In many ways, I feel as though my heart is full today, this week. I have seen many encouraging things in the lives of my brothers and sisters, some of whom I have known for a decade and some of whom I have never formally met.
God is doing things sometimes seems like a very silly phrase but it's true and maybe the simplicity represents awe. It's good that He is God and no one else is. He's the best at it.
Respect for privacy limits what I can say on a public blog but maybe that's for the best. Mulling it over now, I realise that the theme is people serving God in a new or novel way. Serving God in a way you have already served or have always served is obviously still valuable but I think the newness has struck me profoundly. He is still working. I forget. I forget, I forget, I forget.
And in a way I feel left in the dust. I feel seated among those standing or running. I feel cowardly.
On the other hand I have felt exhilarated because of some new opportunities this week in my most obvious niche: music.
On Monday and Tuesday, I was composing cello parts for Sunday's set. It's the first week in my almost-six years as Music Director that we've had two stringed instruments on the team at the same time. I realised that most wouldn't care if both violin and cello played the melody. I realised that some even on the music team wouldn't notice the difference. But, things like this are my gargoyles on the roof. Things like this delight me. Let's draw the most beauty out of these instruments in this context that we can.
On Wednesday the band (specially formed with a music set specially tailored) did exceptional work. They really did. Some have grown together over months and years, some are finding new confidence because of in-team comraderie, some are very new to us but eager and drown in welcome, and all desire to use their gift to magnify the Lord and try to lead His people to do the same. The Lord was there with us. He gave us more than a rehearsal. He gave us more than the sum of our parts. After the second song someone asked me cheekily, "Are you having trouble getting that smile off your face?" and only then did I realise I had been grinning nonstop for a while. Two songs in particular I am over-the-moon excited to share with the congregation. It will be beautifully done to point to our beautiful God. I'm so proud of those ladies.
On Thursday (that's tonight), I auditioned a viola player and ended up with far more goosebumps than I bargained for. He played well. He played so very well. The richness of that small wooden instrument, lovingly and carefully played, filled the large room with the life and joy that only music played to the Lord can bring. He astounded me. To say I am excited for what lies ahead (considering all the new changes in the music ministry) is a disturbing understatement. On the pieces where he played to my accompaniment and especially as he played a descant part over my melody, I struggled to not leap off my seat with delight and gladness. If you are not a musician/vocalist, you may not understand that feeling. Music is a great, great, great gift from God. It can only be from Him. I have no earthly explanation for the extent of its goodness. Playing worshipful music with others to the same God we all adore is a wonderful, blessed thing.
A few months ago we had no stringed instruments. Now there is a trio. They are different voices (figurative voices) from guitar and piano. I think I am excited because we can use those different voices to express and intimate different things about God. (If you were a baker, I could say it's like choosing different shaped nozzles for the icing. Or if you were into fashion, I could say it's like choosing different accent pieces: a cherry red clutch purse doesn't change an outfit the same way printed pumps would.) It's as if praising God is desperate and urgent such that we just need to use anything we can find to do it. More instruments (figurative and literal) mean more praise. Let's do it.
Friday, 29 January 2016
Saturday, 23 January 2016
new chapter / new season / new job / new lots of things
I had big ideas about blogging glimpses of each day this week to sort of chronicle the beginning of my new job. But... my spare time this week seemed like a wet bar of soap when I was clutching for it so here I am on Friday evening, trying to do a decent job of looking back.
This week I began my work as a [childcare provider/baby-sitter/Fran Drescher wannabe] for a sweet one-year-old daughter to friends of mine.
Monday:
In some ways it was a complete blur because so much was new and the gravity of being fully responsible for a precious, vulnerable, small human was a bit overwhelming. In another way, it was dreadfully difficult because I hadn't slept well and had no coffee. But, the day was good and God's grace was [read: always is] great.
Magical moment:
Upon our return from a coffee shop (where everything was new and colourful and bright and interesting and worth staring/pointing at and cooing about) after a 20-minute walk, the babe was asleep in the stroller. I tried to scoop her out as smoothly as possible and then keep her still and cosy long enough to be sure I could put her down still asleep. I sat on the couch with the floppy girl on my chest and when I finally dared sneak a peek I saw two huge eyes looking very alertly at me. And then there was a huge, silly grin. Like she knew she had played a trick on me.
I plopped her down on the couch on her back to get the 23 layers of winter clothing off her and apparently that was also funny. The grin got worse. So I snapped a photo. It became the highlight of my day.
Tuesday:
I come in to this day considerably more confident. I am very impressed to note that she seems to partially understand the getting-dressed process because she easily gives up one limb at a time knowing it will be given back momentarily and she can resume playing/investigating.
On this day we take our first ride on the city bus. When we're parked and locked I nod to the driver and he pulls away. (It's weird being given so much deference because you're pushing a stroller.) I reach into my pocket for a tissue and discover a tiny rubber duck I forgot I had grabbed while leaving the house. Instantly I have a "I've become that guy" moment. You see things in the pockets, purses, or cars of caregivers to children that you don't see with anyone else. I hand it over, and the duck easily makes a friend.
Magical moment:
We visit a different coffee shop, one near to mom's work for easy pick-up, but one that also happens to be my favourite haunt in the whole city. She's happy in the stroller for longer than usual. (Usually if travel ceases and she's still strapped in, the disapproving wails begin promptly.) I'm able to take off my coat, etc. and get things prepped for her. She sits comfortably on my lap and I put on the table some of her snack, some toys, and my phone to play with. I hold her with my right hand and unstressedly monitor her activity. My left hand brings the coffee in periodically and I find myself staring out the window at the gorgeous snowfall. I add more snacks as she finishes the ones in front of her, I catch what she throws off the table as often as I can, I chat to her a bit, and then I have a profound moment where I realise I'm just here for her. I don't really have my own activities and the majority of how I'm using my body is for her support, help, protection, or nurturing. Our relationship has been building virtually since the day she was born (obviously it was one-sided for the most part) but I was really delighted in that intimate, trusting moment when we were so comfortable together and I was there for her.
Wednesday:
This day brought unprecedented challenges. I learned that I had previously not actually realised the extent to which I would need to be sacrificial to do this job well. I expected it to not feel like sacrifice because I love her so. Turns out you can still feel it.
Magical moment:
WHEN SHE FINALLY FELL ASLEEP.
Thursday:
I reflect on the week and on our patterns more than I thought I would. I decide that I will plan our outings and social activities further in advance, partly because this means they will go more smoothly but more because I realise that she needs more than just me in a day. She should have other influences, other teachers, other interactions, other faces, other voices, other ticklers.
I also discover on this day (with amazement) that she is starting to understand what I mean when I say, "no," and something inedible is about to go into her mouth. I've said it multiple times every day this week, and pulled her hand/the item away at the same time. But Thursday when I said it she stopped and put it down before I could even get to her. Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe she's a genius.
On this day I also inaugurate Dance Party. I wonder if it will become a Thursday special. I threw the radio on and since it was an Adele song I knew, I belted the words and cut a rug while looking invitingly into her face. At first she just watched, kind of perplexed, but with a twinkle in her eye. Then a smile broke in and she joined me in dance. (Well... "dance".)
Magical moment:
I had in no way planned this but every single day this week (including dastardly Wednesday) we have had what I am now going to call "couch time". It typically follows a nap, when she is least active and very OK with being held/cuddled. Somehow I end up lying so that my lower half makes a barrier to the front of the couch and she plays within that little pen for a good amount of time. What makes it special, I guess, is that there aren't any toys on the couch... it's just me and the couch. So we're physically very close, I talk to her a lot, she tries to yank my earrings out, she chews on the drawstring of my sweater, she climbs on me... it's fun.
Friday:
In this job I work Monday to Thursday so today I was at home in the morning and at my other job in the afternoon. Around 2.30 I found myself thinking, "I wonder what she is doing today." I didn't expect that. It seems that I miss the little stinker, which makes me quite happy. Monday is going to be great.
This week I began my work as a [childcare provider/baby-sitter/Fran Drescher wannabe] for a sweet one-year-old daughter to friends of mine.
Monday:
In some ways it was a complete blur because so much was new and the gravity of being fully responsible for a precious, vulnerable, small human was a bit overwhelming. In another way, it was dreadfully difficult because I hadn't slept well and had no coffee. But, the day was good and God's grace was [read: always is] great.
Magical moment:
Upon our return from a coffee shop (where everything was new and colourful and bright and interesting and worth staring/pointing at and cooing about) after a 20-minute walk, the babe was asleep in the stroller. I tried to scoop her out as smoothly as possible and then keep her still and cosy long enough to be sure I could put her down still asleep. I sat on the couch with the floppy girl on my chest and when I finally dared sneak a peek I saw two huge eyes looking very alertly at me. And then there was a huge, silly grin. Like she knew she had played a trick on me. I plopped her down on the couch on her back to get the 23 layers of winter clothing off her and apparently that was also funny. The grin got worse. So I snapped a photo. It became the highlight of my day.
Tuesday:
I come in to this day considerably more confident. I am very impressed to note that she seems to partially understand the getting-dressed process because she easily gives up one limb at a time knowing it will be given back momentarily and she can resume playing/investigating.
