Eight days ago, I woke up with stomach pain so intense, I had to do 'labor breathing' in order to tolerate it. It came in waves and knocked me off my feet. By the next morning I asked my son, Danny, for a ride to the doctor. The doctor sent me to the Emergency Room and I was admitted from there.
I was tired and not feeling at all confident about anything. Discouragement took over. I had no idea how my negativity was affecting others - I was entitled to focus on my problems by now. My 'goodness' quotient was pretty much spent by the time my second roommate in so many nights was rolled into my hospital room at 2 am.. Her voice was so loud, I believe they could have heard her whispering from the nurse's station down the hall. After a good half-hour of conversation between her and the intake nurse, I let out a polite cough, hoping she would catch on that; 1. Someone was in a bed 5 feet away from her on the other side of the curtain and, 2. She had woken me up. She yelled, "I don't want to wake up the person next to me". Next, there was a problem with her IV. When it stopped working properly, an alarm would sound and she would yell, "Not again!!" This happened nearly every 20 minutes throughout the day and night.
It's so easy to 'be' good when I'm feeling good. When things happen that set my teeth on edge, I begin to unconsciously wear a frown. I sigh a lot. I start following my emotions down the wrong path, dwelling on the negatives. Lying in my hospital bed, I began to think I was extremely unlucky. First, the semi-paralysis, now the intestinal bleeding. Was lightning really striking twice? I don't really believe in luck, but I just couldn't believe God had allowed these two serious things to happen in just a few weeks' time. In my weaker moments, and with help of IV antibiotics and pain medicine, I felt so alone and pitiful. Why did I have to get stuck with the loudest patient on the floor, anyway? My 'poor me' party almost drowned out the loud, incessant chattering of my roommate. Almost.
We were still divided by the privacy curtain, and I began wondering what she looked like. She would call me the 'girl' when she spoke to the nurses. She had taken a hard fall and would cry out in pain when she tried to move. She had an underlying medical condition which could be terminal, as well. My roomie began making phone calls when the sun came up. The first was to her son, giving him the news that she was in the hospital. She told him not to worry and not to come visit - she was just fine. After a few pleasant moments on the phone with him, she proceeded to make other phone calls to other family members. She sounded like she didn't have a care in the world. She was the one reassuring others, not the other way around. I wasn't sure when she got off the phone, but I became aware at some point that she was talking to me. She was boisterous, upbeat and comforting as she relived a hard past, and put it into perspective - God was in control and led her through it all..
I had a true affinity for this weathered, friendly woman by the time I was discharged. I realized I was getting a late start in fully trusting. It's so easy to exhibit fruit when it's, well, easy. Goodness comes not from a heart that's good, but from getting out of the way, allowing the Spirit to shine through in spite of myself. In order to consistently live out the fruit of goodness, I will have to get out of the way a lot, because I won't feel like being good or showing goodness to others all the time. Goodness isn't just about actions, it's about character. Character like my roommate, who's effervescent personality made everyone around her smile. She knew how to lead others away from what was wrong with her, and toward what was right and good.
The word good, or goodness, seems so simple and plain, it sounds like a trait that doesn't much matter one way or another. It's a minor league fruit, not major like love or joy. At least what I used to think. Christians are challenged to be good and to proclaim God's goodness in the Bible. God's blessings on Israel were often portrayed as going hand-in-hand with His goodness. Having the fruit of goodness is for the benefit of others. It's refreshing to bask in the goodness of others. When we show goodness we are also blessed.
Romans 15:14
And I myself also am persuaded of you, my brethren, that ye also are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, able also to admonish one another.
God knows what He's asking of me, and He is able to do it in me. I just need to trust Him to take care of all my needs, wants, hurts and unanswered questions. When all the scary things are put in perspective, I can release the goodness He placed in me, walking and living confidently in faith. God is good. I am good only when I die to self, and He shines through.
I am grateful to have met the sweet little lady behind the curtain! What a peach! (pun intended!)
Psalm 107:9
For he satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Gentleness
Gentle (dictionary.com)
kindly; amiable: a gentle manner. Not severe, rough, or violent; mild: a gentle wind
This Fruit of the Spirit was a difficult one for me! I studied, read and meditated on gentleness. Some versions of the Bible call this fruit 'kindness'. One commentary I read referred to this fruit as being merciful. I would say I agree to both, but to me, gentleness runs deeper.
