Life has held tough new challenges lately, and I've not felt the strength to meet them.
Worst has been that I'm not getting to my prayer closet as early and as undistracted as necessary for me to receive sufficient strength from the Lord to meet those challenges. I've been fighting weary apathy, devoid of the energy and passion more my character.
That weary apathy has been an enemy to face each morning. I've prayed for the Lord to awaken me as early as possible, when He knows I've had as much sleep as I need, so that I'll have time to meet Him and escape a downward vortex which the enemy says has entangled me.
The Lord has answered that prayer in ways He knows I can't resist—birdsong, thunder, cuddles.
My Daniel is five. He goes long stretches without a nighttime appearance in our room. Then he'll have a night when he awakens to use the bathroom, and not quite make it back to his own bed. Other times, he simply shows up inexplicably, snuggles into my arms quietly, and goes back to sleep.
He did so a few days ago at about the time morning light was making its own appearance. The clock display read 5:46—not too early to get up by any means. But it felt so good to cuddle Daniel's sleeping warmth. It gave my soul peace and joy and love. This was something real and tangible and strangely comforting, as only a small child might give comfort to an adult.
My prayer closet came to mind, and I offered the Lord, but Daniel's here.
He replied, this is that.
And I understood at once that my appearance in the prayer closet feels as good to Him as Daniel felt to me.
I relished the joy of Daniel's presence a few moments longer, then went to cuddle the Lord.
Why do I ever resist Him?
Why does He keep pursuing me?
He is so, so faithful. So merciful. So loving.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Renewed
I do not ask my children to endure what I will not endure with them.
When they've been stuck with needles, or had surgery, or endured far worse, I've insisted on being there, sometimes observing procedures that would cause the most stout-hearted to faint. I've always believed that I could not ever tell my children that they must go through anything alone. I thank the Lord that He has always empowered me to follow through on that belief.
Before the last year, the worst trials of my life had involved watching my children suffer what I would have gladly endured had it been possible to trade places. Each situation has brought me greater appreciation for Christ's suffering—and greatest appreciation for the Father's pain to watch His Son suffer. I do not mitigate in the least what our Lord Jesus endured on our behalf. But as a parent, I believe that the Father's suffering was greatest.
In the intense trials of the last year, I have been brought to my knees, and I have been brought to what seemed like the very end of myself. (I know all too well, however, that Self was only broken and yet lives. Drat!)
I would not wish the last year of my life on my worst enemy (though I know no person I count my enemy). Even so, I am grateful that the Lord put me through this, and did not force me to watch my children go through it. That, I think, might have been too much. I might have finally seen the place where I could not accompany another. (Thank You, Lord, for Your mercy.)
Yet I wonder how will they know what I now know. I can ask, "Have you not heard?" and they may say they have. But if I ask "Have you not known?" they cannot fully know it until the day they themselves test it:
Have you not known?
Have you not heard?
The everlasting God, the LORD,
The Creator of the ends of the earth,
Neither faints nor is weary.
His understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the weak,
And to those who have no might He increases strength.
Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
But those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.
~ Isaiah 40:28-31 (NKJV)
I fainted. I became weary. I found myself weakened beyond what I thought it possible for a Christian to be.
And this is what I now know. The Lord renews strength not as the reward for waiting upon Him. In the waiting upon Him—in the going back to Him, depending upon Him, turning to Him in every moment of utter and hopeless weakness—He gives not the strength for a lifetime, but the strength for the hour. Renewed strength is not the goal to attain as a lesson one learns and moves on. Renewed strength is the sustenance for the life hidden in Him.
He will not ask me to endure what He will not endure with me. And He asks me to do more than endure.
In the hour when I cried out to Him that it was too much, He was faithful and did not allow testing beyond my ability to stand. For in that hour He gave the strength to not merely endure, but to persevere with Him. He is the Everlasting God. I cannot outlast Him.
I understand that strength will always be available to me. I need fear nothing. The Everlasting God does not leave me—He leaves me renewed.
