The God Who is not Superman

It's that moment when you're falling....the bottom's dropped out and your fingers try to grab onto anything close, but every ledge, every fire escape, rushes by too fast. The street below gets bigger and bigger. Any minute, you're going to hit bottom.

And then it happens....

You feel strong hands under your shoulders and behind your knees, the ground stops rushing up and you're swept instead into midair...safe at last.

Who else could it be? Superman.

Oh, I do like that moment....the feeling of rescue. The fear as it drains away and you wrap grateful arms around his neck. 

What is is about that guy, anyway? I'm pretty sure it's not the cape. It's not the muscles or that cute curl in the middle of his forehead. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know why the Man of Steel appeals so much, at least to me.


It's that in giving in to Superman, I'm admitting a secret vulnerability.
I mean really.
When was the last time any of us had to be rescued from anything? 
In general, we are capable, intelligent, and self-sufficient.  I don't fall off buildings. Bad guys don't chase me. No one needs to rescue me. Not really.

And a good thing too. Because Superman isn't real. I know that. *shrug*

But here's the rub. 
Sometimes I still feel like I need rescue. 

Everybody seems to be calling my name at once. The washer breaks on the same day as it snows 15 inches. Three of our children all get the flu at the same time and we don't have insurance. Somebody hits the only car we own. Somebody we love betrays. Somebody we love dies. 

I'm not falling off a bridge, but it sure feels like it. Superman may be fiction, but my feelings are real. I'm hanging alone at the end of my rope. I've done everything I know to do and I'm still going down for the third time. No man, super or not, is coming to help.
There's only one thing to do--and I cry out:

Rescue me, Oh Lord, 
Make haste to help me...
Free me from the snare they have set for me... 
Come quickly and answer me. 
Do not turn away from me or I will die...
Psalm 40, 31,143

And He does. God rescues.
Not like Superman. Not with cape and tights. But like God. 
The God Who is not Superman. 

And there's a big difference.

This is what God's rescue looks like:
When I prove my holiness among you, I will gather you from all foreign lands; and I will pour clean water upon you and cleanse you from your impurities, and I will give you a new spirit, says the Lord. --Ezekiel 36:23-26

He just doesn't fold us into His arms, carry us to safety, and then fly off to the next crisis.
God completes the job. He makes us holy.
He doesn't pat us on the head and let us straighten our skirt and go our way. He cleans us from the inside out.
He doesn't give us a pert little salute. He gives us a new spirit.

He has to and, better yet, He wants to.
Like Moses who had to take off his shoes before he could approach God in the burning bush, like the Israelites who had to believe God before they could enter the promised land, we have to be prepared. God's rescue isn't a one-step process.
He wants to reclaim all of us, inside and out, and that takes time.

That's real rescue. 
God plucks us out of danger by showing us our sin and guiding us to the firm ground of repentence.
God takes us to high ground by gifting us with faith and hope.
God puts out his hand, helping us stand every day in growing the fruit of His Spirit--kindness, meekness, self-control, and all the rest.

And, when He is done, He brings and keeps us near, made new in confidence in Him, leaning on His shoulder, depending on the only sure rescue there ever was and ever will be.
And there it is, the fear draining away as you wrap grateful arms around His neck...
Do not be afraid. I have ransomed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine.--Isaiah 43:1

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Time's Up, Death

credit: greisv.blogspot.com

There are some people I have a hard time just being around. I'm not sure why, but some folks just make me edgy, like I have an itch I can't scratch, or like I'm sitting on a particularly uncomfortable lump. When I'm around them, I just have to MOVE....preferably to somewhere else.

I'm not proud of this. Whoever they are, God, after all, gave them life, just like He gave it to me. My life is not better or cleaner or more presentable to God than is theirs. They are flawed. I am flawed. And, deep down, I pretty well know that Jesus does not love me any more than He loves them. We are joined by our common, and commonly imperfect, humanity. 

But I just don't like them.
Period.

I occurred to me, however, that although Jesus loves us all equally, there are some things He simply cannot abide, either. 
Like Death. 
Yes, Death.
Jesus hated death. He warred against it. He undid it. And eventually, He defeated it.

The last enemy to be destroyed is death.--1Corinthians 15:26
He Himself also partook of the same that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, Satan.--Hebrews 2:14
I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of death and Hades.--Revelation 1:18

This is no gentle Jesus. This is the guy on the white horse, the one with the sword, the one so bright I can't even look straight at Him. This Jesus is a warrior and every bit as powerful and terrifying as His Father. This is the Jesus who walked out of the grave and confronted Death himself.