I love being gentle. Smoothing my daughter's hair when we cuddle is gentle. Having a soft, calm voice and a smile when things are going wrong is gentleness. In my line of work, gentleness is meeting a sweet elderly lady in a hospital bed with a hug and reassurance that she doesn't have to face her fears alone. There is a sort of elation when I am able to bless others with a gentle word, touch or presence.
Now, getting back to reality...I don't know how many times I've acted harsh or uncaring when a calm, compassionate spirit would have made all the difference.
I have always been sort of reserved, and used to easily slip on a gentle disguise in the right company. When 'the end' came, I was anything but gentle to those I was closest to, which brings me to the reason I still grapple with it. My own human circumstances, not my relationship with Christ, dictated my actions. I forced gentleness for years in the past, and all the harshness inside just kept brewing. Gentleness isn't gentle when it's forced!
I know now that I was trying to cultivate fake, plastic fruit because I stopped abiding in The Vine. Fake fruit isn't real. It can look real pretty on a table, and don't those rubbery grapes look good enough to eat? Real fruit is something that is sweet and pleasant, but will not last forever. To me, each piece of fruit is a gift we can give to others, but we must continue abiding in Christ to replenish the supply.
Lately, gentleness can be hard to come by. I struggle with having had to sit in the same living room day after day for over a month. I am still determined to get out of the house occasionally for an hour or two to show my face at work, but I feel conspicuous, ugly and pathetic trying to cross the threshold, dragging my feet behind my walker. I am so thankful to be able to work from home, but I can't shake the 'out of sight, out of mind' fear if I don't get one of the kids to bring me to the office regularly. Needless to say, when my fears are in control, I'm not trusting the Lord and experiencing the peace that passes all understanding. Gentleness can easily be replaced with snapping at my kids, harboring bitterness, talking about people in an unkind way when they're not around, and having a selfish, judgmental attitude. How quickly the flesh takes over when I am overwhelmed and begin chewing on the fake, plastic fruit. It looks real pretty, but doesn't do anything more than cause a stomach ache!
I have had to learn that gentleness, kindness and mercy are not deeds that can be conjured up or added up in a daily quota to make my faith 'feel real'. This fruit must come from a spring of compassion, love and empathy that is cultivated deep within. Gentleness, with all it entails must be genuine. The only way to offer anyone a taste of this fruit at just the right moment is to allow the Husbandman to tend the orchard.
The blessing of blessing others with gentleness is a gift from God to them, through us. In return, we receive the joy of obedience and walking in the Spirit. At the end of a long day, my pillow feels that much softer and welcoming when I have tread softly, reached out with a smile and spoken peace to others.
I have had to learn that gentleness, kindness and mercy are not deeds that can be conjured up or added up in a daily quota to make my faith 'feel real'. This fruit must come from a spring of compassion, love and empathy that is cultivated deep within. Gentleness, with all it entails must be genuine. The only way to offer anyone a taste of this fruit at just the right moment is to allow the Husbandman to tend the orchard.
The blessing of blessing others with gentleness is a gift from God to them, through us. In return, we receive the joy of obedience and walking in the Spirit. At the end of a long day, my pillow feels that much softer and welcoming when I have tread softly, reached out with a smile and spoken peace to others.
I just keep coming back to trust. Trusting in the Lord in all circumstances. If He tells me to be kind, merciful and gentle in His Word, He will also join with me to help me to accomplish His will. Jesus is the example of gentleness. He asks me to follow Him and assures me that His burden is light:
Matthew 11:28-30
28Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
In my own strength, I make it so hard! I struggle to be real, but only Jesus can take a harsh spirit within and transform me to have an aching hurt for others who are struggling themselves. I begin to see opportunities for reaching out to my kids, friends and acquaintances with the genuine kindness, mercy and gentleness that will calm the frenzy and refresh their souls. Imagine a world where gentleness flowed abundantly from person to person!
Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness...can we really learn of one in the absence of the others?
Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness...can we really learn of one in the absence of the others?
Friday, March 16, 2012
I Can't Even Walk
Interlude:
Just sharing a song that's been remade many times. Original singers were Charles Johnson and the Revivers. Gospel at it's best! I've always loved it, and now it has so much more meaning!
Charles Johnson
I Can't Even Walk
Lord, I can't even walk without You holding my hand
I thought that number one would surely be me
I thought I would be what I wanted to be
I thought I could do a lot on my own
I thought I could make it all alone
I thought of myself as a mighty big (wo)man
But and I found out later I can't even walk without You holding my hand.