How I love Him!
When they've been stuck with needles, or had surgery, or endured far worse, I've insisted on being there, sometimes observing procedures that would cause the most stout-hearted to faint. I've always believed that I could not ever tell my children that they must go through anything alone. I thank the Lord that He has always empowered me to follow through on that belief.
Before the last year, the worst trials of my life had involved watching my children suffer what I would have gladly endured had it been possible to trade places. Each situation has brought me greater appreciation for Christ's suffering—and greatest appreciation for the Father's pain to watch His Son suffer. I do not mitigate in the least what our Lord Jesus endured on our behalf. But as a parent, I believe that the Father's suffering was greatest.
In the intense trials of the last year, I have been brought to my knees, and I have been brought to what seemed like the very end of myself. (I know all too well, however, that Self was only broken and yet lives. Drat!)
I would not wish the last year of my life on my worst enemy (though I know no person I count my enemy). Even so, I am grateful that the Lord put me through this, and did not force me to watch my children go through it. That, I think, might have been too much. I might have finally seen the place where I could not accompany another. (Thank You, Lord, for Your mercy.)
Yet I wonder how will they know what I now know. I can ask, "Have you not heard?" and they may say they have. But if I ask "Have you not known?" they cannot fully know it until the day they themselves test it:
Have you not known?
Have you not heard?
The everlasting God, the LORD,
The Creator of the ends of the earth,
Neither faints nor is weary.
His understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the weak,
And to those who have no might He increases strength.
Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
But those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.
~ Isaiah 40:28-31 (NKJV)
I fainted. I became weary. I found myself weakened beyond what I thought it possible for a Christian to be.
And this is what I now know. The Lord renews strength not as the reward for waiting upon Him. In the waiting upon Him—in the going back to Him, depending upon Him, turning to Him in every moment of utter and hopeless weakness—He gives not the strength for a lifetime, but the strength for the hour. Renewed strength is not the goal to attain as a lesson one learns and moves on. Renewed strength is the sustenance for the life hidden in Him.
He will not ask me to endure what He will not endure with me. And He asks me to do more than endure.
In the hour when I cried out to Him that it was too much, He was faithful and did not allow testing beyond my ability to stand. For in that hour He gave the strength to not merely endure, but to persevere with Him. He is the Everlasting God. I cannot outlast Him.
I understand that strength will always be available to me. I need fear nothing. The Everlasting God does not leave me—He leaves me renewed.
How I love Him!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Held
My last post spoke of rejection, and of fellowship with the Lord experienced. Through knowing rejection I shared His suffering and pain—horrible, deep, raw pain.
The Lord is merciful. He allowed me fellowship in His suffering, and He gave me fellowship in His love. If the last months have been a time of unprecedented agony, they have also been a season of previously unknown intimacy. This blog began as a chronicle of moments when the Lord’s presence embraced me in moments of anguish (though I wasn’t able to share the worst moments.) And I suspect that like childbirth, the intensity of pain will one day be forgotten. I won't lose sight of the fact that it really, really hurt. But the more enduring memory will be of love which overshadowed the pain.
Sorrow often overwhelmed me beyond comprehension. I continually turned to a reliable haven of safety, my God the Lord. Abba. Jesus was there too. And the Holy Spirit is always present. Each of their distinct personalities enfolded me in comfort with a different touch, a particular manner of speaking, a separate dimension of love which pressed into my soul, reaching a place no human can touch.
Paul said, "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead." (Philippians 3:10-11 NIV)
To again experience such love, I now know I am capable to endure such pain. I could face it without fear, knowing I'd not only be not alone, I'd also be carried.
I'd be held.
The sweetness of intimacy with the Lord is a taste of Heaven—a promise of what is yet to come in the resurrection of the dead. Like a lover's kiss that infuses one with desire for all that will follow, drawing desperately near to the Lord ignites a hope for all He's promised which infuses strength for the hour.
