where waves grow sweet

Anyone who believes in me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, “Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.” John 7:38 NLT

Life in the Spirit

A couple weeks ago at my work retreat in Pennsylvania, I was sitting in a session on discipleship in organizations being given by Ate Ruth, a brilliant Filipino woman. Seemingly unrelated to the information being presented, I suddenly saw in my mind’s eye a fast-moving river. It was so real, I could almost hear the sound of rushing water and feel its cold spray on my face. I knew in my heart that this mighty river was the Holy Spirit, who moves freely and powerfully in the will of God. I also recognized it as the same boundless purpose and freedom we have in him.

I think it’s no coincidence that the Lord showed me on my flight to Pennsylvania the way his love obliterates boundaries. And that I would see this river picture, which turned out to be so closely connected, while learning from Ate Ruth the importance of God’s order and ways in every area of life.

Anyone who has read this blog for any length of time knows that I have had to wrestle to the ground my wants, expectations, and understanding. It’s not because they’re necessarily bad, but because they conflict with what God has said. Resenting someone for hurting my son conflicts with the command to “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” Walking in fear or anxiety conflicts with the scripture, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear.” Getting frustrated when my circumstances turn south or when people fail me conflicts with Paul’s exhortation to “Rejoice in the Lord always.” The list could go on for days, but you get the idea.

Anyone who believes in Jesus will have rivers of living water flowing from his heart. This living water comes from the Spirit of God who lives in us… the very same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead. What a staggering statement. Healing of mind or body is nothing to the Holy Spirit. Victory over sin is nothing to the Holy Spirit. His power exceeds our need. His wild river was loosed to empower us when Jesus, who said we will do even greater things than he did, went to the Father.  And yet, however true this is, most of us are unable to relate to that kind of resurrection power in our lives. We relate far more to our own limitations and inability to live as we are called to live.

The problem is not that we don’t have the power that we need to live an abundant, victorious life; it is that we have diverted the flow of the river. This mighty Spirit wants to move freely through our minds, bodies, hearts, words, actions – our whole being – but we have built up walls in our minds and hearts through our insistence of doing things our own way, our resistance to surrender, and our refusal to accept his kingship over our lives. As we yield to the ways that he has laid out for us and the truth he has spoken, the damns that are holding back his resurrection life will begin to leak, then break apart, then be completely destroyed.

The very good news is that the Spirit is so powerful, even a trickle is enough to eat away at the things that keep us from true life. Which enables more of the Spirit to flow. Which empowers us to surrender more of our own understanding. Which enables more of the Spirit to flow. And so it goes until the end of this age. So drink of his Spirit, be encouraged, and actively anticipate the great things to come and those that are here even now.

He was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God. Hebrews 11:10 NLT

In The Horse and His Boy (my favorite Chronicle of Narnia), there is a boy named Shasta who has always felt drawn, almost to the point of longing, to know what lies north of his small seaside village and equally small existence. He doesn’t know why his curiosity is bent in that direction, but his father dismisses his questions and the boy doesn’t really think too far beyond that. The reader quickly learns the reason for his interest. The north is where he is from; he is simply being drawn back to the rock from which he was hewn.

We are Shasta. Inside each one of us is a longing to return to the place we came from and, in so doing, to become who we truly are and what we were always meant to be. Most of us would like to instantaneously arrive at that place and become that person, but fail to realize that it is the Spirit of the journey that will transform us into our true selves, preparing us to live in our native land and empowering us to accomplish things of eternal worth.

It’s the very reason we are drawn to stories of great romance or conquest in which obstacles are overcome, character is proven, and darkness defeated by light. They call to something of truth inside. It’s not enough, though, to watch movies or read books of struggle birthing significance. We were created to be in the story; to live significance. Because the purity of heaven is our native land, the noble cause of love is in our blood, and the courage required is our inheritance.

But, like Shasta or any character worth reading about, we have to traverse difficult ground and face troublesome things to get anywhere worth going. That can be so easily mistaken for the wrong road or one not worth the trouble. So we turn around and go back to what we know, maybe with a sense of relief, one of defeat, or perhaps a bit of numbness to true longing.

We were not made to be landlubbers, clinging to the familiar cultivated ground we have become so accustomed to. We were made to become master navigators of all terrain, able to quickly and adeptly go wherever God has called us to go. But we won’t become skilled sailors by sticking our toes in the edge of the sea or emboldened mountain climbers by gazing up at the heights. It is only in the journey – particularly the difficult parts – that we develop the necessary skill and strength required for mastery.

In other words, if you are in a boat with mounting waves and trembling knees, this is a good thing. Not because God wants to see you drown or head back to shore as quickly as your puny boat can get you there. But because he wants you to learn how to navigate the waves, so that they will never, ever be able to cause you fear or doubt again. He wants to set you free from the boundaries of your current existence, so that you can return to the land your heart longs for.

He is a good teacher, and a patient one. Even if you have jumped ship and swam to shore 100 times, he will lovingly take you back out to sea and show you the way through the storm. It is through this journey, and the relationship forged, that you will become who you truly are and what you were always meant to be.

I was writing this blog in my head yesterday morning while half – or mostly – asleep on a ridiculously comfortable pillow for an indulgent eternity. This delicious experience was cut unpleasantly short by the realization that I hadn’t set my alarm and was an hour late for work. So I gave my reflection, pillow, and anticipated shower a sad farewell and head off for a long, but fulfilling day.

