Normally I'm pretty good at resting in Christ, no matter what's going on. I've gotten better at this over the years. I used to be horrible at it-tossed about like a boat on the wild waves of a storm. Thankfully the Lord has done a great work there, and I'm so very thankful. I still have a long ways to go, but boy, I can see how far He has brought me.
A lot of that rests in His promises to me. I guess one that's pretty worn out is Lamantations 3:22 - 23: "The LORD’S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness."
And normally I know that no matter how tough it is when I lie down at night, in the morning, things are going to feel better. But last week, things were especially tough. I lay down Saturday night, and I really just prayed that God would do a work in me over night. I prayed for the mercy for the next morning.
My eyes flew open Sunday morning, and you know what? There was no mercy. That's how it felt, anyway. I felt as despondent as I had the night before. That was unsettling, to say the least. Then in that same moment, a verse flew into my head, "This is the day the Lord as made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." (Psalm 118:24) I love the almost forced "I will be glad..." It's not, "I am glad..." it's "I will be..." after I pray and praise myself out of this mire.
But I didn't feel it. I think I just groaned aloud, told God I was sorry, and climbed out of the bed. Time to go about life. Just do what I need to. I did, giving myself my very desperate pep talk as I went: "Okay, God, we an do this. I love you, Lord. Just help me. Just help me..."
The big kids were at my Mom's, so it was a rather quiet morning getting ready for church. I was in Zane's bathroom, doing something, and he walks by the door. As I look over my shoulder at him in the mirror, he bursts into song. This is unusual for him. He's not my musical child, and being the unfortunate third child, I haven't sat around and sang songs with him like I did my first child. So it's super rare for him to sing, especially all on his own. I mean really.
So as I glance over my shoulder at him, he bursts into song. And guess what song it is? Yep. "This is the day. This is the day that Lord has made. I will rejoice, I will rejoice and be glad in it. And be glad in it. This is the day that Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. This is the day. This is the day that the Lord has made..."
I just froze. I looked at my self in the mirror, make up half on, crazy hair going crazy, and just stared at myself. Then I said something along the lines of, "Good grief, Lord."
I chased Zane down, got in the floor in front of him, and said, "Zane, where did you hear that song?"
He grinned at me and said, "Mrs. Jennifer sings it to me at church..."
I just sad there. Okay, Lord. I hear you. You are here. You do care. You are upholding me with your righteous right hand. I'm not alone.
I'd really love to say that I bounded right up and started praising and singing and making my merry way to church. Eh, not really.
I did become profoundly thankful. But this was more than just a simple bad morning. Or weekend. Or week. Or year. Or two years. This is a place that I'm not comfortable with. This is a path that I'm not used to being on. It's a way that is precious, but perilous. This is a process of deepening my faith and my trust in my Savior, and in my King who rescued me from the clutches of Satan, but who also is saving me over and over again, and mainly from myself. This, that morning, was another rescue from the depths of despair, but this was like saving me from the lion only to place me in front of a snapping turtle. Not as dangerous, but not fun still. And oh, I felt the weight of it all.
As I sat in church, I started thinking of all the ways my flesh would like to sooth itself. And I'm definitely using some of those unhealthy coping mechanisms more than I'd like to admit. But God in His never ending patience and love poured over me this verse:
"...We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body." (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)
Ah. The Word of God is powerful. It was the balm that allowed me set aside myself and worship and learn in that moment.
And later, when I had time to ponder it all, I thanked God again for His Word. "All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for corrections, for training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work." (2 Timothy 3: 16-17)
And when I looked up my afflicted verses, I loved even more what I found, the verse before the ones that rang in my head:
And normally I know that no matter how tough it is when I lie down at night, in the morning, things are going to feel better. But last week, things were especially tough. I lay down Saturday night, and I really just prayed that God would do a work in me over night. I prayed for the mercy for the next morning.
My eyes flew open Sunday morning, and you know what? There was no mercy. That's how it felt, anyway. I felt as despondent as I had the night before. That was unsettling, to say the least. Then in that same moment, a verse flew into my head, "This is the day the Lord as made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." (Psalm 118:24) I love the almost forced "I will be glad..." It's not, "I am glad..." it's "I will be..." after I pray and praise myself out of this mire.