On this day we take our first ride on the city bus. When we're parked and locked I nod to the driver and he pulls away. (It's weird being given so much deference because you're pushing a stroller.) I reach into my pocket for a tissue and discover a tiny rubber duck I forgot I had grabbed while leaving the house. Instantly I have a "I've become that guy" moment. You see things in the pockets, purses, or cars of caregivers to children that you don't see with anyone else. I hand it over, and the duck easily makes a friend.Magical moment:
We visit a different coffee shop, one near to mom's work for easy pick-up, but one that also happens to be my favourite haunt in the whole city. She's happy in the stroller for longer than usual. (Usually if travel ceases and she's still strapped in, the disapproving wails begin promptly.) I'm able to take off my coat, etc. and get things prepped for her. She sits comfortably on my lap and I put on the table some of her snack, some toys, and my phone to play with. I hold her with my right hand and unstressedly monitor her activity. My left hand brings the coffee in periodically and I find myself staring out the window at the gorgeous snowfall. I add more snacks as she finishes the ones in front of her, I catch what she throws off the table as often as I can, I chat to her a bit, and then I have a profound moment where I realise I'm just here for her. I don't really have my own activities and the majority of how I'm using my body is for her support, help, protection, or nurturing. Our relationship has been building virtually since the day she was born (obviously it was one-sided for the most part) but I was really delighted in that intimate, trusting moment when we were so comfortable together and I was there for her.
Wednesday:
This day brought unprecedented challenges. I learned that I had previously not actually realised the extent to which I would need to be sacrificial to do this job well. I expected it to not feel like sacrifice because I love her so. Turns out you can still feel it.
Magical moment:
WHEN SHE FINALLY FELL ASLEEP.
Thursday:
I reflect on the week and on our patterns more than I thought I would. I decide that I will plan our outings and social activities further in advance, partly because this means they will go more smoothly but more because I realise that she needs more than just me in a day. She should have other influences, other teachers, other interactions, other faces, other voices, other ticklers.
I also discover on this day (with amazement) that she is starting to understand what I mean when I say, "no," and something inedible is about to go into her mouth. I've said it multiple times every day this week, and pulled her hand/the item away at the same time. But Thursday when I said it she stopped and put it down before I could even get to her. Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe she's a genius.
On this day I also inaugurate Dance Party. I wonder if it will become a Thursday special. I threw the radio on and since it was an Adele song I knew, I belted the words and cut a rug while looking invitingly into her face. At first she just watched, kind of perplexed, but with a twinkle in her eye. Then a smile broke in and she joined me in dance. (Well... "dance".)
Magical moment:
I had in no way planned this but every single day this week (including dastardly Wednesday) we have had what I am now going to call "couch time". It typically follows a nap, when she is least active and very OK with being held/cuddled. Somehow I end up lying so that my lower half makes a barrier to the front of the couch and she plays within that little pen for a good amount of time. What makes it special, I guess, is that there aren't any toys on the couch... it's just me and the couch. So we're physically very close, I talk to her a lot, she tries to yank my earrings out, she chews on the drawstring of my sweater, she climbs on me... it's fun.
Friday:
 |
| Little Stinker |
Saturday, 2 January 2016
Choices
Now there have been many of those priests, since death prevented them from continuing in office; but because Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood. Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.
Such a high priest truly meets our need--one who is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners, exalted above the heavens. Unlike the other high priests, he does not need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for the sins of the people. He sacrificed for their sins once for all when he offered himself. For the law appoints as high priests men in all their weakness; but the oath, which came after the law, appointed the Son, who has been made perfect forever.
(Hebrews 7:23-28)
Today has been a weird one. It's like a pseudo-Saturday after another pseudo-Saturday except this one is actually a Saturday. Holiday weeks can really mess with a person's grasp of the calendar.
A few days ago I said to a friend that I was at the point where I was willing to pay money to see the sun. It's just been so grey and after this many days I guess it has started to weigh on me. Whether it's all metaphorical or literal or a mix, I don't know.
This afternoon felt particularly low, and unpleasant thoughts and images kept pulling my brain off the pages of the Bible. With the Spirit, I fought and persevered and managed to find these beauties in the above passage:
-he is able to save completely
-he always lives to intercede for those who come to God through him
-as high priest he truly meets our need
In God's grace it transported my thoughts to a better place. I wondered for the umpteenth time how this gospel can possibly be true. It's staggering. This passage always reminds me of a particular song so this afternoon I put it on and sang Hebrews 7 back to God and it was good. You're welcome to join in.
Before the Throne of God Above
Charitie Lees Bancroft and Vikki Cook (c) 1997 Sovereign Grace Worship
Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea:
[Christ Himself is our plea before God]
A great high priest whose name is Love,who ever lives and pleads for me.
[our high priest mediates between
sinner and perfect King so that
the sinner can come before the throne]
My name is graven on His hands,
my name is written on His heart;
[we are truly known and
we were earnestly desired/sought/won]
I know that while in Heaven He stands,no tongue can bid me thence depart,
no tongue can bid me thence depart.
[as long as Jesus stands on our behalf,
no one can eject us from God's presence]
When Satan tempts me to despair
and tells me of my guilt within,
upward I look and see Him there
who made an end of all my sin.
[our righteousness is as sure
as His--and none can remove it]
Because the sinless Saviour died,
my sinful soul is counted free
for God the Just is satisfied
to look on Him and pardon me,
to look on Him and pardon me.
[it is finished!]
Behold Him there, the Risen Lamb,
my perfect, spotless righteousness,
[He is our righteousness. He has
made us permanently, perfectly clean.]
the Great Unchangeable I Am,the King of Glory and of Grace.
One with Himself I cannot die,
[one with Himself we cannot die!!]
my soul is purchased by His blood;my life is hid with Christ on high,
[we are inextricable]
with Christ my Saviour and my God,with Christ my Saviour and my God.
[He is ours and we are His. He is
our God and we are His people.]
Monday, 28 December 2015
I don't write much these days and it bothers me.
I seem to put more care and passion into writing certain kinds of emails (usually vision-casting, or notes of encouragement) than anything else. I enjoy writing those emails for sure. I just don't see them fitting into the dream of earning a living from being a writer.
I jotted down this passage weeks ago thinking I would blog from it:
Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also so see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him. (John 12:9-11)
The excerpt made me wonder about people who have met the Lord having their lives so profoundly changed that others want to "come and see" them as well as Jesus. I know it has to be different from Lazarus because resuscitation is different from all other life changes. I also know it's different without the Lord being incarnate on earth.
But there can still be a fascination, can't there? I think I've experienced this myself, particularly with co-workers, particularly after they've seen me do something that the world finds big and perplexing--even foolish. They watch to see if you're really real. The watch to see how long this something (this façade?) will last. They watch to try to figure you out. Just recently, on Christmas Eve, I found an extended family member watching me through portions of the evening. As in, she was just staring until I happened to look over. Some of the times, I was addressing several people so looking at me made sense (though not the way she was doing it). Other times I wasn't the focus of any attention at all... I hope this is a start of something God is doing to build bridges between us. I want that so badly. I've had the privilege of giving a few big/perplexing blessings to her and her family over the past couple years, and I've tried to inch us past the small talk level of conversation but that's a little slow going.
I hope she sees that I'm different. I hope she keeps seeing it and that she reaches the point where she can't swallow back the questions any more. So, why are you like this?
That has to be one of my all-time favourite questions to be asked. Maybe it's second only to what do you believe?, what is the good news/the gospel?, or who do you think God is?.
So maybe a modern equivalent to what is recorded in the above passage from John 12 would be when our non-believing friends attend a church service with us and observe us and other believers as much as they observe or listen to the sermon.
I don't know what else to say except thanks be to the God who changes us so that we make Him and His message more attractive. What a miracle and honour if "on account of [us] many [people] were going over to Jesus and believing in him"!!
I jotted down this passage weeks ago thinking I would blog from it:
Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also so see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him. (John 12:9-11)
The excerpt made me wonder about people who have met the Lord having their lives so profoundly changed that others want to "come and see" them as well as Jesus. I know it has to be different from Lazarus because resuscitation is different from all other life changes. I also know it's different without the Lord being incarnate on earth.
But there can still be a fascination, can't there? I think I've experienced this myself, particularly with co-workers, particularly after they've seen me do something that the world finds big and perplexing--even foolish. They watch to see if you're really real. The watch to see how long this something (this façade?) will last. They watch to try to figure you out. Just recently, on Christmas Eve, I found an extended family member watching me through portions of the evening. As in, she was just staring until I happened to look over. Some of the times, I was addressing several people so looking at me made sense (though not the way she was doing it). Other times I wasn't the focus of any attention at all... I hope this is a start of something God is doing to build bridges between us. I want that so badly. I've had the privilege of giving a few big/perplexing blessings to her and her family over the past couple years, and I've tried to inch us past the small talk level of conversation but that's a little slow going.
I hope she sees that I'm different. I hope she keeps seeing it and that she reaches the point where she can't swallow back the questions any more. So, why are you like this?
That has to be one of my all-time favourite questions to be asked. Maybe it's second only to what do you believe?, what is the good news/the gospel?, or who do you think God is?.
So maybe a modern equivalent to what is recorded in the above passage from John 12 would be when our non-believing friends attend a church service with us and observe us and other believers as much as they observe or listen to the sermon.
I don't know what else to say except thanks be to the God who changes us so that we make Him and His message more attractive. What a miracle and honour if "on account of [us] many [people] were going over to Jesus and believing in him"!!
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Good things.
On another Sabbath he went into the synagogue and was teaching, and a man was there whose right hand was shriveled. The Pharisees and the teachers of the law were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal on the Sabbath. But Jesus knew what they were thinking and said to the man with the shriveled hand, "get up and stand in front of everyone." So he got up and stood there.
Then Jesus said to them, "I ask you which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or destroy it?" (Luke 6:6-9)
Earlier this week I read this passage and had one of those great moments where I naturally laughed aloud and kinda shook my head as if to say, "Jesus would do that," like He's a close friend of mine, known for a certain kind of antics.
The Pharisees and the teachers of the law were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal on the Sabbath. But Jesus knew what they were thinking and said to the man with the shriveled hand, "Get up and stand in front of everyone." (vv. 7-8)
The Lord knew these awful characters were trying to trap him and He didn't turn away. He walked right into (or up to) the trap. He doesn't fear them, He doesn't submit them, He cannot be trapped, and they cannot even take His life unless He chooses to give it up. I saw that He is bold and strong. I saw that He knows the truth and the law and righteousness so intimately that He can only do good all the time. He's perfectly wise and perfectly aware. Oh, that Jesus.