My other blog will say more tomorrow, with a different tone for a different audience. But both posts will include these words from a song which compels me to affirm "Yes Lord!" when asked if I will wait upon the Lord, however long the hour.
This is what it is to be loved
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell
we'd be held.
If hope is born of suffering—
if this is only the beginning—
can we not wait for one hour
watching for our Savior? *
*Lyrics from "Held" by Christa Wells © 2001 Weimarhymes Publishing Inc.
The Lord is merciful. He allowed me fellowship in His suffering, and He gave me fellowship in His love. If the last months have been a time of unprecedented agony, they have also been a season of previously unknown intimacy. This blog began as a chronicle of moments when the Lord’s presence embraced me in moments of anguish (though I wasn’t able to share the worst moments.) And I suspect that like childbirth, the intensity of pain will one day be forgotten. I won't lose sight of the fact that it really, really hurt. But the more enduring memory will be of love which overshadowed the pain.
Sorrow often overwhelmed me beyond comprehension. I continually turned to a reliable haven of safety, my God the Lord. Abba. Jesus was there too. And the Holy Spirit is always present. Each of their distinct personalities enfolded me in comfort with a different touch, a particular manner of speaking, a separate dimension of love which pressed into my soul, reaching a place no human can touch.
Paul said, "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead." (Philippians 3:10-11 NIV)
To again experience such love, I now know I am capable to endure such pain. I could face it without fear, knowing I'd not only be not alone, I'd also be carried.
I'd be held.
The sweetness of intimacy with the Lord is a taste of Heaven—a promise of what is yet to come in the resurrection of the dead. Like a lover's kiss that infuses one with desire for all that will follow, drawing desperately near to the Lord ignites a hope for all He's promised which infuses strength for the hour.
My other blog will say more tomorrow, with a different tone for a different audience. But both posts will include these words from a song which compels me to affirm "Yes Lord!" when asked if I will wait upon the Lord, however long the hour.
This is what it is to be loved
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell
we'd be held.
If hope is born of suffering—
if this is only the beginning—
can we not wait for one hour
watching for our Savior? *
*Lyrics from "Held" by Christa Wells © 2001 Weimarhymes Publishing Inc.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Rejection
Personality quizzes peg me as evenly right brain / left brain. I'm analytical and logical yet sensitive and emotional (an intense mixture).
When problems surface, I plumb the depth of emotion and then rationalize solution: what's the core, the root issue to be addressed? And because I spent five years as a cop, where analysis was performed and executed in minutes (not days and months and years), I apply what I learn with immediacy: dive on in to the emotions, then resurface and get to work on the solution; if there's misery to traverse, let's go through it, learn from it, and then get on with life.
In January I took a day away from life to pray and fast about overwhelming problems. The Lord asked me, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I could only think, "Dear God, is there more? More than this?" But I also could not resist a personal invitation from the Lord.
In the days to follow one word became huge: Rejection. I analyzed what I was experiencing so I could work with the Lord on the solution. I began to see every hurt as a form of rejection. The past came to the forefront, and I looked anew at hurts through this lens. I understood that over and over, as I had reeled from hurts and bounced back with forgiveness, I had missed a step.
My pattern was to accept the pain of offenses and analyze only my own culpability, because I'm only responsible for my actions. I'd A-B-C: Admit my sin, Be repentant, set about Change with the Lord's empowerment. I didn't dwell much on what could be behind another's sin, because I figure that's between them and the Lord.
By no means am I saying that it was wrong to not evaluate the offense on the part of someone else. (I'll talk about that another day, perhaps on my other blog.) But when confronted with the past's path to present problems, I was forced to go back and analyze what hurt me then, what was hurting me now.
Rejection rejection REJECTION!
Whether or not it was intended, someone had communicated rejection to me in the past—and in the present. Billows of pain continued to wash over me, and I understood something.
We reject God. Over and over, in a million different ways.
When He asked, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I thought He meant more of my own suffering. I was given the opportunity to experience His suffering. My heart felt pain that was not my own. I recognized the pain as that of God living within me. Horrible, deep, raw pain. The pain of pouring out blessing, love and sacrifice—and have it rejected.