But I didn't feel it. I think I just groaned aloud, told God I was sorry, and climbed out of the bed. Time to go about life. Just do what I need to. I did, giving myself my very desperate pep talk as I went: "Okay, God, we an do this. I love you, Lord. Just help me. Just help me..."
The big kids were at my Mom's, so it was a rather quiet morning getting ready for church. I was in Zane's bathroom, doing something, and he walks by the door. As I look over my shoulder at him in the mirror, he bursts into song. This is unusual for him. He's not my musical child, and being the unfortunate third child, I haven't sat around and sang songs with him like I did my first child. So it's super rare for him to sing, especially all on his own. I mean really.
So as I glance over my shoulder at him, he bursts into song. And guess what song it is? Yep. "This is the day. This is the day that Lord has made. I will rejoice, I will rejoice and be glad in it. And be glad in it. This is the day that Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. This is the day. This is the day that the Lord has made..."
I just froze. I looked at my self in the mirror, make up half on, crazy hair going crazy, and just stared at myself. Then I said something along the lines of, "Good grief, Lord."
I chased Zane down, got in the floor in front of him, and said, "Zane, where did you hear that song?"
He grinned at me and said, "Mrs. Jennifer sings it to me at church..."
I just sad there. Okay, Lord. I hear you. You are here. You do care. You are upholding me with your righteous right hand. I'm not alone.
I'd really love to say that I bounded right up and started praising and singing and making my merry way to church. Eh, not really.
I did become profoundly thankful. But this was more than just a simple bad morning. Or weekend. Or week. Or year. Or two years. This is a place that I'm not comfortable with. This is a path that I'm not used to being on. It's a way that is precious, but perilous. This is a process of deepening my faith and my trust in my Savior, and in my King who rescued me from the clutches of Satan, but who also is saving me over and over again, and mainly from myself. This, that morning, was another rescue from the depths of despair, but this was like saving me from the lion only to place me in front of a snapping turtle. Not as dangerous, but not fun still. And oh, I felt the weight of it all.
As I sat in church, I started thinking of all the ways my flesh would like to sooth itself. And I'm definitely using some of those unhealthy coping mechanisms more than I'd like to admit. But God in His never ending patience and love poured over me this verse:
"...We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body." (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)
Ah. The Word of God is powerful. It was the balm that allowed me set aside myself and worship and learn in that moment.
And later, when I had time to ponder it all, I thanked God again for His Word. "All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for corrections, for training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work." (2 Timothy 3: 16-17)
And when I looked up my afflicted verses, I loved even more what I found, the verse before the ones that rang in my head:
"But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves..." (2 Corinthians 4:7)
I loved how this translation put it:
I loved how this translation put it:
"Our bodies are made of clay, yet we have the treasure of the Good News in them. This shows that the superior power of this treasure belongs to God and doesn't come from us. "
And I loved these thoughts from Wesley:
"But we - Not only the apostles, but all true believers. Have this treasure - Of divine light, love, glory. In earthen vessels - In frail, feeble, perishing bodies. He proceeds to show, that afflictions, yea, death itself, are so far from hindering the ministration of the Spirit, that they even further it, sharpen the ministers, and increase the fruit. That the excellence of the power, which works these in us, may undeniably appear to be of God."
That's me! Frail, feeble and perishing! Or I was that morning, at least. But yes, Lord, further the Spirit in me. Sharpen the minister. Increase the fruit. That makes it all worth it, you know?
And as I closed out that rather difficult Father's Day, I decided to turn it into Abba's Day. That felt better to me. He is my Father, in most senses of the word. The only one I have, really. And into my head flew a picture, painted by one of those cheesy artists and probably in oil and on velvet.
Nonetheless, it was a picture of me, and God, walking this path. Me, small and trembling, but looking up at Him, holding His hand. The cheesiness of it all made me smile, but the truth was there. This is all worth it, because of the fruit it's bringing. I'll go whatever path, as long as He's leading and as long as He's holding my hand. And everything else. He holds it all. Isaiah 40. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
Nonetheless, it was a picture of me, and God, walking this path. Me, small and trembling, but looking up at Him, holding His hand. The cheesiness of it all made me smile, but the truth was there. This is all worth it, because of the fruit it's bringing. I'll go whatever path, as long as He's leading and as long as He's holding my hand. And everything else. He holds it all. Isaiah 40. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment