread shall be given him; his water shall be sure."

And you will see the King in His beauty. 

Wait, this promise is for the fire dweller?

How did I not realize this before?

In order to receive the promise, I must hold my half of the bargain. 

Fire must become my lifestyle. 

I must become a fire dweller. 

Then I shall see the King in His beauty and be fed from His hand.

A Father's Love

[written a couple weeks ago]

I toss. I turn. I pray.

My pillow grows wet with tears.  

I have a friend on the line. 

And I am desperately clinging to the feet of Jesus. 

Desperately. 

Hours pass. And yet I wrestle. 

And suddenly I am struck by this thought.

If I can so love, be so invested in one individual, if my heart can feel like it is breaking for one…

What does my Father's heart feel like when He has seven billion people to cry for?

I'm thankful He loves. I'm thankful He cares. 

And I'm thankful He sees where I do not. 

Just Trust Me…

Three weeks ago my ideas were different. My plans unaltered.
I was organized. Everything was under control. It was all laid out perfectly (or so I thought).

But then things started happening.
And all of a sudden, within one week, I found a bunch of my plans flipped on their heads.

Dead end.

And I felt myself straining a bit at the reins. Because my personality likes to be on top of things, be organized, have things under control.

I hear a still, small Voice.
Just trust Me…

But, of course! Of course all things are really in the hands of His Majesty.
Yet sometimes, despite all the evidence from the past, I forget.
It's unfortunate. And it's unnecessary.

And so for a short while after each thing arose, I questioned. I wrestled. I surrendered.
But within me echoed and reechoed those simple words.
Just trust Me…

And so I trusted Him to see where I couldn't. Because obviously I didn't understand.
And He did. He always does…
I'm the slow one. The blind one.

And now looking back only a couple weeks later, most everything has already been resolved.

This week my A&P teacher overrode the system to get me into her class for fall semester.
The microbiology teacher said I can probably get into her class and lab too.

And all that after I wasn't able to register for the classes I wanted.

The Phoenix convention center was able to accommodate my date change. 

My other GYC-related meeting was rescheduled despite conflicts at both ends.

The family of one of my volunteers is going to be in the area exactly during our site visit.
And all that after my GYC site check and meeting plans had been unexpectedly interrupted.

And God's voice echoes again.
Just trust Me.

Poured Out [The Filling]

There she stands, her frail body framed by splintered doorposts, her face covered with salty tears. Her body shakes in silent sobs. Life seems to be giving her nothing but sorrow.

Her husband is dead. Her house furnishings have been taken by greedy creditors.
And besides that, now they want her two beloved sons.*

Yet the prophet asks a simple question. Gives simple instructions.

She returns to her home, shuts her door. In her hands she holds the cruse of oil.
It is her last link to hope. And she dares to hope.
She dares to pour. And pour out freely.

And in that one action, a miracle is wrought. A new future is born.

--

Somehow I see my heart in that cruse of oil.
Just enough to start a stream. But not near enough to keep it going.

Yet when I dare to pour, dare to pour out my life freely, a miracle is wrought.
A new future is born. New life springs forth.

In the pouring out, I am filled.

* 2 Kings 4:1-7

Redefining Balance

Balance is something the entire world struggles to maintain. I know I do.
We talk about it. We read about it. We post quotes about it.

My question is, how often do we live it?
And what defines living a truly balanced life?

But why should I write about it again? Go read it here.

Beneath the Fog

I gaze out large picture windows to the frosted world beyond. Fog is frozen in time.

Everything is covered with tiny crystals just waiting for a shaft of light to set things sparkling.
It's a wonderland of beauty.

It's a world of potential…

Thoughts swirl softly. These snowflakes of the mind quickly absorb all external sounds as I contemplate life…

There seems to be a parable gazing back at me through the window.
A parable of my life. A parable for me.








This fog? Sometimes it grows thick, enshrouding me in a gray blanket. I cannot see the mountains in the distance or the sun above the clouds, yet I just have to trust they are there.

Then the fog freezes, and I shiver as crystals form. It seems my life has gone from bad to worse.  I'm stuck beneath the fog while icy fingertips paint me with the ice of trial.

Yet when the fog lifts, sun pierces the clouds and I am set sparkling. And I realize that the freezing fog was what made me beautiful.

God creates jewels in foggy shadows.

He calls me His jewel.

A Different Dream

Sometimes I wonder how it can be so hard to let a dream die.

Just when you think you've come to the point of full surrender, of letting go, you wake up and realize that deep within the dream is still there. Suppressed maybe, but very much still there despite all heart-searing efforts to remove it.

