Peniel / Coram Deo

This guy is impossible! I thought as I tried for the sixth time in last ten minutes to secure a hold so I could force him to the ground and then get my weight on top.

Was it ten minutes or was it thirty? How long have we been doing th-oof! His foot expertly behind my ankle, I was tripped to the ground again.

Aauuugh!! I bellowed as I leapt up and drove at him again, wild with frustration. I drove right into a half-nelson. My left fist came angrily down on whatever it could. He grunted, but barely loosened his grip. So I bit him. It's less dignified than I want to be but I just couldn't be stuck like that.

He yelped and let go. Then in the otherwise still night, all that could be heard was hard breaths and gravel crunching underfoot as each man sized up the other, plotting his next move.

Another ten minutes (or half an hour?) passed. More holds, another break. Hard breathing, gravel crunching.

Another ten minutes (another forever) passed. 

My muscles were trembling in agony. I couldn't believe I was still standing. There was sweat stinging my eyes. There was dirt caked into my sweat. He didn't look nearly as dishevelled, which drove me more to try to take him down but this guy was impossible.

I wasn't going to hand him a win, though. He had to take it. I stayed standing, despite jelly legs. I kept grappling despite raw hands. This was not over.

Then day broke and I felt a new surge of energy and optimism. Gravel crunch, deep breath, attack. This round, there was no clear winner. We were locked in a stalemate. An exhausted, frustrating stalemate--until an excruciating, fiery pain shot down my leg. I didn't yell out; the anguish was so intense that I only gasped. But I didn't go down. This was not over until I said so.

"OK, stop," the man said decisively.

I grunted a stubborn "no" sound through gritted teeth, as I shook my head vigorously. A deep breath and summoning the end of my strength I countered, "No--this is not over until you give me peace."

"What's your name?" he asked with a haunting stare.

No other blow or pin in the entire night hurt me like this question did. My heart and my voice broke as I finally let go of the man and dropped to the ground. He was asking me who I was and the answer was hard.

He already knew the answer, too, but he was making me say it aloud. He was making me own it.

Sitting in the dust now, all but depleted, rubbing my mangled leg, I had nowhere else to go and nothing left to hide behind. "I am broken," I confessed in a small voice, eyes on the floor.

A part of me was relieved to have finally declared it so transparently. So I finished. "I am a mess of my sin and others'. I'm a complete wretch." My head sunk lower and tears started to well up as I got to the worst part: "And I thought you'd abandoned me in it."

Perhaps the silence that fell here was even more painful than the slicing question.

Eventually he replied, and it was not what I expected. The authoritative "No" came with impossible gentleness. I lifted my head to read his face, certain my ears had been wrong.

"No, you are not broken anymore. You are someone who has wrestled with God and with man and won.

"You will now be named as one who clings to God, one who holds on despite pain. Now that you have nothing left, you will be rebuilt. You belong to me. You will have peace."

----

Author's note:

It feels somewhat deceptive to write this story as if all of it is mine. I don't think I've been "renamed" yet. I don't cling to the end. I let go when I think God is wrong about exactly how much I can handle.
I wrote this post because I want to learn how to hang on. I want to be an expert wrestler. I want to believe God is God, despite everything.
 

unignorable during rehearsal this morning. (part 2)

In Christ alone my hope is found:
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace!
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My Comforter, my All in all;
here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone who took on flesh,
fullness of God in helpless Babe:
this gift of love and righteousness,
scorned by the ones He came to save.

Til on that cross as Jesus died,
the wrath of God was satisfied.
For every sin on Him was laid;
here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain
then bursting forth in glorious day,
up from the grave He rose again.

And as He stands in victory,
sin's curse has lost its grip on me
for I am His and He is mine,
bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death:
this is the pow'r of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.

No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man
can ever pluck me from His hand;
til He returns or calls me home,
here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.
Keith Getty and Stuart Townend. "In Christ Alone". (c) 2001 Thankyou Music.

I know it's familiar for many believers, but try to read it carefully. It's still as rich as it ever was.

drafted in the shower this morning. (part 1)

  no more treatments

  no more talk therapy

  no more medication

  no more behavioural therapy

  no more books

  no more friends

  no more prayers

  no more trying



    freedom, please.

I won't pretend.