Since my M.O. is to accept the lesson and move on, I expected to do so. God has another plan. He is allowing me to experience continued rejection, morphed into new shapes and words. Every time I think I've turned a corner, I face a new form of rejection, such as these:
From a trusted friend of many years, unfounded accusation, and admonishment to seek the Lord, prefaced with the words, "I have your best interest at heart";
From a confidant, disbelief that I've heard from the Lord at all;
From one to whom I've been a mentor, withdrawal, because I'm superfluous if I'm weak.
I see that although I've received fifty or a hundred times more messages of encouragement and hope from loved ones, a single message of rejection from a loved one devastates. I see that while rejection from those with whom we rub shoulders stings, rejection from those to whom we've opened our hearts stabs.
And I wonder if those who hurt the Lord most are not those who reject His sacrifice and refuse salvation, but those with whom He is intimate by His indwelling Holy Spirit, who accuse Him of disengagement, who doubt His Word, who seek His hand and not His face.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him.
He also shall be my salvation,
For a hypocrite could not come before Him.
~ Job 13:15-16 (NKJV)
When problems surface, I plumb the depth of emotion and then rationalize solution: what's the core, the root issue to be addressed? And because I spent five years as a cop, where analysis was performed and executed in minutes (not days and months and years), I apply what I learn with immediacy: dive on in to the emotions, then resurface and get to work on the solution; if there's misery to traverse, let's go through it, learn from it, and then get on with life.
In January I took a day away from life to pray and fast about overwhelming problems. The Lord asked me, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I could only think, "Dear God, is there more? More than this?" But I also could not resist a personal invitation from the Lord.
In the days to follow one word became huge: Rejection. I analyzed what I was experiencing so I could work with the Lord on the solution. I began to see every hurt as a form of rejection. The past came to the forefront, and I looked anew at hurts through this lens. I understood that over and over, as I had reeled from hurts and bounced back with forgiveness, I had missed a step.
My pattern was to accept the pain of offenses and analyze only my own culpability, because I'm only responsible for my actions. I'd A-B-C: Admit my sin, Be repentant, set about Change with the Lord's empowerment. I didn't dwell much on what could be behind another's sin, because I figure that's between them and the Lord.
By no means am I saying that it was wrong to not evaluate the offense on the part of someone else. (I'll talk about that another day, perhaps on my other blog.) But when confronted with the past's path to present problems, I was forced to go back and analyze what hurt me then, what was hurting me now.
Rejection rejection REJECTION!
Whether or not it was intended, someone had communicated rejection to me in the past—and in the present. Billows of pain continued to wash over me, and I understood something.
We reject God. Over and over, in a million different ways.
When He asked, "Are you willing to go through this suffering with Me?" I thought He meant more of my own suffering. I was given the opportunity to experience His suffering. My heart felt pain that was not my own. I recognized the pain as that of God living within me. Horrible, deep, raw pain. The pain of pouring out blessing, love and sacrifice—and have it rejected.
Since my M.O. is to accept the lesson and move on, I expected to do so. God has another plan. He is allowing me to experience continued rejection, morphed into new shapes and words. Every time I think I've turned a corner, I face a new form of rejection, such as these:
From a trusted friend of many years, unfounded accusation, and admonishment to seek the Lord, prefaced with the words, "I have your best interest at heart";
From a confidant, disbelief that I've heard from the Lord at all;
From one to whom I've been a mentor, withdrawal, because I'm superfluous if I'm weak.
I see that although I've received fifty or a hundred times more messages of encouragement and hope from loved ones, a single message of rejection from a loved one devastates. I see that while rejection from those with whom we rub shoulders stings, rejection from those to whom we've opened our hearts stabs.
And I wonder if those who hurt the Lord most are not those who reject His sacrifice and refuse salvation, but those with whom He is intimate by His indwelling Holy Spirit, who accuse Him of disengagement, who doubt His Word, who seek His hand and not His face.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.
Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him.
He also shall be my salvation,
For a hypocrite could not come before Him.
~ Job 13:15-16 (NKJV)
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Hello Again
This blog was started in January 2010. At the time, circumstances prevented me from writing for my blog "Building His Body," where I’d posted Bible insights daily since March 2008. Though I willingly paused writing about the Bible when I knew it necessary, I found myself far more devastated by the loss than I’d anticipated.
I am a writer. Others call it my gift and I’m inclined to agree. While writing is not my primary identity, it nourishes my soul in a unique way because it affords the opportunity to share with others the things God shows me that are just too good to keep to myself.
Sharing about my God is happily done via other avenues. The rare invitation for public speaking is a treasure, whether to lead prayer among citizens and community leaders for National Day of Prayer, to talk with familiar faces filling any sized room, or to preach at the county jail for women once or twice a year (my favorite).
Talking one-on-one is nearly the opposite kind of sharing. It is impromptu rather than prepared, for a moment or for hours, and may affect one or both of us for a lifetime. The Lord amazes me by what He does when I suddenly face a treasured friend, a nearly forgotten acquaintance, even a complete stranger, and suddenly find Him ministering to them through me. It fosters a special dependence on the Holy Spirit. On any given day, some appointments are written on my calendar, and the divine ones are written on the Lord’s.
How else do I share the Lord? At church, there's children’s Sunday School, drama team, and sometimes the praise or dance teams. Among relatives, sharing is by turns candid around dear ones with whom I’m most at ease, or cautious because they best know my failures. At home I feel my every move is a sharing of God with husband and children. I am keenly aware—often painfully aware—of how much impact I have on their lives, for better or for worse.
But my primary identity is also not wife and mother, or any one of those other multitude of roles I enthusiastically embrace. My core identity is ambassador of YHWH—of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Synonyms for ambassador are representative, diplomat, emissary, envoy. ‘Ambassador’ carries connotations the other words do not. It is derived from the Latin ambactus which means “servant.” And the Oxford dictionary defines ‘ambassador’ as “a diplomat sent by a state as its permanent representative in a foreign country.”
This is a permanent servanthood assignment rather than missions trip. My citizenship and nativity are of another place. I’m in close contact with my kingdom but don’t receive furloughs at home.
I live among foreigners inclined to misunderstand me.
When I paused Bible writing for my other blog, a friend suggested I keep writing anyway, even if it wasn't shared. Writing, for me, has never been about the recording, but about the sharing. So I started this blog to simply share what God was teaching me personally. I quickly discovered that God had far more in mind than I did. He took me through the darkest of deep pits, and there I heard the Lord speak more clearly and frequently than I ever have in my life.
I've felt exposed. I've been misunderstood. And I've been called to account by more than one person who alleged improper motives where I knew myself guiltless.
I’m by no means sinless. The Lord does a plenty adequate job of calling me to account where needed. My desire is to be blameless—that is, to settle accounts with the Lord as soon as they come to my attention. I've no reason to resist the One I trust implicitly. I respond to Him as He enables with confession, repentance, and change. I never do so adequately. He nonetheless assures me that I am not condemned.
When I felt overwhelmed by exposure and accusations, I quit posting here and took the blog offline. I’m ready to go back online with it. It will be a chronicle of things I learn on a personal level while I continue my wayfaring as an ambassador in a foreign land. I leave in place the private, precious conversations I had with the Lord in my darkest hours, labeled "Abba Whispers." In days to come the blog name will change. Though the comments remain off indefinitely, I've no objection to emails when a situation calls for it. I'm praying about what else this blog should be.
For the next few posts, I’ll simply tell what the Lord’s taught me in recent weeks that I’ve yet to share.
I am a writer. Others call it my gift and I’m inclined to agree. While writing is not my primary identity, it nourishes my soul in a unique way because it affords the opportunity to share with others the things God shows me that are just too good to keep to myself.