Lord, I can't even walk without You holding my hand
The mountain is to high, and the valley is to wide
Down on my knees, I learned to stand
Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand.
One Sunday I made Jesus
My all and all
From now on when I'm in trouble,
Only His name I'll call
And if I don't trust in Him, I'll be less than a (wo)man
(Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand).
Lord, I can't even walk without You holding my hand
The mountain is to high and the valley is to wide
Down on my knees, I learned to stand
Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand!
Just sharing a song that's been remade many times. Original singers were Charles Johnson and the Revivers. Gospel at it's best! I've always loved it, and now it has so much more meaning!
I Can't Even Walk
I thought that number one would surely be me
I thought I would be what I wanted to be
I thought I could build on life's sinking sand
But I can't even walk without You holding my hand.
I thought I could do a lot on my own
I thought I could make it all alone
I thought of myself as a mighty big (wo)man
But and I found out later I can't even walk without You holding my hand.
Lord, I can't even walk without You holding my hand
The mountain is to high, and the valley is to wide
Down on my knees, I learned to stand
Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand.
One Sunday I made Jesus
My all and all
From now on when I'm in trouble,
Only His name I'll call
And if I don't trust in Him, I'll be less than a (wo)man
(Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand).
Lord, I can't even walk without You holding my hand
The mountain is to high and the valley is to wide
Down on my knees, I learned to stand
Because I can't even walk without You holding my hand!
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Patience
Galatians 5:22-23 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering (patience), gentleness, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
As I have been studying patience, I wondered why that is a Fruit of the Spirit. The KJV calls it longsuffering, or long-suffering. Suffering long. In modern language it is patience. The word 'patience' is so nice and neat. It sounds like a quality of waiting with a smile on our face, singing a hymn and picking flowers in the sunshine until whatever we're waiting for comes to pass. I rather think the KJV depicts this fruit just as it is. And it is a fruit that is equal to love, joy and peace.
I think we all have, or are all, 'suffering long'. We all have that private agony simmering in our gut that causes us to suffer in our own way, for our own reasons. It took me until the age of 42 to be relieved of the suffering that comes from feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, to anyone. It's tough when your parents leave you. I'm referring to that compete emotional detachment of love, yet they don't leave you enough for anyone to be able to adopt you - for someone to say, "You mean so much to me that I want you to be a member of my family - my child. You can rest knowing you belong to me." To be a foster child whose parents never legally or fully give you away means that you might spend your Christmas in a hotel room with a bottle of booze to keep you company at the age of 18 because your mother and father have moved on, and you were not fully 'claimed' as a child. You know you can't 'crash' anyone's Christmas, so you quiver with fear and loneliness as you drink yourself to sleep. A newly adult foster child might. I did. The agony. The anger. The inner thrashing around, trying to wrestle with the 'why's' of it all. No matter how many years passed, that scared, angry little child remained.
I lived with each of my parents for a while at different times when I was a kid. In the summer, my father had me leave the house when I got up in the morning and I couldn't come home until dusk. Sometimes I had a lunch. He told me in a fit of anger that my mother tricked him by secretly stopping her birth control and I, their mistake, was born 9 months later. When I was with my mother, she told the same story as though it was the funniest thing in the world. I laughed with her, not knowing why, feeling ugly and invisible. They didn't want me, but they didn't want anyone else to have me. They robbed me of a 'mom and dad', and they didn't even know or care that it tore me apart. This was torture to me - suffering. For forty-two long, hard years. I tried to make it up by marrying and trying to fit in with my husband's family, but when all was said and done, I didn't belong to them, either, and we parted ways. When the end came, I told my best friend, my biological sister, "You're dead to me". What originally 'happened' to me as an innocent child, I began to thrive on. Rejection. I will hurt you with rejection before you can hurt me. What a mess I created. What a mess I became. I ultimately ran away from the family and friends I had left who truly loved me, leaving them in the muddy wake of my hate.
As the Lord gently brought me home to care for my Gram, I had to bring all that hurt, that inner turmoil to the table when I completely gave myself to Him. I had secretly held Him responsible for it all, and I carried a grudge I thought He didn't know about. Yes, I had become a Christian years earlier, but I didn't trust Him all the way. Gram always said, "God never makes a mistake", so He knew, He allowed, He could have easily written my life without the rejection, but He didn't. How was that not a mistake?