I won't pretend that I can say much that is good or intelligent about the Book of Revelation but I want to say something.

It's stirring. It's amazing and beautiful, engaging and inspiring. I can't not worship God through/for it. And ... I can't not cheer along as I read of His enemies being defeated. I hope this is a right response. I trust God's justice and that however things shake down is perfectly (literally perfectly) fair. I don't like people being lost but I do believe John's words that some at the end still choose to have mountains fall on them and kill them, rather than submit to and worship the Lamb.

I rejoice in His triumph because I rejoice in Him. 

After this I heard what sounded like the roar of a great multitude in heaven shouting:

  "Hallelujah!

  Salvation and glory and power belong to our God,

    for true and just are his judgments.

  He has condemned the great prostitute 

    who corrupted the earth by her adulteries.

  He has avenged on her the blood of his servants."

And again they shouted:

  "Hallelujah!

  The smoke from her goes up for ever and ever." 

The twenty-four elders and the four living creatures fell down and worshiped God, who was seated on the throne. And they cried:

  "Amen, Hallelujah!"

  Then a voice came from the throne, saying:

  "Praise our God,

    all you his servants,

  you who fear him,

    both great and small!"

Ooh. Selah.

And this. This was so good that I paused reading, marched to the living room and made my friend listen to it. It's just so wow!

I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Coming out of his mouth is a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. "He will rule them with an iron scepter." He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has the name written:

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

I can't add anything.

Praise God.

Revelation 19:1-5, 19:11-16

Temperate (sober-minded, appropriately serious) like an overseer, likea follower of Christ.

  "Yes, Your Majesty?" he said with a perfected bow.

  "Here," the monarch replied to his summoned envoy with stately soberness ...and an odd twinkle in his eye. He was holding a piece of paper that could only contain one type of information and would most certainly show a particular royal seal if the envoy turned it over. It was the seal that endowed the bearer with the authority of the Crown, of the King.

  To call this a "noble task" is to humiliate the English language, asking so impossibly much.

  The envoy's heart swelled to fill his chest. His face flushed as he struggled not to let the emotion show on his face. He began to lose feeling in his body. The floor disappeared from underneath him as he soared on the sheer honour of being counted a worthy representative for this King.

  And he knew what the good King was now decreeing for many because it had also been decreed for him alone. Remembering this, the envoy self-consciously touched the deep scars on his wrists where shackles had held him. He'd been given his life back by this noble King and somehow--honour upon honour--had been chosen to serve in the castle. He knew it wasn't a place for traitors like him. Traitors' heads belonged in executioners' baskets and their bodies could go to the dogs.

  How many copies of himself the envoy longed to have so that he could serve out concurrent lives for the gracious master and lord he was fully indebted and bound to. How he loved to serve! How he loved his kind and glorious King.

  And now--manifold joy--he was chosen to announce the King's pardon to others.

  Now, with knees of jelly that could not stop shaking from excitement, this envoy was tasked to go, in his beloved King's name, to proclaim to each and every rebel--those in the prisons, those mounting the steps of the gallows, those with their necks in the guillotine--that they had been pardoned.

  He took the paper reverently. (He could barely believe such a message was in his hands!) "My lord," he breathed. He looked his sovereign in the eye and vowed that for the magnificent job he'd been given, a magnificent envoy he would be. He would herald with all this life, his heart, his soul, his strength. "A man could not run faster, nor proclaim more boldly; a heart could not be fuller, a message could not be better.... My liege--" the envoy's voice broke. It was the best news imaginable. ALL rebellious subjects reconciled to their compassionate and merciful King, and this humble servant was overwhelmed.

  If he could have embedded the piece of paper behind his ribcage, he would. It needed to be safe but it was also synchronised to his heartbeat. He dashed back to his chambers to prepare for the journey. He took what he thought he needed but somehow he wasn't concerned about what he'd forget nor what would be left behind. This old room didn't even look like his anymore. It couldn't matter less. He had no need for a home. It could take all his lifetime to track down every rebel in the land. He had The Message in hand and he would deliver it, on the King's authority. The envoy wasn't exactly sure what lay ahead but he knew he could not possibly live a fuller life than the one that was about to begin.

  So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
(II Corinthians 5:16-21)

A true and transparent story from three Mondays past.