Sharing about my God is happily done via other avenues. The rare invitation for public speaking is a treasure, whether to lead prayer among citizens and community leaders for National Day of Prayer, to talk with familiar faces filling any sized room, or to preach at the county jail for women once or twice a year (my favorite).
Talking one-on-one is nearly the opposite kind of sharing. It is impromptu rather than prepared, for a moment or for hours, and may affect one or both of us for a lifetime. The Lord amazes me by what He does when I suddenly face a treasured friend, a nearly forgotten acquaintance, even a complete stranger, and suddenly find Him ministering to them through me. It fosters a special dependence on the Holy Spirit. On any given day, some appointments are written on my calendar, and the divine ones are written on the Lord’s.
How else do I share the Lord? At church, there's children’s Sunday School, drama team, and sometimes the praise or dance teams. Among relatives, sharing is by turns candid around dear ones with whom I’m most at ease, or cautious because they best know my failures. At home I feel my every move is a sharing of God with husband and children. I am keenly aware—often painfully aware—of how much impact I have on their lives, for better or for worse.
But my primary identity is also not wife and mother, or any one of those other multitude of roles I enthusiastically embrace. My core identity is ambassador of YHWH—of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Synonyms for ambassador are representative, diplomat, emissary, envoy. ‘Ambassador’ carries connotations the other words do not. It is derived from the Latin ambactus which means “servant.” And the Oxford dictionary defines ‘ambassador’ as “a diplomat sent by a state as its permanent representative in a foreign country.”
This is a permanent servanthood assignment rather than missions trip. My citizenship and nativity are of another place. I’m in close contact with my kingdom but don’t receive furloughs at home.
I live among foreigners inclined to misunderstand me.
When I paused Bible writing for my other blog, a friend suggested I keep writing anyway, even if it wasn't shared. Writing, for me, has never been about the recording, but about the sharing. So I started this blog to simply share what God was teaching me personally. I quickly discovered that God had far more in mind than I did. He took me through the darkest of deep pits, and there I heard the Lord speak more clearly and frequently than I ever have in my life.
I've felt exposed. I've been misunderstood. And I've been called to account by more than one person who alleged improper motives where I knew myself guiltless.
I’m by no means sinless. The Lord does a plenty adequate job of calling me to account where needed. My desire is to be blameless—that is, to settle accounts with the Lord as soon as they come to my attention. I've no reason to resist the One I trust implicitly. I respond to Him as He enables with confession, repentance, and change. I never do so adequately. He nonetheless assures me that I am not condemned.
When I felt overwhelmed by exposure and accusations, I quit posting here and took the blog offline. I’m ready to go back online with it. It will be a chronicle of things I learn on a personal level while I continue my wayfaring as an ambassador in a foreign land. I leave in place the private, precious conversations I had with the Lord in my darkest hours, labeled "Abba Whispers." In days to come the blog name will change. Though the comments remain off indefinitely, I've no objection to emails when a situation calls for it. I'm praying about what else this blog should be.
For the next few posts, I’ll simply tell what the Lord’s taught me in recent weeks that I’ve yet to share.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
You Didn't Ask
Thurs, Feb 18, morning
Place:
Prayer closet. I've been praying about many things. I want to hear the Lord's voice but sense this is a time that His Spirit may only speak with understanding of the heart and not with words. My prayers turn to some difficult blog posts I've been working on about suffering, and about the Q&A I've been struggling with on how Christians should treat homosexuals. The Lord is indeed providing understanding, but I do not hear his voice even after much prayer.
My prayer:
I want to get this right. I want to provide an answer that honors You.
Abba whisper:
You didn't ask.
[I realize I have not actually asked for the needed words, but have simply been relying on Him to provide them.]
Me:
I'm asking now. Please show me what to say.
[The understanding in my heart is that I need to apologize on behalf of other Christians. I formulate the needed answer. I feel so sad for all the hurt I start to cry.]