And it was no contest.
Why?

Because Jesus didn't really have to fight at all. He just had to show up. The conquering didn't require any hewing and hacking. The outcome was never in doubt. All He had to do was to withdraw His permission.

Death existed only by God's express permission, but when His time was up, it was up. Jesus put His perfect thumb on our side of the scale, and Death fell off the other side. All done.  Death had already obeyed His command a number of times in full view of anyone who happened to be around. He chased Death away from Lazarus, from the son of the widow in Nain, from Jarius' servant and, of course, from Himself. Death has been warned. Christ will not allow it to exist either in His presence or outside of His express permission.

Why is this so hard to understand?
Maybe because all of life's other terrors happen while we still live. Yes, we get sick, but we usually get well. Yes, we might lose our job, but the possibility of getting another one is still open to us. But death, well, we just END. We disappear from the face of the earth. Death is a lot scarier for us than misfortune or hurt or loss. 

But not for Christ. They are all the same to Him--one cause, one temporary tolerance, and one permanent solution. Death to God is no stronger than a bug to us. Swat it and it's gone.

And He's done it. Our body may still die, but we will live. We will live with Him and laugh at Death. You know the old taunt:
Where, O Death, is your victory? O Death, where is your sting?--1Corinthinians 15:55

Talk about a knight in shining armor...

Gentle as a Hawk

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Years ago, we had a friend, Luke,  who trained hawks and he sometimes brought his favorite over to the empty field beside our house to exercise and train him. I never forgot the way they looked. The bird would perch on the leather gauntlet Luke wore on his arm, lean over to nuzzle into Luke's neck, and stare at us. Just stare. With those beady eyes, looking down that hooked beak. And he kept staring, looking like he was ready to tear us apart the same way he'd just torn apart a mouse or some other dainty we'd watch him catch.

But the bird loved Luke. He obeyed him and delicately took treats from his hands. He looked like he wanted to tear my head off, but at the very same time he showered affection on his trainer. He always seemed to me a study in contradictions, but now that I think of it, maybe not. Maybe he was simply an illustration.

The fact is that I am sometimes very much disturbed by the military imagery and examples in the Bible. I don't like them and don't want to study them. But they're there, and I can't ignore them.

God tells us that we are to put on the full armor of God (Ephesians 6:13), and that we are to take sides.
Whoever is not with me is against me.--Matthew 12:30
Our faith brings us into conflict:
If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first.--John 15:18
It makes us choose:
Choose today whom you will serve-Joshua 24:15
It makes us find one way and one way only, leaving the rest behind.
Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a word behind you saying, "This is the way. Walk in it."--Isaiah 30:21

The Bible unveils so much battle, so much warring between good and evil. It just leaves me wanting a time of peace, but doesn't promise it any time soon.
They give assurance of peace when there is no peace.--Jeremiah 8:11

How is it possible, then, to wear the unfading beauty of a quiet and gentle spirit? (1Peter 3:4) How am I to learn to be calm and tender when I am also to be arming myself for war? 

And then I remember Luke's hawk.
How he loved and nuzzled his owner.
I remember its eyes after Luke removed the hood that covered its head while they traveled--how it looked at me with cold challenge, sinister and dangerous.
He scared me, not because he intentionally wanted to, but because he could do nothing else. He was always armed for battle and it showed. His threat was always part of him. Even if he did nothing but sit on Luke's arm, wings folded back, talons tense on the gauntlet.

The hawk did not inspire gentleness or mercy. Instead, he inspired caution and warning. I didn't want to get anywhere near him.

But Luke did. Luke knew what the hawk would do, when he would do it, and to whom. He knew that the hawk, with all it's power to hurt, even to kill, could also sit quietly by his side, content to wait with him. To Luke, the hawk was indeed quiet and gentle.

When I think of a gentle bird, I think most readily of a dove--its soft, grey song, nearly a moan, and its soft round profile. A dove has almost no hard edges and it harms nothing. She is quiet. She is calm. She is gentle.
Not the hawk. Even while the hawk sits silent, it carries a mute threat.

So, who is gentler--the dove that cannot hurt, or the hawk that can but chooses to refrain? And which kind of gentleness does the Bible tell us to wear?

Me, I'd prefer to be like the dove--harmless and full of grace. But I don't think I'm given that option.