It's an interesting feeling when your heart plays tug-of-war. One half sings. The other half cries. Yet in the end it knows what is best. It knows what will hurt least in the long run.

And that is to surrender. To let the dream die.
Because the dream was never mine to cherish in the first place…

In fact, no dream is mine to cherish.
No dream but One.

And so I pray a simple prayer.

Lord, make my life Your dream. And make my dream, You.

Photo Credit: Michel Lee

Faithfulness for Faithfulness

[In reading back through my journals, I came across this entry from two Christmases ago. It's as poignant a thought now as it was then…]

Oh for more time… There have been countless things from recent days that I’ve been wanting to record in my journal yet alas, time is slipping through my fingers like water and so many things will probably remain unsaid. But I must tell of His faithfulness. He is always faithful… Faithful to sustain, faithful to give, faithful to comfort, faithful to love, faithful to bless, faithful to me. 

Throughout the past few weeks I’ve seen His faithfulness time after time despite my errors and mistakes. And I’ve been thinking back to His faithfulness over 2,000 years ago… when He faithfully sent His Son, His only Son, to redeem this wretched, lost world. 

                                     ~ ~ ~

I cannot even imagine the heart-wrenching tears shed that day, so long ago, when the Father gave up His Son. The pain, the agony of separation, the immeasurable sacrifice and most of all, the knowledge that victory is not necessarily certain. Eternity’s future rests upon the success of the mission. The wicked foe will try his hardest. 

All Heaven feels the solemnity of the moment. The final embrace, the final words, the final smile among tears as Son assures Father, “It is for love, Abba, for love… They are Ours. I must redeem them. There is no other way to pay the ransom. There is no other way to annihilate sin forever. There is no other way to demonstrate Your true character to the world. There is no other way for them to understand divinity except if displayed in humanity.” 

There is a pause. The unspoken pain of separation is felt. Father and Son have never been apart before. And through the eyes of Heaven, the reason for estrangement seems hardly worthy. Angels look on in wonder at how heavenly beings can treasure marred, sinful creations. Yet love is stronger. 

The Son speaks a last time with tears in His eyes. “Oh how much I love You, My Father! Oh how much I love You! ” And then He is gone. The throne sits empty. All heaven is silenced. The attention of the universe turns upon planet Earth, upon the young virgin, with growing stomach. 

After what seems like an eternity the momentous night arrives. The young couple arrange to sleep in a dirty stable. Sobs of angels ring throughout the heavenly courts, yet they know this must be. All Heaven holds its breath. Suddenly a penetrating cry breaks the atmospheric silence. Jesus is born. Heavenly beings look on in astonishment, hardly comprehending that the tiny bundle could be the King of the universe, the One who just days before was commanding the heavens. Yet indeed it is He, born a helpless, tiny babe, born to save.

For thirty-three years heaven continues in tense observation. The throne remains empty. Joyous songs remain dimmed. Once again we find a silent Heaven anxiously observing another night in history. Yet this time, it is not a baby’s cry they hear but a cry of heartbreaking anguish and soul-wrenching pain. They see Him, apparently forsaken by even His Father, still acknowledge His love and forgiveness to the undeserving. Sobs again fill the atmosphere of heaven. Finally a cry rings throughout the universe. “It is finished.” All Heaven stirs. Victory is assured. The King has conquered! 

Eager anticipation mounts as angels are selected to make the triumphant flight to earth. Heaven sits on the edge of its seat, waiting… Finally the command is given. Trumpets sound and the quickest flight to earth is made. The leading angel throws the stone aside. Moments seems to drag by. Suddenly there is movement within the dark and dusty grave. Christ steps forth victorious! 

After remaining on earth just long enough to comfort the heart of a weeping woman, Christ ascends to His Father. He has waited thirty-three years for this. Tears mingle with smiles as Father once again embraces Son. Heaven is reunited. Finally the Father speaks. “Welcome home, My Beloved and Only Son… You have vanquished the foe. You have conquered sin forever.” Angel voices chorus, “Hallelujah!” 

And yet, though sin was defeated over 2,000 years ago, our world still exists in its deplorable state. The reason? We have not returned faithfulness for faithfulness. Human hearts have waxed cold. Christians are content to live a lukewarm existence. I see careless indifference on every side. My soul burns with agony. 

But like the faithful few of long ago, there are a handful today who recognize the faithfulness of the Father. Although the depth of sacrifice is beyond human compensation, they loyally give what they can in return—their faithfulness. 

Will I be found faithful to Him who has given all for me? 