The story continues:
He looked around at them all, and then said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He did so and his hand was completely restored. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law were furious and began to discuss with one another what they might do to Jesus. (Luke 6:10-11)
A man stretched out his shriveled (i.e. unusable, work-prohibiting, income-restricting, shame-bringing) hand at another man's command and it was completely restored. And the Pharisees and the teachers of the law were furious. This is the wrong reaction. This is the very wrongest reaction. Whose law are they teaching? What religion do they profess? You see a man receive miraculous healing, you see good done and life saved on the Sabbath and it infuriates you??
I have definitely read this passage and others like it numerous times before but I still found it chilling when I read it last week. Can you be so far gone? Can your heart be so hard? Can you be so opposed to God and so opposed to good that you are furious when you see Him healing, teaching, showing compassion, and fulfilling (not violating or dismissing) the Law?
I wonder about that heart and I wonder if I had the same one before Christ rescued me. I wonder if I would have eventually developed that heart given a few more years without being rescued.
The longer I've been a Christian the more I've been conformed to God's truth, to absolute truth, to objective reality. I seem to "get" Jesus (I mean this almost like grasping His stature or ontology, His Jesus-ness) in such a way that I can be deeply indignant when He is slighted or totally confounded when people (as recorded in Scripture or as I encounter in my daily life) fail to recognise His veracity, nature, and authority. I guess as I notice the transforming or refining I am also forced to realise that it doesn't come from me. I could never self-refine in this way. What an amazing thing. To turn a rebel into a loyal, adoring subject and soldier. To really change someone. To Ezekiel 37 them. Amazing.
---
The following happened a couple of months ago and I've been looking for a good context in which to share it.
Our vacuum cleaner had been giving me grief for several months, leaving behind frustrating piles of things it should be picking up. I cleaned out the canister and lint trap and every normal cloggable spot many times and it never seemed to make a difference.
One day, completely fed up, I asked my housemate to use her engineering brain on the problem. She eventually discovered that a certain hose had a remarkable amount of pine needles stuck in it (from her last Christmas tree). As if crafted by expert beavers, it had formed a magnificent dam for as much dust and hair as you could want. It was disgusting to watch it come out, clump after clump, but it was such a relief to know the problem was being sorted (without needing to replace parts or the entire vacuum).
Ten or fifteen minutes later, it was reassembled and I was happily running it over the living room carpet. After so many months of doing an inadequate job and feeling frustrated that I couldn't fix it, I was very relieved and delighted to have the thing in good working order. I blurted, "Ahh, this is so great!" because I really was glad about getting such a deep clean.
My housemate replies, "Yeah, it's doing what it's supposed to do instead of making messes everywhere!" Without thinking, I added, "Just like we will be in Heaven!"
And there was a little moment of profound, grinning silence as we reflected on that great, great future. It will be nice when we work properly. It will be nice to operate at peak, unhindered performance instead of being inadequate and only making messes.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
Tuesday, 24 November 2015
The week | The weak
On Wednesday we all got the email. My heart sank and cringed and I stared at the screen with my mouth open. Then (on some kind of autopilot) I turned back to the work I was doing and managed to put the email on ice. My sensible brain knew I didn't have the emotional capacity at that time to engage properly and I'm thankful I was able to defer.
The email was from our manager informing of a coworker being widowed that very evening. I spoke on the phone with my manager a few hours later to make sure the coworker's shifts were covered. Between what could be overheard and the fact that I was pacing (which I didn't realise I was doing), I was giving a lot away. When I got off the phone my housemate was looking at me with the this-is-obviously-serious-so-what-is-going-on? face and so I told her.
For the first few minutes we mostly sat in the "I don't even know" silence with shrugging shoulders and faces screwed up in empathy. I forgot my housemate didn't know whom the widow and the departed both called Lord and Saviour and when I informed her, the conversation became notably less heavy.
The next day at work no one mentioned it and it seemed like we were avoiding eye-contact in the same way answer-less students avoid eye-contact with the teacher. After an hour or so I asked my deskmate, "Did you get [the manager's] email?" and the quick, quiet "yes" came also without eye-contact. For the next couple hours we avoided the word itself, connected words, and connected-to-connected words. We found ourselves using the widow's name to refer to the departed because that name is just so hard to pronounce on Day Two. We talked about "the email" or "the news" or "what happened" or "Wednesday".
The day after, there was a little more levity around the office (I think in part because we had heard a bit about how our coworker was doing) and people spoke a little more freely about their wishes, their condolences, their "I don't know what I would do"s. It seems we really care about her.
On Saturday we heard about the arrangements and more emails were exchanged to coordinate attending the visitation together.
The funeral was yesterday morning and in God's kindness I was able to go. I went with the manager who is also my closest friend of all my coworkers here. She is also the only other believer in our Lord Jesus Christ (the Killer of Death, the Eradicator of Sin & the Curse, the Victor, the Conquering King, the Glorious One). It was hard. Death is hard. But how marvellous that the man leading the service yesterday ALSO knew that same Victor and he spoke passionately as if that mattered!
I kept reflecting during the service and after how differently Christians grieve. It's just night-and-day. When I got back to the office I struggled to know how to describe it to inquiring coworkers. It was of course difficult, but it was truly great because we worshipped God. It was good in a real way. But how to explain that to unbelievers and not seem awkwardly callous or morbid because you only have 30 seconds to answer? In those moments I hope my long-term witness means something.
During the first song (which I had never heard), really listening to the words, I felt a deep, deep yearning to have what the departed now has. The songs--about God being with us through every trial or hardship, about the great riches and wonder of the next life, about His magnificent presence--the songs stirred up an intense desire in me to be with Him fully and real-ly. I envied the dead. I envied, I envied, I envied. I want to be with Christ. This world is too dark, too heavy, too sorrowful, too hard. I just want to be done; I just want to be with Him.
I console myself that God calls each home at the exact right time for His purposes. I then conclude that I am here for November 24th because the Lord willed it, because it is good. And I infer that He has given or will give a way to get through.
The email was from our manager informing of a coworker being widowed that very evening. I spoke on the phone with my manager a few hours later to make sure the coworker's shifts were covered. Between what could be overheard and the fact that I was pacing (which I didn't realise I was doing), I was giving a lot away. When I got off the phone my housemate was looking at me with the this-is-obviously-serious-so-what-is-going-on? face and so I told her.
For the first few minutes we mostly sat in the "I don't even know" silence with shrugging shoulders and faces screwed up in empathy. I forgot my housemate didn't know whom the widow and the departed both called Lord and Saviour and when I informed her, the conversation became notably less heavy.
The next day at work no one mentioned it and it seemed like we were avoiding eye-contact in the same way answer-less students avoid eye-contact with the teacher. After an hour or so I asked my deskmate, "Did you get [the manager's] email?" and the quick, quiet "yes" came also without eye-contact. For the next couple hours we avoided the word itself, connected words, and connected-to-connected words. We found ourselves using the widow's name to refer to the departed because that name is just so hard to pronounce on Day Two. We talked about "the email" or "the news" or "what happened" or "Wednesday".
The day after, there was a little more levity around the office (I think in part because we had heard a bit about how our coworker was doing) and people spoke a little more freely about their wishes, their condolences, their "I don't know what I would do"s. It seems we really care about her.
On Saturday we heard about the arrangements and more emails were exchanged to coordinate attending the visitation together.
The funeral was yesterday morning and in God's kindness I was able to go. I went with the manager who is also my closest friend of all my coworkers here. She is also the only other believer in our Lord Jesus Christ (the Killer of Death, the Eradicator of Sin & the Curse, the Victor, the Conquering King, the Glorious One). It was hard. Death is hard. But how marvellous that the man leading the service yesterday ALSO knew that same Victor and he spoke passionately as if that mattered!
I kept reflecting during the service and after how differently Christians grieve. It's just night-and-day. When I got back to the office I struggled to know how to describe it to inquiring coworkers. It was of course difficult, but it was truly great because we worshipped God. It was good in a real way. But how to explain that to unbelievers and not seem awkwardly callous or morbid because you only have 30 seconds to answer? In those moments I hope my long-term witness means something.
During the first song (which I had never heard), really listening to the words, I felt a deep, deep yearning to have what the departed now has. The songs--about God being with us through every trial or hardship, about the great riches and wonder of the next life, about His magnificent presence--the songs stirred up an intense desire in me to be with Him fully and real-ly. I envied the dead. I envied, I envied, I envied. I want to be with Christ. This world is too dark, too heavy, too sorrowful, too hard. I just want to be done; I just want to be with Him.
I console myself that God calls each home at the exact right time for His purposes. I then conclude that I am here for November 24th because the Lord willed it, because it is good. And I infer that He has given or will give a way to get through.
Wednesday, 21 October 2015
Two weeks ago I got plastered for the second time in my life.
The first time I was about ten years old and had broken my tibia while ice skating. The doctor called it a "bologne" cast but I only heard "below-knee". I remember my non-reaction to the terrible pun making the doctor a little awkward. Ha.
The more recent incident was a casting to make custom orthotics, a generous gift from my mother and a hopeful solution to my lingering foot pain/injury. I still don't see how it will help but I'm not the expert.
I lay on the crinkly exam paper on my stomach so my feet dangled off the end of the table. There was a poster right at my eye-level with images and descriptions of various healthy and diseased feet. It was as disgusting as it was fascinating.
The orthotist put the radio on which washed me over with relief. This was her alternative to small talk!
She didn't narrate what she was doing and I didn't ask or turn around and look. I heard water drip back into a basin right before the warm--then hot!--gauze was placed on my foot. It felt great. It was like a foot bath or foot massage or both or something.