I am supposed to be a warrior, skilled in destruction, single minded in defense of the Truth. I am to arm myself for battle and be ready to attack when my master gives me direction. I am not allowed pacific helplessness. I am not allowed to let others fight a battle for which God instructs me to prepare and, when necessary, to fight.

God made doves, but He did not make us doves. Doves do not arm themselves, but I must.
I am told to be humble, but also not to faint when tested.
I am told to be charitible, but also to reject whoever rejects God.
I am told to be kind, forgiving, and meek, but to stand for the Lord.

I am told to be a hawk.
Quiet until the time for action comes.
Controlled and focused until I am released.
Peaceful until the day of battle arrives.

Put on the full armor of God so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground and,when you have done everything, to stand.--Ephesians 6:13

Our Father, Who Art in Heaven

photo: biblethingsinbibleways.wordpress.com

Father. Our Father. Father God.
It rolls off the tongue. So easy. So natural. So....well, true.
God is our Father. He made us. He nurtures us. He loves us.
But not for everyone.

I got a real eye-opener recently when I heard the story told by Scott Hahn* regarding the discussion/debate he had with a muslim cleric about God. Actually, Hahn didn't want to engage in the debate--he was convinced by his sister and brother-in-law because he was the only person they knew who was theologically educated well enough to even try and, well, the cleric wanted to. After all, it wasn't an opportunity that presented itself every day.

And, actually, it started out pretty well. They agreed about a lot of the attributes of God--His perfection, His majesty, His sovereignty, His might. They agreed about many of His works--His creation and sustenance of the world, His destruction of mankind through flood and their preservation through Noah,  His liberation of the Israelites through Abraham, and more. But the trouble started when Hahn first referred to God as 'Father'.

The first time Hahn called God Father, the cleric slammed his fist down on the table, shouting that he would not tolerate any more blasphemy. Blasphemy? wondered Hahn. For calling God 'Father'? Apparently. For a muslim, it is blasphemy to ascribe any human characteristic to God. God, to him, is not Father, nor is He a Son. He does not love with a Father's heart, and He does for forgive with it, either. 

Then what, Hahn asked, is God if not Father?
"Master," declared the cleric. "God is Master."

Master--as in slave master. Master--with complete authority but no obligation to affection. Master--owner and source of all sustenance, but with no need of mercy. Master--user, ruler, absolute commander. Worshiped and followed without question, unforgiving of failure, not hesitating to deservedly punish. God.

And that was the problem. God the Father loves. God the Master rules.

If this sounds unduly harsh, maybe we shouldn't be too surprised. We were warned of this. Sarah, Abraham's wife, made it obvious:
Get rid of the slavewoman and her son, for that slavewoman's son will never share in the inheritance with my son Isaac.--Genesis 21:10

Ishmael and Isaac, both Abraham's sons, would not share the same inheritance. Ishmael would forever be a slave, but Isaac would inherit all of Abraham's riches--his herds, his wealth, the best of what Abraham had to give. Ishmael would never again know his father's love. And neither did the cleric, the spiritual descendant of Ishmael. God was not his father.
He never heard this--
So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir.--Galatians 4:7

As Christians, we will never fully understand the yoke under which some people have to labor. God is, after all, our kind Father, who, when we stray, waits at the gate for us with open arms. He forgives. He has storehouses of blessings He is saving to shower down on us. He guards and protects and nurtures. He quite literally holds us in the palms of His hands. Not so for everyone, however.

The cleric eventually stormed out of the restaurant where he sat with Hahn, having warned Hahn for the third time that he was not to use terms like Father or Son in relation to God. He'd had enough. God was not, and would never be, his Father.

I admire the cleric for his clear understanding of God's exaltedness, but I have never had to associate God with harshness or with a supremacy that exercises itself without mercy. What terror would God bring without love? How would He use His infinite power? It scares me even to think about it. In the end, though, I am so glad for this perspective. It uncovers the real depth and privilege of the prayer that Christ, the Son of God Himself, gave us. It illustrates vividly the boldness and the favor with which we say,
Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name...

*Allah or Abba, Lighthouse Catholic Media

Uphill Both Ways

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This week, I was thinking about what it was like to walk to school in the wintertime--wind cutting sharp edges into my cheeks, fingers and toes numb, layers of jackets and snow pants humid from effort, the scratchy red scarf across my mouth--I walked. Not ten miles uphill both ways, but a mile and a half. Every day. Rain, snow, or shine. We had no school bus. Mom didn't drive.