The God-Treasure

I've seen many styles of boxes in my life…

Woven boxes. Cardboard boxes. Wooden boxes.
Metal boxes. Jeweled boxes. Ceramic boxes. Glass boxes.

And although they might be a varied as butterflies, they have this one thing in common.
They are boxes.

You are a box. I am a box.

Some of us are bedecked with natural beauty, a jewel-like appearance.
Others feel like moving boxes, scarred by rough treatment, defaced with permanent pen-marks.
Countless have erected a formidable metal barrier surrounding the heartbeat, the vulnerable.
Some feel as though everyone can see right through the glass of our exterior.

Yet despite the extreme discrepancies, we are all boxes.
What matters is the content inside.

Because without the treasure, every box is worthless really.
We all have an empty void that we need the God-treasure to fill.

The question is,

Does the God-treasure inhabit your box?

Measure of Love

I walk in early morning darkness, dawn barely touching the skyline. Gloved hands covering my ears in an attempt to keep warm. I pray and ponder.

What is it to truly follow the footsteps of One who went before?

I've seen plenty of good weather Christians, those who follow when the path is smooth and easy. But when it turns steep and sharp rocks cover the ground, when the trail turns into a muddy mire, when thorns pierce tender feet, it's easy to turn aside. Because following in His footsteps hurts sometimes. I know. I've been there.

Yet there is no middle ground. 

Either you follow or you don't. 

I think of Joseph. Unconditional following. From a favorite son to a common slave to a trusted servant to a condemned criminal to a prime minister. 

I'm sure he wondered why God was leading him on such a rough pathway, but he chose to trust, chose to love despite the hard lessons taught in this school of adversity. 

"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." {Luke 9:23}

You only "come after" one you love or respect. How much you follow depends on how much you love.

The question is,
How much do you love Him?

To Know His Heart [The Making of Heroes Part IV]

Sometimes we see only the love.
Ardent affection springs from our own hearts as we offer Him praise.
We warm His heart.

Other times we see only the pain.
We instinctively draw back because we don't want to risk being hurt.
We break His heart.

Rarely do we see both and want His heart.
Because our natural tendency is to shy away from pain.

In fact, our reflex reaction is to stay as far away as possible.
And so when we are wounded, we hide hurt, fester hurt, and too often avenge hurt.

We want the love, but we don't want the pain.
And we think we're doing ourselves a kindness… 

A falsity if I ever heard one.

How can we expect to know the heart of God and not know His pain?
We pray to be intimately acquainted with Him, and yet we don't want the package deal.

Is it that we don't trust Him?
Have we forgotten that it's God's heart that throbs with joy and anguish blended, always?

If we are going to make any impact on our generation, we have to know and have God's heart.
And we learn only by embracing both love and pain as He sends them our way saying, Thank You…

He's the Giver. He gives the gifts. And He only gives good gifts.

War Strategies [The Making of Heroes Part III]

I have never understood how one could delight in destroying another. Never.

How butchery of such character could ever evoke enjoyment will ever be to me a hellish mystery.

Yet since the whole world is thinking about war, why shouldn't we?

Why shouldn't we?

Our war is the most important anyway.

This is a war in which I am invested. It elicits such emotion in my heart as nothing else can.

And I find myself becoming drawn to its weaponry.

Not for gruesome results, but for glorious results.

It's war-prayer.

And let me tell you, this kind of prayer is unlike any you've probably prayed before.

Passionate, agonizing, tear-inducing, heart-wrenching prayer. For another.

Prayer is going to move the world by moving the Hand that moves the world.

But it never will until we learn how to pray. Really pray…

James says, "the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much."

And I pause to ponder Who is righteous. 

Apart from Him, no one.

"There is none righteous, no, not one."* 

A door-slamming statement if I ever heard one. If it weren't for this one thing. 

My God delights to clothe me in His righteousness.**

Wonder of wonders. Grace of all grace.

He calls me His treasure. And instructs me to ask. 

God's heroes are born in the closet of prayer.

Why is the most powerful tool the one we least utilize?

*Romans 3:10, emphasis mine

**Isaiah 61:10

Unpack the Power

Prayer = power.

I've heard it countless times before.

Yet this past weekend as I sat beneath the great white expanse of a makeshift meeting place, something the speaker said suddenly grabbed my attention.

"Unpack the prayer. Unpack the power."

Hand reaches for phone. Fingers type quickly.
Eyes return to the front, yet somehow my mind is slow to follow.

The thought strikes me.

Fail to pray and you forfeit the power.

How often do I really, really pray?
I mean, the kind of prayer that you know has Power behind it?