As I began to trust, as I looked at my life through His promises and His love, the thick block of ice around my heart began to melt. He was my Heavenly Father and I was His child. He allowed me to hurt, but He was always there to comfort. It was I who shut Him out - not the other way around. Somewhere, love conquered. Forgiveness engulfed me. My long suffering was over. Had my past changed? No, but my heart did.
There's something to be said for putting yourself in someone else's shoes, especially someone who you hate for hurting you. I began to see my mother, having three children in less than four years. She was young - only 24 when she walked away. She was living with a man who was angry, controlling and unpredictable. It was too much. When she left us, did she feel like a failure? Maybe. Experiencing defeat like that can cause you to run away and not look back. I did that very thing, too, when I fell flat on my face. I thought of my dad, adopted himself, with so many questions left unanswered. He felt rejected. His anger kept him from being close to anyone. His insecurities left him craving control of everyone and everything for fear of being hurt, I think. His inner suffering turned him into a very emotionally sick man. He derived temporary pleasure in lashing out and hurting others, then sunk into depression afterward when they turned their backs. I did that too.
People who loved me forgave me, even though I hurt them so deeply. The Lord forgave me everything, too. How dare I withhold that forgiveness from my parents! I slowly began to see things I never saw before, and I truly loved and forgave them for the first time in my life. My father had been dead for years, and my mother hadn't spoken to me in just as long, yet I forgave and was healed.
Gratefulness for who He is replaced my suspicion that God was ambivalent about my hurt, and as I looked back on my life, I saw all the ways people stepped in and cared with all their hearts for my sisters and me. These people who loved us had no reason to care for us as though we were their own children, but they did - all our lives, and they still selflessly love and care to this day. Instead of seeing the rejection of people who were obligated to love me because I was born to them, my heart leaped with joy for the tender care of those who had no obligation at all!
As I said, we all have that inner agony that we wrestle with. Some for weeks, months or years, some for life. We suffer for our loved ones and our children to surrender to the Lord. We suffer over insecurities. We suffer for unmet dreams to become reality. I suffer with the uncertainty of my physical future. And longsuffering is a Fruit of the Spirit. Why? Is it because the world also suffers and can't help but look to us for answers on 'how' to suffer because we are Christians? Is suffering a test of our faith? Does suffering drive us to our knees so we realize that we need God's peace? I believe so on all counts. Our Father has many more reasons, I'm sure..
I also believe that longsuffering is a matter of trust. We all suffer - the longer we suffer with patience, the more our fruit grows. Trusting the Lord does not erase our suffering, but trust puts it all in perspective. When we trust Him, we can be patient. With trust, we can commit ourselves, our children, our marriages, our pasts, our futures, our suffering, to the Lord, knowing He will work it all out for our good in His time. His time, not ours. One thing is certain, no matter how grueling the pain is, or how long we have to wait for an answer for our deepest need, it is His will that we run with patience the race that is set before us. Heb 12:1b
1 Peter 4:19
Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator.
As with love, joy and peace, I learned that it all comes back to fully trusting my Father, and forgiving all people everything. After all, He forgave me (and you) everything, didn't He?
As I have been studying patience, I wondered why that is a Fruit of the Spirit. The KJV calls it longsuffering, or long-suffering. Suffering long. In modern language it is patience. The word 'patience' is so nice and neat. It sounds like a quality of waiting with a smile on our face, singing a hymn and picking flowers in the sunshine until whatever we're waiting for comes to pass. I rather think the KJV depicts this fruit just as it is. And it is a fruit that is equal to love, joy and peace.
I think we all have, or are all, 'suffering long'. We all have that private agony simmering in our gut that causes us to suffer in our own way, for our own reasons. It took me until the age of 42 to be relieved of the suffering that comes from feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, to anyone. It's tough when your parents leave you. I'm referring to that compete emotional detachment of love, yet they don't leave you enough for anyone to be able to adopt you - for someone to say, "You mean so much to me that I want you to be a member of my family - my child. You can rest knowing you belong to me." To be a foster child whose parents never legally or fully give you away means that you might spend your Christmas in a hotel room with a bottle of booze to keep you company at the age of 18 because your mother and father have moved on, and you were not fully 'claimed' as a child. You know you can't 'crash' anyone's Christmas, so you quiver with fear and loneliness as you drink yourself to sleep. A newly adult foster child might. I did. The agony. The anger. The inner thrashing around, trying to wrestle with the 'why's' of it all. No matter how many years passed, that scared, angry little child remained.