And it occurred to me that I will never be able to explain to my children or grandchildren what that felt like. Never. No words could describe it. Only the experience would explain, and then I would no longer need an explanation. They will never know this. They get in the car not with gratitude, but with entitlement.

They don't mean to--they just never knew anything else. They don't understand. Privilege has hardened their hearts.

Then [Jesus] climbed into the boat with them and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened.--Mark 6: 51-52

The apostles knew the same hardening. They watched Jesus day after day, miracle by miracle. Amazing events became their daily bread. And their hearts were hardened by them. They took them for granted. Right after He'd multiplied the loaves and fishes, fed more than 5000 people from nearly nothing, they went fishing and encountered not only a storm strong enough to threaten their safety, but see Jesus walking across the water toward them in the midst of it and they are terrified--they don't know who He is.

The miracle on the hillside did not translate for them into a miracle on water. Jesus relieving a relatively minor problem, giving a bunch of people lunch, did not teach them that He could rescue them from a major one. Why? Because their hearts were hardened. 

He could not explain His power. He had to show them.
So He brought the storm.
He used it to show them: This is what it feels like to be terrified. And this is what I can do for you when terror comes.

We are the same. God's faithfulness in hardship cannot be explained. It has to be experienced.
I will never leave you, God tells us. I will never forsake you.
But privilege has hardened our hearts. It doesn't sink in until after the storm has calmed and Jesus is standing in the boat saying, "See--I told you." Then we know.

It helps to have heard the promise--it helps us to recognize the rescue when it comes, but the promise alone will not convince us. We have been hardened by God's lifelong faithfulness and mercy. We expect it. Only when He seems to have failed do we understand the extent of His rescue.
Then we hear His gentle voice, "Remember this feeling. Believe me."

Why You Can't Hurt Me Anymore

Photo: guysgirl.com

Some days, I wish I wore shoulder pads.
I am tired of hurting.
It's the accumulation, I think, that piles up over long years, the catalog of hurts that comes with living.
What do I do with them?

I know this--I must choose my protection carefully.
I can put on shoulder pads, but not erect barriers.
If I protect myself too much, I will miss my life. I am going to have to endure some risk, and some hurt, if I am going to do any living at all.

The key is learning to recognize real danger.
Do not be afraid of those who can kill the body but not kill the soul.--Matthew 10:28
There is, after all, only so much another person can do to me. If I am to live at all, I will have to accept a measure of hurt.
My defense, though, is really a good offence.
I do have the power to kill old hurts and consign new ones to their proper place: it is the power to forgive.
Forgive as the Lord forgave you.--Colossians 3:13
 
And how do I do that?
I do it by remembering that, to some degree, I hand people the sticks with which they beat me.
If I hold on to hurt, it holds me captive in return.
If I take hurt in stride, chalking it up to the brokenness of this world and the people around me, I can reach out to, and be consoled by the only consolation truly available.
The Lord will protect you from all evil. He will keep your soul.--Psalm 121:7

Where are You?

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I'm wondering--
Who prayed the first prayer?

Simply defined, prayer is conversation with God.
But something else may be implied here, I'm thinking.
After all, Adam and Eve kept company with God in Eden, and that company was, presumably, easy and companionable.
The man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as He was walking in the garden in the cool of the day.--Genesis 3:8

It sounds an awful lot like Adam and Eve often walked with Him, that they conversed with God, who showed them the world He'd created for them. Maybe they discussed heaven. Maybe they talked about what each fruit tasted like. Maybe they tossed around names for the animals.
But those conversations weren't prayer, were they?
I'm thinking not.

Prayer implies separation, a conversation held with effort across a chasm. 
Prayer started after God's question,
Where are you?--Genesis 3:9

They always knew how to find one another before that. Adam, Eve, and God, walked easily together before, but this time,
...they hid from the Lord among the trees in the garden.--Genesis 3:8

And God said to them what He is still saying to us--"Where are you?"
We are still hiding, still in the process of finding and being found.
That's where prayer begins, I'm thinking.

That's why it's so hard to pray, so slippery.
God is out there somewhere, and we hear Him sometimes, hear His sweet invitation in the cool of the day, but can't quite get there.
Maybe we're still afraid.
Maybe we're unsure.
Maybe we're still so mortified by our sins.

It doesn't matter.
Prayer is our connection to God for now, but not forever.
Some day, we will see Him face to face, clean and easy again.