The orthotist's next move was what gave me the blog post. She had to continually smooth the plastered gauze from heel to to toe, presumably to keep air out and get the most accurate cast.
---
Nobody touches my feet. It wasn't until recent years that anyone in my family was allowed to see me barefoot--and I still get mocked for it to this day.
I don't cuddle or snuggle. Even when I was taking care of the boys and they would come nestle beside me or sit on my lap it took so much energy and focus to not flinch that I didn't have any left to reciprocate.
Hugging is still almost always something I have to psych myself up for. Maybe it's in the past six or seven years that I've even started accepting/initiating hugs and I still feel new. I'm still building up that neuron pathway between Physical Embrace and Relational Affection. The two (can) have an organic link. I like people, I just don't know how to like physical affection. It's hard but it's getting less scary with practice.
---
So, this almost-stranger is making even, deliberate strokes down the sole of my foot while my muscles and tendons relax right into it, in no small part because of the heat of the plaster. And something very elemental within me is feeling nourished. I feel like a baby, having no understanding of how physical touch aids development or feelings of security, having no understanding of what the words "physical" and "touch" mean, having no idea what my own nose is, but somehow being nurtured, nourished, fed by what I'm receiving.
I'm sad that I feel physical affection at such a basic level when I'm in my thirties. It shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't be this far behind. I first started noticing the phenomenon when I began receiving physiotherapy treatment last May. Then I had my first ever massage last November and it became even harder to ignore.
Some time last summer a low rumbling within nudged me to book more physiotherapy appointments than were strictly needed because someone would unhesitatingly make physical contact with me. They would be safe and they would have no emotional or relational expectations of me. I never did book those superfluous appointments--which I thank God for.
But when it came to the plastering of two Mondays ago, the denial melted away. I have a serious physical affection deficiency, ignorance, and aversion. Feeling so profoundly nourished by the latex-gloved hands of an orthotist making a cast of my feet--not expressing her enjoyment of our friendship--registered as almost tragic. It felt GREAT and it shouldn't have. I'm an amateur and it's embarrassing.
My father was sporadically in my life and sporadically (read: largely unpredictably) gave hugs, put a hand on a shoulder, playfully smacked our legs while he was driving because that's all he could reach backwardsly, etc. On top of this I was so skittish around him that the contact registered sterile or mechanical. I could do it but I didn't mean or understand it. Maybe I should say it was inaccessible. My mum doesn't like hugs or being touched, and in later years she has said so explicitly. I have two distinct childhood memories of her stroking my head while I rested on her lap. Those memories feel amazing and fake at the same time.
I want to be loved. I want to be known. I want to express through touch. I want to have relational trust and vulnerability and intimacy--and I say this with a marital relationship at the bottom of the list. I just want to be seen and valued and allowed in and allowed to need and communicate. I want to be close to someone.
I don't want my closest physical affection to come from health professionals. Lord, help me.
I'm sad that I feel physical affection at such a basic level when I'm in my thirties. It shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't be this far behind. I first started noticing the phenomenon when I began receiving physiotherapy treatment last May. Then I had my first ever massage last November and it became even harder to ignore.
Some time last summer a low rumbling within nudged me to book more physiotherapy appointments than were strictly needed because someone would unhesitatingly make physical contact with me. They would be safe and they would have no emotional or relational expectations of me. I never did book those superfluous appointments--which I thank God for.
---
But when it came to the plastering of two Mondays ago, the denial melted away. I have a serious physical affection deficiency, ignorance, and aversion. Feeling so profoundly nourished by the latex-gloved hands of an orthotist making a cast of my feet--not expressing her enjoyment of our friendship--registered as almost tragic. It felt GREAT and it shouldn't have. I'm an amateur and it's embarrassing.
My father was sporadically in my life and sporadically (read: largely unpredictably) gave hugs, put a hand on a shoulder, playfully smacked our legs while he was driving because that's all he could reach backwardsly, etc. On top of this I was so skittish around him that the contact registered sterile or mechanical. I could do it but I didn't mean or understand it. Maybe I should say it was inaccessible. My mum doesn't like hugs or being touched, and in later years she has said so explicitly. I have two distinct childhood memories of her stroking my head while I rested on her lap. Those memories feel amazing and fake at the same time.
---
I want to be loved. I want to be known. I want to express through touch. I want to have relational trust and vulnerability and intimacy--and I say this with a marital relationship at the bottom of the list. I just want to be seen and valued and allowed in and allowed to need and communicate. I want to be close to someone.
I don't want my closest physical affection to come from health professionals. Lord, help me.
Thursday, 15 October 2015
this is my gross heart.
"Whoa--free dinner!" I exclaimed. My sensitive nose had alerted me to it from a few yards away. And it smelled like just my type of cuisine.
I nipped over to get a closer look. Yup. It was a free, abandoned meal. And still hot! I did just eat but this was too good to pass up. And I was kinda hungry again. I was so excited it felt like my tail was wagging.
A final once-over and then I tucked in. It went down easy. It tasted pretty good. I licked my lips in satisfaction and headed off.
---
As a dog returns to its vomit,
so a fool repeats their folly.
(Proverbs 26:11)
Wednesday, 7 October 2015
Things for which to be thankful.
On Monday I read through the first eight verses of chapter 3 in Titus maybe six or seven times in preparation for this Sunday's service. I tend to read and re-read until I can see where we will need to be lead to enter the sermon and what we should take home after the sermon. Eventually I found the songs that I thought would work. But I thought more about flow of service, particular musicians, tempo, keys, saxophones, and how long it's been since we sang Song X.
Today I was assembling the slides for lyrics and Scripture that will be projected during the service. And as I updated to NIV 2011 not verse-by-verse but word-by-word and punctuation mark-by-punctuation mark, something got snagged in my fine-toothed comb.
I found this: He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. I read it and felt like I fell out of my chair. (I literally felt that way.) It was staggering. Us*... we are saved through the washing of rebirth. Somehow the phrasing got me. Somehow God hard-wired humans to understand cleanness and dirtiness on every figurative plane imaginable.
*moral scum buckets
And somehow He cleansed us! The washing of rebirth and renewal. Today it felt truly too good to be true. Too good to grasp. I couldn't touch fingertips trying to reach my hands around it. I couldn't bite into it, let alone swallow and digest it. I couldn't do anything but shake my head, dumbfounded. I couldn't see through it, I couldn't make sense of it, I just couldn't get it. It's too much. It's too good. IT REALLY IS GOOD NEWS. Oh, selah and amen.
Try it with me. Try reading the passage below and scrutinize each word like it's a restaurant and you're the health inspector.
Titus 3:3-7 -- At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.
Nothing more to say.
Today I was assembling the slides for lyrics and Scripture that will be projected during the service. And as I updated to NIV 2011 not verse-by-verse but word-by-word and punctuation mark-by-punctuation mark, something got snagged in my fine-toothed comb.
I found this: He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. I read it and felt like I fell out of my chair. (I literally felt that way.) It was staggering. Us*... we are saved through the washing of rebirth. Somehow the phrasing got me. Somehow God hard-wired humans to understand cleanness and dirtiness on every figurative plane imaginable.
*moral scum buckets
And somehow He cleansed us! The washing of rebirth and renewal. Today it felt truly too good to be true. Too good to grasp. I couldn't touch fingertips trying to reach my hands around it. I couldn't bite into it, let alone swallow and digest it. I couldn't do anything but shake my head, dumbfounded. I couldn't see through it, I couldn't make sense of it, I just couldn't get it. It's too much. It's too good. IT REALLY IS GOOD NEWS. Oh, selah and amen.
Try it with me. Try reading the passage below and scrutinize each word like it's a restaurant and you're the health inspector.
Titus 3:3-7 -- At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.
Nothing more to say.
Friday, 2 October 2015
chop / chop / chop
I feel so fake sometimes. I had a couple half-ideas of what I would blog about this evening and though the ideas came naturally/spontaneously, I feel oddly obligated to "check in" with this web log because it feels like it's been a while. Sigh. I don't know what I'm doing. There's always something mitigating, something extenuating. I know I'm not obligated to write... but I can't stand the thought of me not feeling like writing. I can't lose that.
I wanted to write about how relaxed I felt today from about 5pm onward (though I started tensing up again maybe an hour ago). It was relaxed + happy + OK + balanced + relieved. By 5pm I felt great confidence that I had had a full and productive day. Worked hard on a couple of things today--volunteer tasks, seminary work, paid work--and most of it wasn't exactly the stuff I delight in. They were things that needed to be done and were either best done today or could only be done today. I kept my head down, dusted off my self-discipline manual and got it done.
By 5 o'clock I felt like I was allowed to just go home and have a Friday evening. I truly felt no guilt about having achieved too little or "nothing" that day so that if in the evening I only wanted to do leisure things, it would be OK. It feels like a miracle of God that I could have such a day. I'm so happy about it and I want another. It feels like seminary has slipped perfectly into the puzzle/pie chart/engine that is my life. It has fit in a good spot and instead of squishing the other parts, it complements and relaxes them. (Not wanting to push the analogy too far) it's like adding the capstone to an arch: it means all the other pieces bear the weight they should and that the arch is its most stable. I hope I can use the capstone/cornerstone analogy because seminary is about learning about/knowing/worshipping the Lord. I'm only three weeks in but ...I'm happy about how it has mopped up some of my spare time and converted it into something healthy and edifying.
The other thing I wanted to write about was yesterday's meltdown. I've thought about writing this type of post a lot lately but I refrain because it seems like the kind of thing you say to friends, not to cyberspace. But I don't know whom to talk to. Something mitigating, extenuating. I left work after an OK shift, and a mixed physiotherapy session, but not before being harshly snapped at by a coworker. It wasn't really a big deal and on a different day I'd dismiss it more easily. But on this day the donkey's back broke under the extra 0.5 grams of weight. On this day, I was juggling shin splints on the leg of my bad foot and a rolled ankle on the leg that's supposed to be bearing extra responsibility these days. The physiotherapy that was meant to help the rolled ankle aggravated it to the point where I felt my sanity was being stretched trying to sit quietly on the therapy bed and not yell out or cry.