I lived with each of my parents for a while at different times when I was a kid. In the summer, my father had me leave the house when I got up in the morning and I couldn't come home until dusk. Sometimes I had a lunch. He told me in a fit of anger that my mother tricked him by secretly stopping her birth control and I, their mistake, was born 9 months later. When I was with my mother, she told the same story as though it was the funniest thing in the world. I laughed with her, not knowing why, feeling ugly and invisible. They didn't want me, but they didn't want anyone else to have me. They robbed me of a 'mom and dad', and they didn't even know or care that it tore me apart. This was torture to me - suffering. For forty-two long, hard years. I tried to make it up by marrying and trying to fit in with my husband's family, but when all was said and done, I didn't belong to them, either, and we parted ways. When the end came, I told my best friend, my biological sister, "You're dead to me". What originally 'happened' to me as an innocent child, I began to thrive on. Rejection. I will hurt you with rejection before you can hurt me. What a mess I created. What a mess I became. I ultimately ran away from the family and friends I had left who truly loved me, leaving them in the muddy wake of my hate.
As the Lord gently brought me home to care for my Gram, I had to bring all that hurt, that inner turmoil to the table when I completely gave myself to Him. I had secretly held Him responsible for it all, and I carried a grudge I thought He didn't know about. Yes, I had become a Christian years earlier, but I didn't trust Him all the way. Gram always said, "God never makes a mistake", so He knew, He allowed, He could have easily written my life without the rejection, but He didn't. How was that not a mistake?
As I began to trust, as I looked at my life through His promises and His love, the thick block of ice around my heart began to melt. He was my Heavenly Father and I was His child. He allowed me to hurt, but He was always there to comfort. It was I who shut Him out - not the other way around. Somewhere, love conquered. Forgiveness engulfed me. My long suffering was over. Had my past changed? No, but my heart did.
There's something to be said for putting yourself in someone else's shoes, especially someone who you hate for hurting you. I began to see my mother, having three children in less than four years. She was young - only 24 when she walked away. She was living with a man who was angry, controlling and unpredictable. It was too much. When she left us, did she feel like a failure? Maybe. Experiencing defeat like that can cause you to run away and not look back. I did that very thing, too, when I fell flat on my face. I thought of my dad, adopted himself, with so many questions left unanswered. He felt rejected. His anger kept him from being close to anyone. His insecurities left him craving control of everyone and everything for fear of being hurt, I think. His inner suffering turned him into a very emotionally sick man. He derived temporary pleasure in lashing out and hurting others, then sunk into depression afterward when they turned their backs. I did that too.
People who loved me forgave me, even though I hurt them so deeply. The Lord forgave me everything, too. How dare I withhold that forgiveness from my parents! I slowly began to see things I never saw before, and I truly loved and forgave them for the first time in my life. My father had been dead for years, and my mother hadn't spoken to me in just as long, yet I forgave and was healed.
Gratefulness for who He is replaced my suspicion that God was ambivalent about my hurt, and as I looked back on my life, I saw all the ways people stepped in and cared with all their hearts for my sisters and me. These people who loved us had no reason to care for us as though we were their own children, but they did - all our lives, and they still selflessly love and care to this day. Instead of seeing the rejection of people who were obligated to love me because I was born to them, my heart leaped with joy for the tender care of those who had no obligation at all!
As I said, we all have that inner agony that we wrestle with. Some for weeks, months or years, some for life. We suffer for our loved ones and our children to surrender to the Lord. We suffer over insecurities. We suffer for unmet dreams to become reality. I suffer with the uncertainty of my physical future. And longsuffering is a Fruit of the Spirit. Why? Is it because the world also suffers and can't help but look to us for answers on 'how' to suffer because we are Christians? Is suffering a test of our faith? Does suffering drive us to our knees so we realize that we need God's peace? I believe so on all counts. Our Father has many more reasons, I'm sure..
I also believe that longsuffering is a matter of trust. We all suffer - the longer we suffer with patience, the more our fruit grows. Trusting the Lord does not erase our suffering, but trust puts it all in perspective. When we trust Him, we can be patient. With trust, we can commit ourselves, our children, our marriages, our pasts, our futures, our suffering, to the Lord, knowing He will work it all out for our good in His time. His time, not ours. One thing is certain, no matter how grueling the pain is, or how long we have to wait for an answer for our deepest need, it is His will that we run with patience the race that is set before us. Heb 12:1b
1 Peter 4:19
Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator.
As with love, joy and peace, I learned that it all comes back to fully trusting my Father, and forgiving all people everything. After all, He forgave me (and you) everything, didn't He?
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Peace
The person writing this blog is not me. Well, it is me, but it's not the me that I was for most of my life. I guess to define peace, it makes sense to define the opposite of peace. The former me was the definition of a person that had no peace.
As a youngster, the rug was pulled out from under me more than once. Raised until the age of 7 in a Christian home for girls, I was taught to pray. When I was eventually alone at the age of nine, living with my father and one of his wives, I used to pray to God, telling Him I hated Him. In my young, immature way, I decided He was ignoring my prayers to be rescued from a sickening, dysfunctional home with my biological dad, so I figured I would try to get His attention with my 'hate' prayers. Little did I know or realize, He was causing all things to work together for my good.
Teenage years were filled with rebellion after I moved to my biological mother's home in Virginia when I was 12. I was 'befriended' by a church counselor who quickly began grooming me to become his 'girlfriend' and eventually his child bride at the age of 15 in Vegas.
At the age of 20, God miraculously entered my heart and my life. I was a Christian, BUT, I carried guilt, self-hatred and condemnation, fear, a sense of not having any worth, and deep sadness and anger because I never forgave my father, my mother, the church counselor and anyone else that wrecked me. Peace was alien to me. I began striving for peace, striving for love, striving to look polished and together around others. I had debilitating panic attacks - I couldn't eat at a restaurant without being close to an exit, ride in a car with anyone but the closest of friends or my family, walk the mall or sit in church for an entire service.
How did all this fear, guilt, worthlessness, sadness and anger manifest itself? I was relentless with my husband who, in my estimation, didn't compliment me enough, communicate enough, help me enough, understand me enough or love me enough (though in retrospect, he did all that and more). I raged, I complained, I worried, I panicked, I pretended to be all the things I wasn't. I taught Sunday School, was a Youth Leader, polished my kids til they shone, slapped a smile on my face, and eventually fell completely and utterly apart. I'm just surprised I was able to fake it until I was 36. Looking back, I was a Christian - what went wrong? Why did I have no peace? Why couldn't I give my hurt to the Lord? Why didn't I trust Him with my problems? When the end came, I ran as fast as I could and as far as I could from everyone and everything because the facade was over. My life screamed against peace, and all that it meant. I ran until three years ago, when God brought me back to Him - on His terms.
He brought me home. Home to provide total care, with all it entails, to my "Gram", the woman who took me into her heart and her arms when my parents left me at the girl's home at 8 months old. She was peaceful and the very air around her was quiet and calm. Gram, at age 98, often spoke verses to me and we prayed together every night. I would kiss her after I tucked her in, and as I was walking out of her bedroom, she would often say, "I'm so glad we have each other". So was I. I devoured every Christian book I could find in the house, and read to her regularly in the evenings. I got on my knees, so thankful for the grace that brought me home, and asked God to never let me go again. Something changed. My heart told me to forgive. Forgive all people everything. Freely you have received, freely give. My heart, or rather a still, small voice, urged me to trust God with all my fears, all my hurts, all my guilt and all my self-hatred. Little by little, step by step, I released that life-long familiar grip I had on all the things that made me feel so good because I felt so bad. It wasn't about me anymore. It was about my Lord, and I was at peace.
Every now and then, I am tempted to let those old feelings surface, but peace answers those fears and 'feelings' with truth. Truth that God can't lie - when He so clearly expressed his love through His word. This is truth that conquers feelings. Without truth, there is no peace.
Peace is something Jesus gave to Christians as a gift when He said, "Peace I leave you" before He ascended. Peace can also be an action when we are told to be at peace with all men. Peace is an indescribable sense of calm. Peace is confidence that God really is in control, and all He does is motivated by His boundless love.
The person writing this blog is me. I live with constant physical pain, and a future that is uncertain. I can't feel my legs, and my body gets worn out just going down my stairs to leave my house. I am afraid sometimes and sad sometimes. I give my feelings to the Lord, and He covers me in a blanket of peace that's as soft and warm as the towels in the old Downy commercials.
Isaiah 26:3...Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
Perfect peace? Stop striving. Start trusting.