I unbent my knees from putting cloths on the bottom shelf of the trolley for the ultrasound machine and spun round to pull more clean, dry items out of my hamper and fold them, too. At the time of my spinning, a stranger walked in and because I wasn't at my desk, it was immediate engagement, instead of waiting for him to walk the 12 feet down.

I saw the flash in his eyes that I have seen in other men's eyes when they first meet me and evidently like what they see. Before my brain processed this with words, my body instinctively half-hid itself behind a wall as the well-trained, properly friendly greeting came out of my mouth: I feel unpleasantly exposed and seen but I have nowhere to go. He is in his fifties, he is leering; I am not my body, I am disgusted. Because of the time of day and flow of business, if he tried anything, no one would see.

He doesn't even speak at first, he's so taken. I see the mouth open and that he was trying to talk but I have to prompt with more questions to get anything. I desperately need us to talk business becaus it's the only reason I'm engaging with him.

Learning the nature of the visit I move to the desk to use the computer. He is still looking. I am awkward. He tells me he likes my hair. I smile and say, "thank you," but continue with business-related questions. I am annoyed that I appreciate the comment. (I don't always like my hair, especially the three-decades-premature grey.)

In another break (while I'm looking for information) he asks where I am from. This means he wants to know about my complexion [annoyed inward growl], and wants to talk not-business. I answer shortly and keep on with physiotherapy talk. He does end up asking where I'm from and where my parents are from. Eventually I hit the right question and he switches tracks.

I'm looking at an insurance card that doesn't have what I think is his name on it. Politely I ask if it's his name (don't ask why I thought that made sense) and his voice and shoulders drop slightly as he tells me that it's his wife's. I jump up and down, clapping and shouting as the moat-building crew shows up to do their work. At this moment, I love snapping alligators.

We are tying up the business and he manages to slip in, "You are very beautiful," and my face smiles because I am an idiot. I say, "thank you," and find more business things to confirm.

At what should have been the end of the interaction he says again, "you are very beautiful," though this time it is not with a dopey face but a serious, matter-of-fact concluding tone. He turns to go, then half-steps back and asks what my name is. I tell him. He repeats it and declares, "I will never forget that name." (I wish he would.)

He leaves and I exhale. I'm frustrated and overwhelmed. On one hand it's nothing and on the other hand I hate it.


The next day I think lightly about how the next interaction will go when he comes for his appointment at midday. I think I can handle it--I want to be able to handle it--but with three minutes to spare, I change my mind and hop up from the desk to find a friend.

This friend also happens to be my boss. I awkwardly and embarrassedly tell her what the situation is and ask if she will run the front desk for five minutes. Then I realise that I have no more right to comfort and protection from a leerer than she does. I try to retract the request but she is already moving to get up. "Nah," she says dismissively. "I've got broad shoulders," and more about how we front-desk workers shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable.


I hear her. I hear her deeply and the windows on the buildings next door start rattling as a hole is bored 30 feet into the ground to make room for the thoughts that have just struck. "I've got broad shoulders," she says, completely confident, completely sincere, completely unbothered by whomever I happen to be talking about. She has security that I've only seen faint smudges of on ancient parchments.

Not too long ago I read this insight in an email in reply to my describing being flashed by a boy when I was in grade 2:

"[One factor may be] lack of a father figure who demonstrates positive masculinity and how to treat women and girls (so you are secure around males and recognize what you don't need to put up with when a male acts inappropriately). I think for most girls, they can put up with boys being jerks if there's a strong and loving father for them to fall back on."

The email was brutally painful. It hit me very hard. And my boss' unflinching claim that she has broad shoulders (I happen to know she had a wonderful, loving father) was also painful (but not as deeply slicing).

But I found some real hope, and (thick) silver linings:

It is possible for people to weather nasty situations without getting deep scars. It is possible to integrate a difficult event instead of being crippled by it. It is highly likely that I am a particularly sensitive person. I do have particular disadvantages (as we all do).

But on top of all this, I am learning. Since the start of this season (18 months ago) I've had other nasty situations come up (though on the milder end of the spectrum) and there was a time when I would crumble under them. But... in a way that I didn't expect and can't explain, the Lord is changing and growing and en-healthening me. I am weathering better. I see there's a long way to go but I am SO GRATEFUL for the small steps forward that He's given.