It was the kind of pain that forces itself to the forefront of your mind. All of us have sore muscles or joints or throats sometimes and we manage to get on with our day and tend to the pain intermittently. This was so bad that it was every fourth thought. "I'm in so much pain," I would say in my mind, unable to come up with something more complex or less obvious to think about. One block and a half away from work I stopped to sit on a bench to give my foot/leg/ankle a rest and as I thought about the 20 minutes more of walking that I had to do if I wanted to get home, and how awful each step would be, I kept thinking that fourth thought. "I'm in so much pain." Then the two halves of the analogy that I had been trying to keep apart slammed together. I'm in so much emotional pain, too. It's also a mystery. It is also something people can't see. It is also something that I see no end to in the near future. It also makes me hate myself and my mistakes and my inability to make it better.
So, my sunglasses filled with saline. I tried to hide it which made me sob more. I hate crying in public. I hate being so low and so small and so stuck that I just cry in public until I can stop crying and get up.
Eventually I stopped crying and got up. I went for lunch even though I didn't want food. I ate out even though I had recently done a robust grocery shop. I felt distinctly pushed by the LORD (my Father), the Lord (my big Brother), to go and have something I would enjoy, something that would show how He loved me. I wanted something cheap and small just to get me home (it was almost 2pm and I had eaten a small breakfast around 8). He said, "nothing too good for my daughter," just as I came up Wyndham by Carden St, and I choked up again.
Are You really here? Do You really see me? Do You get this?
Take me home. Take me with You. Tell me where to go, what to do. Tell me how to weather this. Tell me how a noble Christian lives this life. Help me to do it. Help me to trust You. Please let me see You.
At the restaurant, the server gave me that awkward look that strangers do when they can see you are crying/have just been crying/are about to cry. After I placed my order I started again. I was thinking of how nice it was to just share a meal with Him but how I had an assignment due that day and one due the next day which I wanted to start. I thought about my piles of reading that I could be doing, chipping away at. I thought about the other daunting tasks of Friday. I thought of how behind and useless I am. What's the point of anything? What's this stupid lunch going to solve? The tears came so quickly I had to go to the bathroom. My thumb hovered over "Send" on my phone for reach-out texts probably 10 times that day. But I couldn't do it. I cried in the stupid bathroom until I could stop crying. It's so awful. It's an awful prison. I don't know what's wrong.
But I made it out of the loo, and found the Psalms. (The Psalms found me.) Lunch was awesome. Just perfect and I don't know why the cold water tasted so awesome but it often does after one loses water through the eyes.
The rest of the day is practically a blur but I made it on strength that wasn't my own. I thank God for crouching down and guiding me muscle-by-muscle how to put one foot in front of the other.
This:
Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
my hope comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge. (Psalm 62:5-8)
I wanted to write about how relaxed I felt today from about 5pm onward (though I started tensing up again maybe an hour ago). It was relaxed + happy + OK + balanced + relieved. By 5pm I felt great confidence that I had had a full and productive day. Worked hard on a couple of things today--volunteer tasks, seminary work, paid work--and most of it wasn't exactly the stuff I delight in. They were things that needed to be done and were either best done today or could only be done today. I kept my head down, dusted off my self-discipline manual and got it done.
By 5 o'clock I felt like I was allowed to just go home and have a Friday evening. I truly felt no guilt about having achieved too little or "nothing" that day so that if in the evening I only wanted to do leisure things, it would be OK. It feels like a miracle of God that I could have such a day. I'm so happy about it and I want another. It feels like seminary has slipped perfectly into the puzzle/pie chart/engine that is my life. It has fit in a good spot and instead of squishing the other parts, it complements and relaxes them. (Not wanting to push the analogy too far) it's like adding the capstone to an arch: it means all the other pieces bear the weight they should and that the arch is its most stable. I hope I can use the capstone/cornerstone analogy because seminary is about learning about/knowing/worshipping the Lord. I'm only three weeks in but ...I'm happy about how it has mopped up some of my spare time and converted it into something healthy and edifying.
The other thing I wanted to write about was yesterday's meltdown. I've thought about writing this type of post a lot lately but I refrain because it seems like the kind of thing you say to friends, not to cyberspace. But I don't know whom to talk to. Something mitigating, extenuating. I left work after an OK shift, and a mixed physiotherapy session, but not before being harshly snapped at by a coworker. It wasn't really a big deal and on a different day I'd dismiss it more easily. But on this day the donkey's back broke under the extra 0.5 grams of weight. On this day, I was juggling shin splints on the leg of my bad foot and a rolled ankle on the leg that's supposed to be bearing extra responsibility these days. The physiotherapy that was meant to help the rolled ankle aggravated it to the point where I felt my sanity was being stretched trying to sit quietly on the therapy bed and not yell out or cry.
It was the kind of pain that forces itself to the forefront of your mind. All of us have sore muscles or joints or throats sometimes and we manage to get on with our day and tend to the pain intermittently. This was so bad that it was every fourth thought. "I'm in so much pain," I would say in my mind, unable to come up with something more complex or less obvious to think about. One block and a half away from work I stopped to sit on a bench to give my foot/leg/ankle a rest and as I thought about the 20 minutes more of walking that I had to do if I wanted to get home, and how awful each step would be, I kept thinking that fourth thought. "I'm in so much pain." Then the two halves of the analogy that I had been trying to keep apart slammed together. I'm in so much emotional pain, too. It's also a mystery. It is also something people can't see. It is also something that I see no end to in the near future. It also makes me hate myself and my mistakes and my inability to make it better.
So, my sunglasses filled with saline. I tried to hide it which made me sob more. I hate crying in public. I hate being so low and so small and so stuck that I just cry in public until I can stop crying and get up.
Eventually I stopped crying and got up. I went for lunch even though I didn't want food. I ate out even though I had recently done a robust grocery shop. I felt distinctly pushed by the LORD (my Father), the Lord (my big Brother), to go and have something I would enjoy, something that would show how He loved me. I wanted something cheap and small just to get me home (it was almost 2pm and I had eaten a small breakfast around 8). He said, "nothing too good for my daughter," just as I came up Wyndham by Carden St, and I choked up again.
Are You really here? Do You really see me? Do You get this?
Take me home. Take me with You. Tell me where to go, what to do. Tell me how to weather this. Tell me how a noble Christian lives this life. Help me to do it. Help me to trust You. Please let me see You.
At the restaurant, the server gave me that awkward look that strangers do when they can see you are crying/have just been crying/are about to cry. After I placed my order I started again. I was thinking of how nice it was to just share a meal with Him but how I had an assignment due that day and one due the next day which I wanted to start. I thought about my piles of reading that I could be doing, chipping away at. I thought about the other daunting tasks of Friday. I thought of how behind and useless I am. What's the point of anything? What's this stupid lunch going to solve? The tears came so quickly I had to go to the bathroom. My thumb hovered over "Send" on my phone for reach-out texts probably 10 times that day. But I couldn't do it. I cried in the stupid bathroom until I could stop crying. It's so awful. It's an awful prison. I don't know what's wrong.
But I made it out of the loo, and found the Psalms. (The Psalms found me.) Lunch was awesome. Just perfect and I don't know why the cold water tasted so awesome but it often does after one loses water through the eyes.
The rest of the day is practically a blur but I made it on strength that wasn't my own. I thank God for crouching down and guiding me muscle-by-muscle how to put one foot in front of the other.
This:
Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
my hope comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge. (Psalm 62:5-8)
Thursday, 17 September 2015
See if you can follow this...
Things the LORD knew:
-that I had a meeting in the church building this evening
-that my normal bus to get there is currently on detour
-that I would take the early alternate bus that possibly was longer than a straight walk
-that I would remember before reaching the church building that I needed hair gel
-that I would stop and start for various vehicles in the busy strip mall parking lot en route to the grocery store
and therefore:
-that at the moment I passed the doors of the LCBO an old acquaintance would emerge and warmly call my name and jolt me from the fog
He was a supplier at a former workplace whom I saw twice a week and we would yak one another's ear off, seldom on shallow topics. The age gap and the quality of the relationship had a mildly paternal feel, so the Monday/Thursday visits had become bright spots in my week.
We said we would keep in touch when I resigned my job but we didn't do a good job at first--and I had quickly realised that there really wasn't a non-sketchy-looking way for us to get together now, without the workplace context.
I've bumped into him a couple times a year around the city and though at first it was a bit starchy, we've since loosened up. Rather, I've loosened up. I've started answering more honestly when he asks, "How are ya, kiddo?" with a gaze that says "fine" is at the very bottom of his list of permitted responses.
Even today, he refused my second "fine" and prodded me with some of the things I'd divulged the last time we had crossed paths. Sometimes it's like trying to hold your bladder, the desire to answer "how are you?" honestly. I can hold it, I can hold it, I can hold it... churns through your mind as you try to think about anything but your quaking lower abdomen. But because of your pride, you refrain longer than is healthy.
What good has a false front brought you? There are times when we must be strong and wait but there are times when we are completely at liberty to do what we need to and we don't. We just don't because of our damnable pride or in the case of transparency in relationship, because of fear.
-that I had a meeting in the church building this evening
-that my normal bus to get there is currently on detour
-that I would take the early alternate bus that possibly was longer than a straight walk
-that I would remember before reaching the church building that I needed hair gel
-that I would stop and start for various vehicles in the busy strip mall parking lot en route to the grocery store
and therefore:
-that at the moment I passed the doors of the LCBO an old acquaintance would emerge and warmly call my name and jolt me from the fog
He was a supplier at a former workplace whom I saw twice a week and we would yak one another's ear off, seldom on shallow topics. The age gap and the quality of the relationship had a mildly paternal feel, so the Monday/Thursday visits had become bright spots in my week.