As a youngster, the rug was pulled out from under me more than once. Raised until the age of 7 in a Christian home for girls, I was taught to pray. When I was eventually alone at the age of nine, living with my father and one of his wives, I used to pray to God, telling Him I hated Him. In my young, immature way, I decided He was ignoring my prayers to be rescued from a sickening, dysfunctional home with my biological dad, so I figured I would try to get His attention with my 'hate' prayers. Little did I know or realize, He was causing all things to work together for my good.
Teenage years were filled with rebellion after I moved to my biological mother's home in Virginia when I was 12. I was 'befriended' by a church counselor who quickly began grooming me to become his 'girlfriend' and eventually his child bride at the age of 15 in Vegas.
At the age of 20, God miraculously entered my heart and my life. I was a Christian, BUT, I carried guilt, self-hatred and condemnation, fear, a sense of not having any worth, and deep sadness and anger because I never forgave my father, my mother, the church counselor and anyone else that wrecked me. Peace was alien to me. I began striving for peace, striving for love, striving to look polished and together around others. I had debilitating panic attacks - I couldn't eat at a restaurant without being close to an exit, ride in a car with anyone but the closest of friends or my family, walk the mall or sit in church for an entire service.
How did all this fear, guilt, worthlessness, sadness and anger manifest itself? I was relentless with my husband who, in my estimation, didn't compliment me enough, communicate enough, help me enough, understand me enough or love me enough (though in retrospect, he did all that and more). I raged, I complained, I worried, I panicked, I pretended to be all the things I wasn't. I taught Sunday School, was a Youth Leader, polished my kids til they shone, slapped a smile on my face, and eventually fell completely and utterly apart. I'm just surprised I was able to fake it until I was 36. Looking back, I was a Christian - what went wrong? Why did I have no peace? Why couldn't I give my hurt to the Lord? Why didn't I trust Him with my problems? When the end came, I ran as fast as I could and as far as I could from everyone and everything because the facade was over. My life screamed against peace, and all that it meant. I ran until three years ago, when God brought me back to Him - on His terms.
He brought me home. Home to provide total care, with all it entails, to my "Gram", the woman who took me into her heart and her arms when my parents left me at the girl's home at 8 months old. She was peaceful and the very air around her was quiet and calm. Gram, at age 98, often spoke verses to me and we prayed together every night. I would kiss her after I tucked her in, and as I was walking out of her bedroom, she would often say, "I'm so glad we have each other". So was I. I devoured every Christian book I could find in the house, and read to her regularly in the evenings. I got on my knees, so thankful for the grace that brought me home, and asked God to never let me go again. Something changed. My heart told me to forgive. Forgive all people everything. Freely you have received, freely give. My heart, or rather a still, small voice, urged me to trust God with all my fears, all my hurts, all my guilt and all my self-hatred. Little by little, step by step, I released that life-long familiar grip I had on all the things that made me feel so good because I felt so bad. It wasn't about me anymore. It was about my Lord, and I was at peace.
Every now and then, I am tempted to let those old feelings surface, but peace answers those fears and 'feelings' with truth. Truth that God can't lie - when He so clearly expressed his love through His word. This is truth that conquers feelings. Without truth, there is no peace.
Peace is something Jesus gave to Christians as a gift when He said, "Peace I leave you" before He ascended. Peace can also be an action when we are told to be at peace with all men. Peace is an indescribable sense of calm. Peace is confidence that God really is in control, and all He does is motivated by His boundless love.
The person writing this blog is me. I live with constant physical pain, and a future that is uncertain. I can't feel my legs, and my body gets worn out just going down my stairs to leave my house. I am afraid sometimes and sad sometimes. I give my feelings to the Lord, and He covers me in a blanket of peace that's as soft and warm as the towels in the old Downy commercials.
Isaiah 26:3...Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
Perfect peace? Stop striving. Start trusting.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Joy
Joy: a shout, a proclamation that can manifest itself in singing. A triumph, cheerful and calm delight ~American Dictionary of the English Language
I haven't blogged in a few days. There has been a whirlwind of activity in the house. Though I am sitting still, life has picked up the pace in my living room.