Me:
Lord, I'm so small for this task. So many misunderstandings. So many hurtful words. I know You must be so disappointed in us. I ask You to please go before me. Please go to every single individual who will read these words. Please give each and every one of them the right spirit to receive them. Please bring to this site by whatever means possible the exact people who need to see these words, both Christians and homosexuals. Dear God, please forgive us for how we grieve You with our selfishness. Please bring healing. Please draw people to Yourself. Please, Lord, be glorified in this. This post has been so difficult to compose. I beg You to use it to work unity, forgiveness, and love. Please, Father, teach us to love one another.
Place:
Prayer closet. I've been praying about many things. I want to hear the Lord's voice but sense this is a time that His Spirit may only speak with understanding of the heart and not with words. My prayers turn to some difficult blog posts I've been working on about suffering, and about the Q&A I've been struggling with on how Christians should treat homosexuals. The Lord is indeed providing understanding, but I do not hear his voice even after much prayer.
My prayer:
I want to get this right. I want to provide an answer that honors You.
Abba whisper:
You didn't ask.
[I realize I have not actually asked for the needed words, but have simply been relying on Him to provide them.]
Me:
I'm asking now. Please show me what to say.
[The understanding in my heart is that I need to apologize on behalf of other Christians. I formulate the needed answer. I feel so sad for all the hurt I start to cry.]
Me:
Lord, I'm so small for this task. So many misunderstandings. So many hurtful words. I know You must be so disappointed in us. I ask You to please go before me. Please go to every single individual who will read these words. Please give each and every one of them the right spirit to receive them. Please bring to this site by whatever means possible the exact people who need to see these words, both Christians and homosexuals. Dear God, please forgive us for how we grieve You with our selfishness. Please bring healing. Please draw people to Yourself. Please, Lord, be glorified in this. This post has been so difficult to compose. I beg You to use it to work unity, forgiveness, and love. Please, Father, teach us to love one another.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Never Enough
Sat, Feb 13, morning
Place:
Prayer Closet. My thoughts turn to the blog post I did for today on why a good God allows suffering.
My prayer:
How did I do? Did You show?
[There is silence. I pray some more, but my heart comes back to the same question.]
Me:
Did I do justice to You? Did Your goodness come through in my words?
Abba Whisper:
For some there is never enough.
[I feel God's sadness. My heart is moved to tell Him how good He is.]
Me:
You are good.
[I hear in my head the song "We Worship You" as I'm praying]
You let us live when we prove how evil we are, so we might accept Your redemption.
[I begin writing, so I can record everything.]
Everything You did at Calvary—so much—proved Your love and goodness.
(Holy Spirit, help me!)
You come to live within us. [with amazement]
You put Your breath in us. [my heart thinks of what it must have been like when the Lord created Adam and breathed life into him]
You give us people to love us when we're so impossible.
You make our wildest dreams come true when we honor You.
You pour out pleasure for us in all creation.
[My prayer time is interrupted for the second time to help kids get going who need to leave in a few minutes. I need to go but can't tear myself away yet.]
You provide our every need.
You supply so many wants.
You heal.
You restore.
Your love never fails or leaves us.
["We Worship You" has not stopped playing in my head. I pause praying to sing part of it in my heart.]
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
People from every nation and tongue
From every generation to come
We worship You
Hallelu Yah!
Hallelu Yah!
We worship You for Who You are
And You are good!
All the time
[I continue my own praying while the song keeps playing in the background of my mind]
You ask so little of us when You've done so much.
You forgive our continual failings.
You include us in Your glory.
You want us.
Oh Lord, despite all my failings, I love You.
[I feel my love for the Lord well up inside me.]
Father, it's so hard to be away from You.
Abba Whisper:
It needs to.
Me:
Why? Why can't our souls be satisfied?
Abba:
That's how love is.
Scripture comes to mind:
Love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as severe as Sheol;
Its flames are flames of fire,
The very flame of Yah.
(Song of Solomon 8:6, author)
Me:
I hear You less when I'm not suffering.
Abba:
You listen less.