We said we would keep in touch when I resigned my job but we didn't do a good job at first--and I had quickly realised that there really wasn't a non-sketchy-looking way for us to get together now, without the workplace context.
I've bumped into him a couple times a year around the city and though at first it was a bit starchy, we've since loosened up. Rather, I've loosened up. I've started answering more honestly when he asks, "How are ya, kiddo?" with a gaze that says "fine" is at the very bottom of his list of permitted responses.
Even today, he refused my second "fine" and prodded me with some of the things I'd divulged the last time we had crossed paths. Sometimes it's like trying to hold your bladder, the desire to answer "how are you?" honestly. I can hold it, I can hold it, I can hold it... churns through your mind as you try to think about anything but your quaking lower abdomen. But because of your pride, you refrain longer than is healthy.
What good has a false front brought you? There are times when we must be strong and wait but there are times when we are completely at liberty to do what we need to and we don't. We just don't because of our damnable pride or in the case of transparency in relationship, because of fear.
When I caved and explained a little, he didn't recoil or become awkward. I cut myself off but he read enough to exude so much genuine sympathy/softness/heart that I was unable to escape it. He looked at me like he cared how I was doing and that my answer made his heart sink a little. This doesn't make sense for an acquaintance with such irregular interaction. I only think the LORD put someone there for me today to meet a need because of His lavish kindness.
Somewhere in the mix of the opening pleasantries to our conversation he told me I "looked fab by the way" and because it was him and because it wasn't sexual at all, it blasted out all my inner negative self-criticism for several glorious moments. They fell to a stunned hush which yielded beautiful (disorienting) relief.
Before we parted he looked like he wanted to give me a hug and I was already moving in when he was asking permission. I love that he asks and I appreciate that in the past he's been able to discern the days that there's no chance I'll say yes so he doesn't even bother asking. It's cool to be seen and known and liked.
I can't say I really know how to read or pray or appropriate the psalms. But I read these today and they connected, so I'm reproducing them here, to close the post.
But you, LORD, are a shield around me,
my glory, the One who lifts my head high. (3:3)
Answer me when I call to you,
my righteous God.
Give me relief from my distress;
have mercy on me and hear my prayer. (4:1)
In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, LORD,
make me dwell in safety. (4:8)
I am worn out from my groaning. (6:6a)
I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness;
I will sing the praises of the name of LORD Most High. (7:17)
This one I so much want to claim because it speaks to such intimacy:
In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice;
in the morning I lay my requests before you
and wait expectantly. (5:3)
And this one is the general frame of our glorious, glorious gospel so I'm going to type it out because I can't not pump a fist for it:
For you are not a God who is pleased with wickedness;
with you, evil people are not welcome.
The arrogant cannot stand
in your presence.
You hate all who do wrong;
you destroy those who tell lies.
The bloodthirsty and deceitful
you, LORD, detest.
But I, by your great love,
can come into your house;
in reverence I bow down
toward your holy temple. (5:4-7)
"But I, by your great love."
that's like the beginning and end of every sentence in my life!
Somewhere in the mix of the opening pleasantries to our conversation he told me I "looked fab by the way" and because it was him and because it wasn't sexual at all, it blasted out all my inner negative self-criticism for several glorious moments. They fell to a stunned hush which yielded beautiful (disorienting) relief.
Before we parted he looked like he wanted to give me a hug and I was already moving in when he was asking permission. I love that he asks and I appreciate that in the past he's been able to discern the days that there's no chance I'll say yes so he doesn't even bother asking. It's cool to be seen and known and liked.
I can't say I really know how to read or pray or appropriate the psalms. But I read these today and they connected, so I'm reproducing them here, to close the post.
But you, LORD, are a shield around me,
my glory, the One who lifts my head high. (3:3)
Answer me when I call to you,
my righteous God.
Give me relief from my distress;
have mercy on me and hear my prayer. (4:1)
In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, LORD,
make me dwell in safety. (4:8)
I am worn out from my groaning. (6:6a)
I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness;
I will sing the praises of the name of LORD Most High. (7:17)
This one I so much want to claim because it speaks to such intimacy:
In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice;
in the morning I lay my requests before you
and wait expectantly. (5:3)
And this one is the general frame of our glorious, glorious gospel so I'm going to type it out because I can't not pump a fist for it:
For you are not a God who is pleased with wickedness;
with you, evil people are not welcome.
The arrogant cannot stand
in your presence.
You hate all who do wrong;
you destroy those who tell lies.
The bloodthirsty and deceitful
you, LORD, detest.
But I, by your great love,
can come into your house;
in reverence I bow down
toward your holy temple. (5:4-7)
"But I, by your great love."
that's like the beginning and end of every sentence in my life!
Monday, 7 September 2015
grapefruit spoon
Every time I go past the Homewood (which is at least five times a week), I think about how close I have come to being a part of it. I feel so weird [intensely unsettled] every time I go through that little stretch on Delhi Street: General Hospital (which I have visited maybe ten times in the past year), various Homewood satellite buildings (one of which I've had several appointments in), and the Homewood Health Centre main building (outside which I once parked, not sure how to get out of the car; the outside of which I embarrassedly explored; the front doors of which I almost opened, the front desk of which I could see, the confusing signs on which alarmed me so surreally that I left).
It was scary thinking I could belong there. It was scary thinking my mind was not my own. It was scary thinking I had become so desperate for help/relief with what was going on inside my head. It's so impossible to have mental pain/issues. It's so impossible to use the malfunctioning organ to find treatment for itself. (How does one think about solutions to mental problems?)
It was frustrating thinking that I very likely didn't belong there but that I didn't know what was the downgraded option. What were the middle options between checking into an institute and talking to friends? The middle of that spectrum is a mystery to me.
It's impossible that these problems actually exist. How can there be something wrong with my brain? And how do I describe it? And how do I get them to believe me? How do I get out of this impossibility? What else is there to think about?
And then, often, this is all out of my head as soon as I reach Emma Street or Eramosa Road.
[I had actually finished and published the post here but conviction overwhelmed me and I had to take it down. It seems that God must have the last word despite how intense my emotions are.]
All I have are these words:
Oh, what peace the Spirit of Jesus brings,
through the trials He will carry me.
One day in heaven our eyes will meet;
filled with wonder, all the saints will sing:
Hallelujah, what a Saviour!
I owe everything to Him.
Hallelujah, what a Saviour,
hallelujah to my King.
© 2007 "Hallelujah to my King" by Brenton Brown and Paul Baloche
I don't have it in me. I don't have much of anything in me but I can say those words. I can't emote or smile about those words but I can know them and speak [proclaim] them. I can lie on top of the life raft and let gravity keep me in place; I don't need strength or effort in order to stay put.
Here I am. Hallelujah to my Saviour-Shepherd-King. And hallelujah for that "one day". Yes, yes, yes.
It was scary thinking I could belong there. It was scary thinking my mind was not my own. It was scary thinking I had become so desperate for help/relief with what was going on inside my head. It's so impossible to have mental pain/issues. It's so impossible to use the malfunctioning organ to find treatment for itself. (How does one think about solutions to mental problems?)
It was frustrating thinking that I very likely didn't belong there but that I didn't know what was the downgraded option. What were the middle options between checking into an institute and talking to friends? The middle of that spectrum is a mystery to me.
It's impossible that these problems actually exist. How can there be something wrong with my brain? And how do I describe it? And how do I get them to believe me? How do I get out of this impossibility? What else is there to think about?
And then, often, this is all out of my head as soon as I reach Emma Street or Eramosa Road.
[I had actually finished and published the post here but conviction overwhelmed me and I had to take it down. It seems that God must have the last word despite how intense my emotions are.]
All I have are these words:
Oh, what peace the Spirit of Jesus brings,
through the trials He will carry me.
One day in heaven our eyes will meet;
filled with wonder, all the saints will sing:
Hallelujah, what a Saviour!
I owe everything to Him.
Hallelujah, what a Saviour,
hallelujah to my King.
© 2007 "Hallelujah to my King" by Brenton Brown and Paul Baloche
I don't have it in me. I don't have much of anything in me but I can say those words. I can't emote or smile about those words but I can know them and speak [proclaim] them. I can lie on top of the life raft and let gravity keep me in place; I don't need strength or effort in order to stay put.
Here I am. Hallelujah to my Saviour-Shepherd-King. And hallelujah for that "one day". Yes, yes, yes.
Tuesday, 25 August 2015
Legal movement without dribbling.
a.k.a. The Pivot
Partly, it feels like I've been lassoed mid-torso and my arms are pinned to my sides. Besides restricting movement above my elbows, it is humiliating because I am not an animal.
Partly, it feels like there's a thick, dark sac over my head and I can't see or breathe very well.
It is a velvet cloak, soaked through. It's heavy, it's awkward, it leaves a watery mess wherever I go. It's three sizes too big and the hood conceals my face as if doing passers-by a favour.
It is a parched throat that chokes speech into crackles of nonsense.
There is a thick, slimy swamp that comes up above my hips that is barely liquid. It's so dense and relentless sometimes I think I'm only imagining that I'm walking at all.
It can be very loud and angry. It can be an unsuppressible desire to scream and scream.
It's like a gagged mouth
It's like a puffed up face
It is aloneness
It is hard to express and hard to avoid
It is heavy
It is difficult
It weakens and drains and tires
It hangs off one's neck
It obstructs and it denies
Partly, it's a mystery that makes anticipating God's work here that much more exciting.
Partly, it's a darkness I can be grateful for as it makes His light that much more brilliant.