It's a challenge to me.

Unpack the prayer. Unpack the Power.

Vindicated.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Mother-daughter walks. I love these. Sharing. Solving. Scheming.

We pass stately pines interrupted by the occasional aspen while deep in a discussion about various struggles and trials. Suddenly, however, my mind bumps into a tree-sized thought.

This man. Why hadn't I thought of him before? He certainly experienced trials dished out with a giant serving spoon.

Our conversation becomes rather one-sided as I cogitate upon the ramifications of this century-old story.

His name was Job.

Grabbing my Bible immediately upon returning inside, I flip to the book with the same name. My attention is riveted as I read through chapter one and reach the last verses. Wait a second here. Re-read.

What's this that Job does? What's this that he says? Hasn't he just been stripped of family, fame and fortune in a matter of hours?

He falls down, worships and blesses the Lord.

Immediate shame. Is this life of gratitude my automatic response to suffering and trial?

But that's not all. I read on into the second chapter.

Another meeting in heaven is underway, and Satan appears with devilish insatisfaction written all over his face.

I can just hear the fatherly pride in the voice of God as he mentions the faithfulness of Job.

"Skin for skin," Satan declares. "Touch his bone and his flesh, and he will surely curse You to Your face!"

Permission granted.

Did God just give assent to suffering? It's hard to read it otherwise. Sometimes He allows trials and pain to obscure our pathway, yet always for a reason—that we may vindicate His character.


Job's trials are painfully personal now. Health challenges. Interesting.

Yet how does God's servant respond once again? He simply does his best to alleviate the problem and gives thanks for God's gifts regardless of whether they appear as such.

Suddenly I see this story in a different light. I see my own life, my own trials in a different way…

These things that I face are not just trials.

This is a controversy. God's reputation is at stake.

Could it be that my struggles are actually part of a test to vindicate God's character?

And if I fail to trust, if I allow faith to falter, isn't His name immediately shamed?

I want His character to be vindicated.

What will my life testify? 

His Scars, My Shame

{Jeremiah 50}

The search is on with fury. A frantic company seeks to uncover the unpleasant record, yet it has vanished.

The company of fallen angels with their commander are disgusted. 

They have been vanquished once again by One greater than themselves.

My Savior pardons those He reserves. He pleads for His remnant. 

As He stands before the Father’s throne, He presents His hands, scarred so long ago, etched with my name.

And He pleads for me…

Not because I am worthy, but because He has reserved me to become worthy.

Because His scars cover my shame…

Not a Full End

{Jeremiah 45-47}

Prophecy after prophecy. All nations seem to be the recipients of divine displeasure. 

There is one phrase, however, that grabs my attention in the seemingly endless catalog of calamity.

“I will not make a full end of thee.”*

What? Not a full end? This nation has utterly violated every tittle of His law. 

The human viewpoint stands amazed.

Punishment was surely necessary and they would receive it, yet only for the purpose of correction. 

God was still with His chosen people. He still longed to save them.

“…and none shall make him afraid.”

How could you be afraid anyway? Not with a God like that…

* Jeremiah 46:28

God Always Has Friends

{Jeremiah 38}

They were completely false charges, and the king knew it. But he was too weak in character to resist the princes. So he feigned agreement with them, and gave the prophet into their hands for them to do whatever they pleased.

Jeremiah was thrown into a dark, damp, smelly, miry cistern. Not a pleasant place for any individual, much less God’s prophet.

The faithful prophet patiently and unswervingly clung to his God whom he knew would not fail him. Whatever God deemed fit for him to endure, Jeremiah would endure it with joy. But God had other plans.

In the court of kind Zedekiah was an Ethiopian eunuch. This man was a friend of God. And God laid upon his heart to petition on behalf of His prophet. Request granted, Ebedmelech proceeded to arrange for Jeremiah’s rescue. Ropes would be necessary to extract him from the cistern, but the raw ropes would not hurt his friend. No, with a tender heart the eunuch provided old soft rags for Jeremiah to use in order to bring him up with comfort.

God always has friends.

Regardless of your status, your age, your ethnicity, God wants you to be His friend. He wants to use you to bless the lives of others. And kindness given is always repaid in greater measures.

Will you be a friend of God?

Retracted Liberty

{Jeremiah 34}

From all appearances, they seemed to be following the counsel of the Lord. However, it was not long before they had reversed all their virtuous actions.

They set free. But then made captives.

Thankfully, my Master is not anything akin to the fickle Israelites. 

My God only gives freedom; He never takes it away. 

Only by our own actions can we retract the liberties He has granted us.