Me:
I have to go. Help me. Help me listen more.
[I think of my day. I need to get my kids to church for a woodworking day on their AWANA Grand Prix cars. Then grocery shopping. Then food prep for a birthday celebration. Then get my daughter to a violin audition. Then birthday celebration. Then a funeral for a police officer my husband works with, who was going through a bitter divorce and committed suicide.]
Me:
Use me today? Please?
[On my way to the grocery store the next song that comes up on my CD player is one I play over and over, singing as a prayer:]
Abba, Father
My loving Father
I've come to worship You
To say 'I love You'
To lift my hands up to You
I've come to worship You
I am Your child
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
I belong to You
Abba, Father
Our loving Father
We've come to worship You
To say 'We love You'
To lift our hands up to You
We've come to worship You
We are Your children
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
We belong to You *
* Lyrics of "Abba Father" © 1998 Vineyard Music Group
Place:
Prayer Closet. My thoughts turn to the blog post I did for today on why a good God allows suffering.
My prayer:
How did I do? Did You show?
[There is silence. I pray some more, but my heart comes back to the same question.]
Me:
Did I do justice to You? Did Your goodness come through in my words?
Abba Whisper:
For some there is never enough.
[I feel God's sadness. My heart is moved to tell Him how good He is.]
Me:
You are good.
[I hear in my head the song "We Worship You" as I'm praying]
You let us live when we prove how evil we are, so we might accept Your redemption.
[I begin writing, so I can record everything.]
Everything You did at Calvary—so much—proved Your love and goodness.
(Holy Spirit, help me!)
You come to live within us. [with amazement]
You put Your breath in us. [my heart thinks of what it must have been like when the Lord created Adam and breathed life into him]
You give us people to love us when we're so impossible.
You make our wildest dreams come true when we honor You.
You pour out pleasure for us in all creation.
[My prayer time is interrupted for the second time to help kids get going who need to leave in a few minutes. I need to go but can't tear myself away yet.]
You provide our every need.
You supply so many wants.
You heal.
You restore.
Your love never fails or leaves us.
["We Worship You" has not stopped playing in my head. I pause praying to sing part of it in my heart.]
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
Lord You are good and Your mercy endureth forever.
People from every nation and tongue
From every generation to come
We worship You
Hallelu Yah!
Hallelu Yah!
We worship You for Who You are
And You are good!
All the time
[I continue my own praying while the song keeps playing in the background of my mind]
You ask so little of us when You've done so much.
You forgive our continual failings.
You include us in Your glory.
You want us.
Oh Lord, despite all my failings, I love You.
[I feel my love for the Lord well up inside me.]
Father, it's so hard to be away from You.
Abba Whisper:
It needs to.
Me:
Why? Why can't our souls be satisfied?
Abba:
That's how love is.
Scripture comes to mind:
Love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as severe as Sheol;
Its flames are flames of fire,
The very flame of Yah.
(Song of Solomon 8:6, author)
Me:
I hear You less when I'm not suffering.
Abba:
You listen less.
Me:
I have to go. Help me. Help me listen more.
[I think of my day. I need to get my kids to church for a woodworking day on their AWANA Grand Prix cars. Then grocery shopping. Then food prep for a birthday celebration. Then get my daughter to a violin audition. Then birthday celebration. Then a funeral for a police officer my husband works with, who was going through a bitter divorce and committed suicide.]
Me:
Use me today? Please?
[On my way to the grocery store the next song that comes up on my CD player is one I play over and over, singing as a prayer:]
Abba, Father
My loving Father
I've come to worship You
To say 'I love You'
To lift my hands up to You
I've come to worship You
I am Your child
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
I belong to You
Abba, Father
Our loving Father
We've come to worship You
To say 'We love You'
To lift our hands up to You
We've come to worship You
We are Your children
Born of Your Spirit
Called by Your name
Chosen by Your hand
We belong to You *
* Lyrics of "Abba Father" © 1998 Vineyard Music Group
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