Partly, it's a push each day, each morning, each moment to lift my eyes up to the mountains, where my help comes from---when everything else is weighed down, tied up, muted, or suffocated, I can still lift up my eyes.
Partly, it feels like I've been lassoed mid-torso and my arms are pinned to my sides. Besides restricting movement above my elbows, it is humiliating because I am not an animal.
Partly, it feels like there's a thick, dark sac over my head and I can't see or breathe very well.
It is a velvet cloak, soaked through. It's heavy, it's awkward, it leaves a watery mess wherever I go. It's three sizes too big and the hood conceals my face as if doing passers-by a favour.
It is a parched throat that chokes speech into crackles of nonsense.
There is a thick, slimy swamp that comes up above my hips that is barely liquid. It's so dense and relentless sometimes I think I'm only imagining that I'm walking at all.
It can be very loud and angry. It can be an unsuppressible desire to scream and scream.
It's like a gagged mouth
It's like a puffed up face
It is aloneness
It is hard to express and hard to avoid
It is heavy
It is difficult
It weakens and drains and tires
It hangs off one's neck
It obstructs and it denies
This is my depression; this is my mood-world.
Partly, it's a mystery that makes anticipating God's work here that much more exciting.
Partly, it's a darkness I can be grateful for as it makes His light that much more brilliant.
Partly, it's a push each day, each morning, each moment to lift my eyes up to the mountains, where my help comes from---when everything else is weighed down, tied up, muted, or suffocated, I can still lift up my eyes.
It is a terrible handicap, but I belong to God: I am treasured and whole, carried and loved.
Tuesday, 18 August 2015
From Latin meaning "entering the flesh again".
Yesterday, thinking about things I've done to deal with a persistent, difficult situation that started over two years ago, things I should have done differently, and things I very much regret, I re-realised that I seem to believe in reincarnation. The regret is so much bitterer because with hindsight I see how much extra damage I have probably done. (Of course, maybe nothing I did made it worse but I doubt it--and I'll never know.)
I think I first realised in my early twenties that I (seem to) believe in reincarnation when I recognised myself expecting to be able to do high school a second time, changing all the things I now regretted. I have a mirror (a mirrored partition) in my mind; I have a way of processing stages or life events as if what is happening or has happened is only the first time of more than one time. It seems unhealthy when I look at it but it's really hard to remove. I feel like I have the denial barrier of a schizophrenic when I consider the un-partitioned view. As in...I completely irrationally hold on to getting another chance because the thought of not being able to change or redo things ruins me. I cannot face it. I cannot face it.
That said, the Lord has made me less insane and unreasonable since my early twenties. It's getting microscopically better as I realise that my entire life is in God's hands and He will both judge and produce the merit of it.
But until I fully accept that, what am I to do with having only ONE life, only ONE Tuesday, 18 August, 2015?? How can I bear loss and mistakes and regrets and failure and missed opportunities? How can I make it to the end without any scars? How do I live a life that needs no doubling-back?
I think I first realised in my early twenties that I (seem to) believe in reincarnation when I recognised myself expecting to be able to do high school a second time, changing all the things I now regretted. I have a mirror (a mirrored partition) in my mind; I have a way of processing stages or life events as if what is happening or has happened is only the first time of more than one time. It seems unhealthy when I look at it but it's really hard to remove. I feel like I have the denial barrier of a schizophrenic when I consider the un-partitioned view. As in...I completely irrationally hold on to getting another chance because the thought of not being able to change or redo things ruins me. I cannot face it. I cannot face it.
That said, the Lord has made me less insane and unreasonable since my early twenties. It's getting microscopically better as I realise that my entire life is in God's hands and He will both judge and produce the merit of it.
But until I fully accept that, what am I to do with having only ONE life, only ONE Tuesday, 18 August, 2015?? How can I bear loss and mistakes and regrets and failure and missed opportunities? How can I make it to the end without any scars? How do I live a life that needs no doubling-back?
[Author's note: I went looking for a Scripture passage which would explain how God's grace covers all, and brings good things out of crummy things but none of the passages I could think of were clicking. I take a break from searching, deliberately putting the blog aside, to try to reset and come back fresh. "Not to Us" starts playing in my head. The song's thrust is lifted from Psalm 115: Not to us, LORD, not to us but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness. (v 1) I let the song continue to play and then the solar system shudders as gears grind and earth starts revolving around the sun--it doesn't matter what I do. It matters greatly what God does and what He is like.
This is not the antidote I had in mind. I wanted it to be that God covers or fixes our failures, He helps us overcome regret, He is the reason we don't need do-overs. (I really just wanted emotional balm.) But God changed my view.]
Psalm 111
Praise the LORD.
I will extol the LORD with all my heart
in the council of the upright and in the assembly.
Great are the works of the LORD;
they are pondered by all who delight in them.
Glorious and majestic are his deeds,
and his righteousness endures forever.
He has caused his wonders to be remembered;
the LORD is gracious and compassionate.
He provides food for those who fear him;
he remembers his covenant forever.
He has shown his people the power of his works,
giving them the lands of other nations.
The works of his hands are faithful and just;
all his precepts are trustworthy.
They are established for ever and ever,
enacted in faithfulness and uprightness.
He provided redemption for his people;
he ordained his covenant forever--
holy and awesome is his name.
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom;
all who follow his precepts have good understanding.
To him belongs eternal praise.
Monday, 3 August 2015
Adventures in house cleaning and Deuteronomy.
Alternate title: My Saturday
At the outset of the day, I had planned to clean and tidy the house so that it didn't look like I had gone full bachelor the week my housemate was away. (I had.) But a funny thing happened. As I experienced the high that comes from doing things one ought in the time-frame and manner they ought to be done, I enjoyed myself more and more. I liked seeing my work; I liked seeing the place transformed. I also liked that it was giving me CV exercise. This is all rare for me because I tend to clean/tidy in spurts, as I go, like a "P" of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator analysis. But on this day I was experimenting in "J"-dom and decided to knock out ALL the cleaning before noon.
Now the real funny thing that happened was that the more I cleaned, the more I wanted to clean. That is, the more I cleaned one thing/room/area, the more I noticed the comparative uncleanness of the adjacent thing/room/area. It was an eerily powerful motivator. And it wasn't even as if I thought, "I should really do that, too," it was a deeper pull of obligation to apply the new standard uniformly.
And of course I thought of it as a spiritual metaphor.
I distinctly remember sweeping a corner of the kitchen, looking at the winter-wear basket on the floor (and deciding whether I would lift it up to sweep under it), and thinking that this is just how it feels as the Holy Spirit cleans up our lives. As time passes and the Lord refines us, the comparative "uncleanness" or dirtiness of adjacent areas becomes clearer and painfully undeniable. It looks dirtier next to something clean. We begin to wish to have the new standard applied uniformly. (One of the best ways to find out how dirty your hands are is to look at a full pack of cards after you've put the Euchre deck back.)
As a new Christian, I actually didn't think there was very much wrong with me. I still believed the "good person" lie, and thought I was roughly equal to the other Christians I knew. But slowly, faithfully, inescapably, and squirmingly, God the Holy Spirit has shown me more and more of how foul I really am.
Yesterday's sermon spent some time describing the great joy and peace that comes from God knowing those who are His. This is the kind of knowing that is intimate and experiential, not a mere awareness of our existence. Because of this, He knows all our sin--all of it. Because of this, He was able to pay for it all. That's a glorious thing--I really believe it is. But, as I was listening, I felt like I understood the ugly backdrop to what the preacher meant and what he was feeling though there are no words to articulate all of it.
We are so gross.
We are so gross,
we are so gross,
we are so gross.
As he spoke to us and told us how great it is that Jesus knows it all since that means we can have complete, iron-clad assurance [read: confidence one puts in a bungee jumping teacher] that Jesus paid it all, he seemed relieved and moved. He told us it was his great joy and his great hope. But he also seemed to know something of what the Omniscient Lord sees. He seemed to know that what had been revealed to him up to this point in his Christian life was disgusting enough but that God knew how much worse it truly was. We can only be so thankful and marvel so much at God's grace if we know how ill-deserving we are.
As I sat and listened, I thought I might start to cry. I just felt so dirty. I felt so much of my sinfulness that it turned my stomach. It's really bad and it's worse than I can fathom. I'm so sorry.
---
Later in the day I was feasting in Deuteronomy. I found these remarkable gems.
1) I can't give you the context of the preceding three books of the Bible but I can hope you know enough about Moses' time as leader of the Israelites and you know some of what the LORD did for Israel during that time. At the very least there was the exodus from slavery in Egypt (some of that by a miraculous parting of a sea so Israel could walk through on dry land). There was also God not killing them when they rebelled against Him.. there was Him choosing to dwell among them.. there was Him giving them a way to make atonement for their sins through animal sacrifice...there was also all His covenantal faithfulness...there was the gift of Passover and the gift of the Law...and there was Him delivering enemies into Israel's hands, among other things.
(I'll leave two verses of mini context for my passage.)
At that time I [Moses] commanded Joshua: "You have seen with your own eyes all that the LORD your God has done to these two kings. The LORD will do the same to all the kingdoms over there where you are going. Do not be afraid of them; the LORD your God himself will fight for you."
At that time I pleaded with the LORD: "Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do?" (Deuteronomy 3:21-24)
Moses must really get it. After all he has seen, he says here at the end of his 120-year life, "Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show your servant your greatness and your strong hand." He has only begun! Just imagine how great this means the rest of God is!
2) For this one I don't really have commentary. It's just a fantastic, gripping, exultant passage.