This morning, I woke up before my little one and made my way to the living room, anxious to write thoughts in my blog. As I opened the blog, I heard a quiet voice within telling me to open the Word first. I shot up a quick prayer telling God that I only had a small window of opportunity to write before the rest of the house got up. Still, something inside caused me to question - which is more important - writing for writing's sake, or focusing on the Lord and letting him speak to me? Having decided a long time ago that I don't want to write this blog for any reason but for HIS glory, I could not begin without spending time with Him. I ran through my devotions on Faithfulness and Joy and fired up the computer. Again, I knew I had not said a word to Him all morning, and had not let Him speak to me, either. I said, 'Lord, I'll pray, but I need to tell You that the kids will all be up soon, and my window of opportunity will pass for writing.' I'm sure He already knew that. Sure enough, as I was in prayer, I heard a bedroom door open down the hall and my youngest emerged with her purple-ice-cream-cone-and-cupcake nightgown on, all smiles. I came to the conclusion, not on my own I'm sure, that had I written this post in a rush without taking time for the Lord, it would have been much worse than being interrupted by a cute little brown-eyed smiling face blinking the sleepies out. This post may take all day with life's interruptions, but I would rather not write at all than forge ahead in my own strength.
As predicted, I was not able to finish this blog yesterday, and I'm thankful for that. "...In His favour is life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning" Psalm 30:5 Today was a day of joy. I was able to not only go to Sunday School to 'bond' with a group of women in my church, but I also stayed for church (mostly because I didn't have a ride home after Sunday School!!).
My Pastor preached from Mark 6:45 - 52. Jesus has just miraculously fed the 5000 and told his disciples to get in a ship and go to the other side, and he went to a mountain to pray. The disciples were having trouble rowing because the wind was 'contrary'. Jesus walked on the water and when he got in the ship, the wind stopped. The disciples were amazed. That's the short version.
How does that apply to my situation? Pastor Miller asked if anyone has ever felt overwhelmed. Check. He said many people try to handle everything on their own. Check. Some people forget the miracles that have already happened in their lives. Check. Jesus told the disciples to get in the boat, knowing that the storm would arise. Nothing surprises God, and He allows storms to come up in His children ' lives. BUT, He is with us IN the boat. Check!
How does that all tie in with joy? I'll say it one more time - Jesus is WITH me in the boat! That's the real definition and source of all joy - joy unspeakable and full of glory.
I haven't blogged in a few days. There has been a whirlwind of activity in the house. Though I am sitting still, life has picked up the pace in my living room.
This morning, I woke up before my little one and made my way to the living room, anxious to write thoughts in my blog. As I opened the blog, I heard a quiet voice within telling me to open the Word first. I shot up a quick prayer telling God that I only had a small window of opportunity to write before the rest of the house got up. Still, something inside caused me to question - which is more important - writing for writing's sake, or focusing on the Lord and letting him speak to me? Having decided a long time ago that I don't want to write this blog for any reason but for HIS glory, I could not begin without spending time with Him. I ran through my devotions on Faithfulness and Joy and fired up the computer. Again, I knew I had not said a word to Him all morning, and had not let Him speak to me, either. I said, 'Lord, I'll pray, but I need to tell You that the kids will all be up soon, and my window of opportunity will pass for writing.' I'm sure He already knew that. Sure enough, as I was in prayer, I heard a bedroom door open down the hall and my youngest emerged with her purple-ice-cream-cone-and-cupcake nightgown on, all smiles. I came to the conclusion, not on my own I'm sure, that had I written this post in a rush without taking time for the Lord, it would have been much worse than being interrupted by a cute little brown-eyed smiling face blinking the sleepies out. This post may take all day with life's interruptions, but I would rather not write at all than forge ahead in my own strength.
As predicted, I was not able to finish this blog yesterday, and I'm thankful for that. "...In His favour is life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning" Psalm 30:5 Today was a day of joy. I was able to not only go to Sunday School to 'bond' with a group of women in my church, but I also stayed for church (mostly because I didn't have a ride home after Sunday School!!).
My Pastor preached from Mark 6:45 - 52. Jesus has just miraculously fed the 5000 and told his disciples to get in a ship and go to the other side, and he went to a mountain to pray. The disciples were having trouble rowing because the wind was 'contrary'. Jesus walked on the water and when he got in the ship, the wind stopped. The disciples were amazed. That's the short version.
How does that apply to my situation? Pastor Miller asked if anyone has ever felt overwhelmed. Check. He said many people try to handle everything on their own. Check. Some people forget the miracles that have already happened in their lives. Check. Jesus told the disciples to get in the boat, knowing that the storm would arise. Nothing surprises God, and He allows storms to come up in His children ' lives. BUT, He is with us IN the boat. Check!
How does that all tie in with joy? I'll say it one more time - Jesus is WITH me in the boat! That's the real definition and source of all joy - joy unspeakable and full of glory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)