Those will not be times for prayers, for not-quite-connected communication.
Those times will bring the same sweet fellowship Adam and Eve once knew--up close and personal.
That is God's biggest promise--Himself.
Your eyes will see the King in His beauty...--Isaiah 33:17

DAD! What are You Doing?!!

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It was hot that day, like most other days.
Nothing special, except that Dad told me we were going to take a trip.
He got me up early, and we took two of our servants, some axes, and went to the grove.
I liked these days. For so many mornings of my 33 years, we had come here to cut wood. The axe felt natural, and its swing so familiar, almost like an extension of my own tight muscles.
And today we would go to Mt. Moriah to make an offering to God, my father and I.
Yes, a good day to begin.
Mom waved to us, smiling, as we walked down the road, and we walked three days before the rocky crags of the mountain rose before us.

Stay here, Dad said to the servants, while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.--Genesis 22:5

The boy. Certainly, I was a man by then. Dad never did get that.
And it took men to climb that mountain, especially with our burdens, the wood and the firepot. But we were missing something.

Father! The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?
God himself will provide the lamb, he told me. --Genesis 22:7-8

So we laid the fire, then Dad asked me to climb onto the wood pile, and to lay down on it.
The sun was high and bright, and I closed my eyes for a few minutes. The walk had been long.
I heard Dad murmur and when I opened my eyes, I saw it...his knife raised high right above me.
Dad! Dad! What are you doing?

And then that sound...the booming echo and the blinding light. I never saw anything, but heard it:
Abraham! Do not lay a hand on the boy. Now I know that you fear God because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.--Genesis 22:11-12

And the knife fell--not into my own flesh, but onto the ground, and my dad beside it. He did not look at me while I climbed down from the pyre, but looked up only when he heard the bray of the ram suddenly come out of the brush.

We had worshiped--we had both obeyed--and God had indeed provided the sacrifice.
Now, every time that I present my own sacrifice to God, I see again the upraised knife ready to pierce my own heart all those years ago. And I remember.
Dad dropped the knife because his own heart was already pierced, so he did not have to cut mine.
And I worship anew my God who is the Lord.

Deciding to Let Go

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The time has come. You have to decide whether or not you are EVER going to let go.
You have held onto them all of your life.
Mother. Father.
Husband. Wife.
Son. Daughter.
Best friend.
You have loved them and they have tried to love you back as well as they can.
But they are not enough.
There is a longing in your heart that even the ones you love best can't fill.
Are you going to continue to ask them to try?
Or are you going to give up, finally and forever and just.... let... go?

John did:
He must increase...I must decrease.--John 3:30
Peter did:
We have left everything to follow you! --Matthew 19:27
And there is no other way for us, either.

That doesn't mean we get a divorce or that we abandon our families for a cloister, but it does mean that we completely shift our priorities.
We do have to absolutely know once and for all that God comes first.
In every circumstance, every frame of mind, every plan, every dream.
He becomes our primary motivation for everything. All the people we held, and continue to hold, most dear must take a back seat to His supremacy.
We have to tear them away from the first place they have held in our heart for so long and yield that place to God, to whom it has always belonged.

And then what?
Peter wanted to know, too:
What will there  be for us?--Matthew 19:27

And God had an answer for him, and has the same answer for us.
We will not have less, but more.
I tell you the truth, Jesus said to them, no one who has left home or wife or brothers or sisters or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age and in the age to come, eternal life.--Luke 19:29-30

The only way to find this out, though, is to do it.

What He Gave Me

Most people grow up with an expectation of disappointment or an overriding attitude of fear.
It's true.
I didn't know it for a long time but when I started to ask, almost everyone told me this.
Disappointment and fear: is this how we are meant to live?
No, of course not.

I grew up with an expectation of wonder. And I got it from my dad.
When we were young, Dad took us out for rides on Sunday afternoons (gas was 25 cents). He never told us where we were going, so we looked with anticipation around every corner, asking "Are we there yet?"  When we finally arrived, always at a place Dad had found just for the occasion--a waterfall, or a pristine sledding hill, or a remote Hopi village--he presented it to us with a flourish as if to say, "Isn't it wonderful?" And it always was.
And that was our framework for life.
He showed me what a really fine tomato tastes like.
He marked out the profile of the man in the moon.
He plunged my hands into yeasty, rising dough.
He rolled me down a hill fragrant with just-cut grass.
He stood me in front of President Lincoln and told me to think.
He showed me what the world looked like from the sky.
And it was all wonderful.