To the LORD your God belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it. Yet the LORD set his affection on your ancestors and loved them, and he chose you, their descendants, above all the nations--as it is today. Circumcise your hearts, therefore, and do not be stiff-necked any longer. For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing. And you are to love those who are foreigners, for you yourselves were foreigners in Egypt. Fear the LORD your God and serve him. Hold fast to him and take your oaths in his name. He is the one you praise; he is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes. Your ancestors who went down into Egypt were seventy in all, and now the LORD your God has made you as numerous as the stars in the sky. (10:14-22)
3) What I noticed in this passage was like finding a note in the bottom of your lunch bag, sneakily placed there by the person who kindly packed it for you.
No Ammonite or Moabite or any of their descendants may enter the assembly of the LORD, not even in the tenth generation. For they did not come to meet you with bread and water on your way when you came out of Egypt, and they hired Balaam son of Beor from Pethor in Aram Naharaim to pronounce a curse on you. However the LORD your God would not listen to Balaam but turned the curse into a blessing for you, because the LORD your God loves you. Do not seek a treaty of friendship with them as long as you live. (23:3-6)
I think I did a double-take when I read "because the LORD your God loves you" in the same way people in the movies gawk and sputter when their significant other says, "I love you," for the first time but doesn't realise it has slipped out. I think that steeping in the OT for the past two weeks made me expect Moses to say, "because the LORD swore an oath to your forefathers," or, "because the LORD's anger was aroused," or, "because the LORD is holy and just." But... "because the LORD your God loves you"??!? How flabbergasting. I felt really shocked. It seemed quite tender. It reminded me of what Paul said to the Philippians, telling them to throw their anxieties on God because He cares for them (or, because it matters to Him about them)--not because He is powerful, but because He cares. (It is of course a colossal bonus that He is powerful AND He cares.)
--
So,
put together,
I love this great God, the LORD my God to whom belong the highest heavens,
I'm deeply ashamed of my sin and I believe it warranted death. I wish I didn't have any but I want Him to see all my sin so He can absolve me of every last item on the list. I know I will never deserve this. I know this gospel is a mystery and for that reason I love it even more.
I thank God that He cleanses us--
I thank God that He shows Himself to us--
I thank God that He fights for us, provides for us, and disciplines us--
I thank God that He sneaks love notes into our lunches!
--
I hear the Saviour say, "Thy strength indeed is small!
Child of weakness, watch and pray, find in Me thine all in all."
Lord, now indeed I find Thy pow'r and Thine alone,
can change the leper's spots and melt the heart of stone.
For nothing good have I whereby Thy grace to claim--
I'll wash my garments white in the blood of Calv'ry's Lamb.
And when before the throne I stand in Him complete,
"Jesus died my soul to save," my lips shall still repeat.
Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain--He washed it white as snow.
"Jesus Paid it All" by Elvina M. Hall (Public Domain)
At the outset of the day, I had planned to clean and tidy the house so that it didn't look like I had gone full bachelor the week my housemate was away. (I had.) But a funny thing happened. As I experienced the high that comes from doing things one ought in the time-frame and manner they ought to be done, I enjoyed myself more and more. I liked seeing my work; I liked seeing the place transformed. I also liked that it was giving me CV exercise. This is all rare for me because I tend to clean/tidy in spurts, as I go, like a "P" of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator analysis. But on this day I was experimenting in "J"-dom and decided to knock out ALL the cleaning before noon.
Now the real funny thing that happened was that the more I cleaned, the more I wanted to clean. That is, the more I cleaned one thing/room/area, the more I noticed the comparative uncleanness of the adjacent thing/room/area. It was an eerily powerful motivator. And it wasn't even as if I thought, "I should really do that, too," it was a deeper pull of obligation to apply the new standard uniformly.
And of course I thought of it as a spiritual metaphor.
I distinctly remember sweeping a corner of the kitchen, looking at the winter-wear basket on the floor (and deciding whether I would lift it up to sweep under it), and thinking that this is just how it feels as the Holy Spirit cleans up our lives. As time passes and the Lord refines us, the comparative "uncleanness" or dirtiness of adjacent areas becomes clearer and painfully undeniable. It looks dirtier next to something clean. We begin to wish to have the new standard applied uniformly. (One of the best ways to find out how dirty your hands are is to look at a full pack of cards after you've put the Euchre deck back.)
As a new Christian, I actually didn't think there was very much wrong with me. I still believed the "good person" lie, and thought I was roughly equal to the other Christians I knew. But slowly, faithfully, inescapably, and squirmingly, God the Holy Spirit has shown me more and more of how foul I really am.
Yesterday's sermon spent some time describing the great joy and peace that comes from God knowing those who are His. This is the kind of knowing that is intimate and experiential, not a mere awareness of our existence. Because of this, He knows all our sin--all of it. Because of this, He was able to pay for it all. That's a glorious thing--I really believe it is. But, as I was listening, I felt like I understood the ugly backdrop to what the preacher meant and what he was feeling though there are no words to articulate all of it.
We are so gross.
We are so gross,
we are so gross,
we are so gross.
As he spoke to us and told us how great it is that Jesus knows it all since that means we can have complete, iron-clad assurance [read: confidence one puts in a bungee jumping teacher] that Jesus paid it all, he seemed relieved and moved. He told us it was his great joy and his great hope. But he also seemed to know something of what the Omniscient Lord sees. He seemed to know that what had been revealed to him up to this point in his Christian life was disgusting enough but that God knew how much worse it truly was. We can only be so thankful and marvel so much at God's grace if we know how ill-deserving we are.
As I sat and listened, I thought I might start to cry. I just felt so dirty. I felt so much of my sinfulness that it turned my stomach. It's really bad and it's worse than I can fathom. I'm so sorry.
---
Later in the day I was feasting in Deuteronomy. I found these remarkable gems.
1) I can't give you the context of the preceding three books of the Bible but I can hope you know enough about Moses' time as leader of the Israelites and you know some of what the LORD did for Israel during that time. At the very least there was the exodus from slavery in Egypt (some of that by a miraculous parting of a sea so Israel could walk through on dry land). There was also God not killing them when they rebelled against Him.. there was Him choosing to dwell among them.. there was Him giving them a way to make atonement for their sins through animal sacrifice...there was also all His covenantal faithfulness...there was the gift of Passover and the gift of the Law...and there was Him delivering enemies into Israel's hands, among other things.
(I'll leave two verses of mini context for my passage.)
At that time I [Moses] commanded Joshua: "You have seen with your own eyes all that the LORD your God has done to these two kings. The LORD will do the same to all the kingdoms over there where you are going. Do not be afraid of them; the LORD your God himself will fight for you."
At that time I pleaded with the LORD: "Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do?" (Deuteronomy 3:21-24)
Moses must really get it. After all he has seen, he says here at the end of his 120-year life, "Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show your servant your greatness and your strong hand." He has only begun! Just imagine how great this means the rest of God is!
2) For this one I don't really have commentary. It's just a fantastic, gripping, exultant passage.
To the LORD your God belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it. Yet the LORD set his affection on your ancestors and loved them, and he chose you, their descendants, above all the nations--as it is today. Circumcise your hearts, therefore, and do not be stiff-necked any longer. For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing. And you are to love those who are foreigners, for you yourselves were foreigners in Egypt. Fear the LORD your God and serve him. Hold fast to him and take your oaths in his name. He is the one you praise; he is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes. Your ancestors who went down into Egypt were seventy in all, and now the LORD your God has made you as numerous as the stars in the sky. (10:14-22)
3) What I noticed in this passage was like finding a note in the bottom of your lunch bag, sneakily placed there by the person who kindly packed it for you.
No Ammonite or Moabite or any of their descendants may enter the assembly of the LORD, not even in the tenth generation. For they did not come to meet you with bread and water on your way when you came out of Egypt, and they hired Balaam son of Beor from Pethor in Aram Naharaim to pronounce a curse on you. However the LORD your God would not listen to Balaam but turned the curse into a blessing for you, because the LORD your God loves you. Do not seek a treaty of friendship with them as long as you live. (23:3-6)
I think I did a double-take when I read "because the LORD your God loves you" in the same way people in the movies gawk and sputter when their significant other says, "I love you," for the first time but doesn't realise it has slipped out. I think that steeping in the OT for the past two weeks made me expect Moses to say, "because the LORD swore an oath to your forefathers," or, "because the LORD's anger was aroused," or, "because the LORD is holy and just." But... "because the LORD your God loves you"??!? How flabbergasting. I felt really shocked. It seemed quite tender. It reminded me of what Paul said to the Philippians, telling them to throw their anxieties on God because He cares for them (or, because it matters to Him about them)--not because He is powerful, but because He cares. (It is of course a colossal bonus that He is powerful AND He cares.)
--
So,
put together,
I love this great God, the LORD my God to whom belong the highest heavens,
and I love what He did for Israel and I love what He did for me. I love that He loves me and how He loves me. He is too kind. He is bursting with compassion and majesty. He is holy and impeccable. He is beautiful, glorious, righteous, and awesome. He is so good.
I'm deeply ashamed of my sin and I believe it warranted death. I wish I didn't have any but I want Him to see all my sin so He can absolve me of every last item on the list. I know I will never deserve this. I know this gospel is a mystery and for that reason I love it even more.
I thank God that He cleanses us--
I thank God that He shows Himself to us--
I thank God that He fights for us, provides for us, and disciplines us--
I thank God that He sneaks love notes into our lunches!
Oh, praise the One who paid my debt
and raised this life up from the dead!
--
I hear the Saviour say, "Thy strength indeed is small!
Child of weakness, watch and pray, find in Me thine all in all."
Lord, now indeed I find Thy pow'r and Thine alone,
can change the leper's spots and melt the heart of stone.
For nothing good have I whereby Thy grace to claim--
I'll wash my garments white in the blood of Calv'ry's Lamb.
And when before the throne I stand in Him complete,
"Jesus died my soul to save," my lips shall still repeat.
Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain--He washed it white as snow.
"Jesus Paid it All" by Elvina M. Hall (Public Domain)
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