My father told me to be smart and careful, but not to be afraid.
And, more importantly, he taught me to LIVE. 
And, without meaning to, he taught me about God.

Do not fear, for I am with you--Isaiah 41:10
For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity--2Timothy 1:7
I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.--Psalm 27:13

First Light

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I have wondered for a long time about how soldiers get ready for their days, the ones in which they know they will have to risk their lives in combat and during which they might die. The rest of us get up, brush our teeth, decide what to wear or what to have for breakfast, kiss our spouse, and go to work. Somehow, a solder has to rub sleep out of his eyes, shoulder his weapon, and prepare to fight for his life.

I have heard a few discussions about this, memories of times filled with bullets and explosions and blood. I have heard about days when the dead lay all around except for one. I have heard about the smell of spent shells and been asked to imagine the sound of the accumulated gunfire of a hundred men shooting at once, but I have never experienced anything even remotely like it. I do know, however, someone who has.

Israel's King David did not use a gun, but he did use spears and shields. And he also did something that few soldiers can: he found words for what he experienced.

Strangers are attacking me; ruthless men seek my life, men without regard for God. -Psalm 53: 3
See how they lie in wait for me! Fierce men conspire against me for no offense or sin of mine, O Lord--Psalm 59:3 

Every soldier must at some time cry out just like David did. And I'm ashamed to say it, so do I, even though my lot is less dangerous and the price much lower. Some days, enemies just seem to crowd around and I can almost hear their spears rattle. On those days, though, I have to find solace in the same place David did.

Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me. Take up shield and buckler, arise and come to my aid. Brandish spear and javelin against those who pursue me. --Psalm 35: 1-2a

And on those days, knowing that we do not have the final say as to who wins or loses, who lives or dies, there is only one place to look for real assurance.

Say to my soul, 'I am your salvation.' Psalm 35: 2b
Rest, soldier. Your battle may still rage, but the Victor fights beside you, and has already won.

Reprinted from By This Still Hearth, 5/18/2011

Denying the Storm

Guaranteed--
At some point, the pleasant circumstances of my life will fall into ruin--illness, poverty, separation from loved ones, famine, fire, storms of all kinds.

And when the ruin does come, there's only one thing to do.
Cleave to God.
Not as a rescuer from trouble, but as a strong rock above it.
Nothing else will save me. 
I may feel like I must be pulled to pieces, but I can remain intact, if not untouched, as I cling to Him.

This is how God saves:
As I cling to God, I become part of Him.
No misfortune has enough destructive power to overcome God, not when He resolves to protect what He deems needs protecting.

Troubles tear at the fabric of our lives.
They rip and snarl and destroy, but they can only touch what I expose to them.
A storm may rage and beat, but in God I am safe.
I am God's and He is mine.
The storm cannot touch where I do not allow it sway.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?  Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?--Romans 8:35

The Look of Real Horror

Aliens vs Godzilla
The Tomato that Ate Cleveland
Halloween 25
It's that time of year again, when horror becomes the pastime du jour.

But most of what passes for horror is only silliness.
Want to see real horror?
Try repentance.

Don't bother looking into the ridiculously manufactured faces of Jason or Frankenstein.
Try looking into the face of our holy God, knowing that you have offended Him and that He does not have to do more than think about your death to make it happen, and that His face turned away will be eternity in howling darkness.
Think about sin, your sin.

You will know when you get it, when the reality of it dawns on you.
You will know.

Why have these people turned away?..They cling to deceit;..no one repents of his wickedness, saying, "What have I done?--Jeremiah 8:5-6

"What have I done?"
The sadness, the devastating reality, the...repentance.
That is horror. Real horror.
Not the movies, not any fright fest, no trick or treating.

We have to go there, you know. And often.
Repentance is not a Sunday thing, not a just-before-church thing, not even a daily thing.
The best repentance comes right away, moment by moment, the same way we sin.

"What have I done?"
And when we know, and repent, Christ will show us again what He has done.

Covered by the Night

Nights stretch long at this time of year.  And sometimes, they weigh heavy, too.  In deep winter, I question more, consider longer, and lose resolve.  I feel weak, and I am not accustomed to weakness. 

What I feel, however, is not new.

From the ends of the earth, I call to you. I call as my heart grows faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.--Psalm 61:2

I cried like a swift or a thrush. I moaned like a mourning dove. My eyes grew weak as I looked to the heavens. I am troubled, O Lord. Come to my aid!--Isaiah 38:14

I remember that life is not turning out the way I planned. I feel alone and helpless, still like a  baby when I thought to have figured some of life out. I expected to have gained some wisdom by now, but feel as unsure as ever.

God's message to me hasn't changed, however.

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.--Psalm 94:19

Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you. He will never let the righteous fall.--Psalm 55:22

What consolation, I wonder? I am not righteous. What sustenance can you offer, God?

And who is equal to such a task?--2Cor 2:16

Nothing good lives in me, in my sinful nature. I have the desire to do good, but I cannot carry it out.--Romans 7:18

I am a grown woman, but feel like a helpless child. Wisdom flies from me and I can't find the answers I need so badly.

This is the important part:

My grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect in weakness.--2Corinthians 12:9

When Jesus saw the faith of the paralytic, He said to him:

Take heart, son, your sins are forgiven.--Matthew 9:2

When He saw that the woman who had bled for twelve years looked for healing in only the hem of His robe, He said:

Take heart, daughter, your faith has healed you.--Matthew 9:22

You know that I am weak, Lord. But You come in the very weakest hour. You look for my faith and the instant You see it, lift me up. In the flesh, I am bare, completely uncovered, without protector. But You cover me. My only unreserved attachment must be to You. Life falls short. Neither husbands nor children nor aspirations fill the void. But as I look to You, You do. Only faith, by sheer grace, makes us well.

My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods. With singing lips I will praise You. On my bed I will remember You. I think of You through the watches of the night.--Psalm 63:5-6

The night still covers me. I am still unaccustomed to weakness, but God is enough.

Remembering to Fly

Two years ago, my husband had cancer and I had to consider what would happen if he died. As a man of both great courage and faith, he weighed death with equanimity thinking, like Paul, "to live is Christ, to die is gain," but I did not. I could release him to heaven and know that he went to joy, but I knew all to well that I would be left behind. "What about me, Lord? You may take him, but I would stay here alone. What about me?"

You said this:
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of the Father.--Matthew 10:29

Then I remembered. You, Father, have the plan for all things and exact that plan at every step. Not one thing happens that can divert it. Your plan is holy and you show me the way to walk in it. Your Son, a very part of You, is Your Word and reigns with You. Your Spirit shows me the way to follow. All three operate according to your plan, which you constantly make known, and this plan exists eternally with You, a pillar of the universe You created.

Whatever is happening around me may seem random, but You will not allow me to be destroyed unless it was Your will from the beginning. If I am lost, I am lost already. If I am Yours, I cannot be lost.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.--Jeremiah 29:11

I am safe with you.

Thought for today: How is God asking you to trust His plan for you?

First Light

I have wondered for a long time about how soldiers get ready for their days, the ones in which they know they will have to risk their lives in combat and during which they might die. The rest of us get up, brush our teeth, decide what to wear or what to have for breakfast, kiss our spouse, and go to work. Somehow, a solder has to rub sleep out of his eyes, shoulder his weapon, and prepare to fight for his life.

I have heard a few discussions about this, memories of times filled with bullets and explosions and blood. I have heard about days when the dead lay all around except for one. I have heard about the smell of spent shells and been asked to imagine the sound of the accumulated gunfire of a hundred men shooting at once, but I have never experienced anything even remotely like it. I do know, however, someone who has.

Israel's King David did not use a gun, but he did use spears and shields. And he also did something that few soldiers can: he found words for what he experienced.

Strangers are attacking me; ruthless men seek my life, men without regard for God. -Psalm 53: 3
See how they lie in wait for me! Fierce men conspire against me for no offense or sin of mine, O Lord--Psalm 59:3Every soldier must at some time cry out just like David did. And I'm ashamed to say it, so do I, even though my lot is less dangerous and the price much lower. Some days, enemies just seem to crowd around and I can almost hear their spears rattle. On those days, though, I have to find solace in the same place David did.
Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me. Take up shield and buckler, arise and come to my aid. Brandish spear and javelin against those who pursue me. --Psalm 35: 1-2a

And on those days, knowing that we do not have the final say as to who wins or loses, who lives or dies, there is only one place to look for real assurance.
Say to my soul, 'I am your salvation.' Psalm 35: 2b
Rest, soldier. Your battle may still rage, but the Victor fights beside you, and has already won.