The sweetness of the post, which may have had more to do with the fact that it was probably a dream, seems to have diminished, but I’m going to share it anyway. It had to do with that boy in the John 6 story of the fish and the loaves:

⁵ When Jesus looked up and saw a great
crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these
people to eat?” ⁶ He asked this only to test him,
for he already had in mind what he was going to do.

⁷ Philip answered him,
“It would take more than half a year’s wages^[a] to buy enough bread for each one to have a
bite!”

⁸ Another of his
disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, ⁹
“Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far
will they go among so many?”

¹⁰ Jesus said, “Have the
people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down
(about five thousand men were there). ¹¹ Jesus then
took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much
as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.

¹² When they had all had
enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over.
Let nothing be wasted.” ¹³ So they gathered them and
filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by
those who had eaten.

¹⁴ After the people saw
the sign Jesus performed, they began to say, “Surely this is the Prophet who is
to come into the world.” ¹⁵ Jesus, knowing that they
intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by
himself.

This caused my thoughts to swirl around how very little it takes to be used by the Lord. I mean, a few loaves a couple fish?? What a paltry offering for such a great need! I’m pretty sure I would have been too ashamed to speak up, reasoning that there must be others who have something more substantial to give. But, through Jesus, it was enough to bless the multitudes with some to spare.

And yet how very much it takes to be used by the Lord. It may not have been much in the big scheme of things, but it was all the food this boy had. Handing it over meant that he risked going hungry himself. There was no guarantee he was getting anything back. If it were to be divvied up, he would be lucky to get a crumb and a scale. Knowing my attachment to food, I’m pretty sure I would have hidden my fish sandwich under my robe, figured that others should have thought ahead, and hoped nobody noticed the seaside aroma surrounding my person.

It brings to mind the widow with the mite in Mark 12:

⁴¹ Jesus sat
down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd
putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large
amounts. ⁴² But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper
coins, worth only a few cents.

⁴³ Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell
you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. ⁴⁴
They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in
everything—all she had to live on.”

Considering the insignificance of the amount – in and of itself, and in comparison with the gifts of others – and the fact that it was all she had, it could be reasoned that she should just hold onto it. But, of all the people putting in money, she was the one Jesus acknowledged and honored.

One more story that comes to mind is the first miracle Jesus performed, at a wedding in Galilee, found in John 2:

¹ On the
third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, ²
and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. ³
When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”

⁴ “Woman,^[a] why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My
hour has not yet come.”

⁵ His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells
you.”

⁶ Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the
Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.^[b]

⁷ Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so
they filled them to the brim.

⁸ Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the
master of the banquet.”

They did
so, ⁹ and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been
turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the
servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside ¹⁰
and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine
after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till
now.”

¹¹ What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the
signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

The thing that strikes me here is once again the little and the much. Jesus didn’t ask the servants to produce fine wine out of nothing. He asked them to use the resources they had – jars and water – to do his will and accomplish his purposes. Yet they risked everything by handing over the insignificant and inappropriate offering of water to the master of the banquet, an obedience which through the Spirit – not their own ability – was translated into rich wine for the glory of God and the benefit of many.

What I glean from all of this is that we are only called to give what we have. No matter how small or piddly or insignificant our own contributions seem, or how great and substantial and wonderful the contributions of others look. The Lord is the one who breathes divine life on the gift, multiplying it and causing it to be a blessing to others, and providing through it a testimony of himself.

And yet how very much it costs. Handing over all that we have in an act of trust of the one we are giving it to. Holding back nothing in fear, control, or unbelief. Knowing that he cares and will provide for our every need.

Last thought. He could do all this without us in the middle, shooting his glory down from heaven and setting things right, but he doesn’t. He uses us, his imperfect but dearly loved children, to accomplish his purposes on earth. So my thought is that we give the little and the much, and step into this great story that began before time and continues through all eternity.

But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it– he will be blessed in what he does. James 1:25

Once again, I have a bite size amount of time and a plate full of stuff to say. But I tend to gorge myself on words, so maybe verbal snacking is a good thing.

While on the elliptical yesterday working off a more literal gorging, the following quote struck me from the sermon I was listening to: “God isn’t sending your provision to you. He’s sending it to where he told you to be.” He followed with the illustration of a quarterback throwing the football to where a receiver will be; when he will be in the best position possible to score.  What better focus and purpose can we have than locking eyes with God, knowing his intentions, doing whatever it takes to get where we need to be, opening up our hands to catch what he’s thrown, and running like mad to the end zone… dodging every freaking thing that would get in the way?!

It’s so easy to get stuck thinking we can’t move forward until we have the grace or resources in hand to do what God has called us to do. We want to be safe and sure before stepping out. The thing that often follows is accusation against God because he doesn’t seem to be providing for our needs. We get stuck and can’t seem to move. We don’t have grace for the people or situations in our lives. We don’t have the physical resources we need.  But what if all these things exist in abundance, just not in the place we’ve stubbornly or fearfully insisted on staying?

The Bible is full of stories declaring that it isn’t until we step out in obedience that we will receive what we need. It’s a hard word to hear and live, but it is the exact place where the love and power of God shatter the vision and perception of doubt, inability, and unbelief. I want so desperately to come into a deeper knowledge of this and see the fullness of his resurrection life released in me and through me.

My challenge to you (and me) today is to tune out the noise and distractions of life and mind, lock eyes with God, and ask him where he wants you to be. If you don’t have the courage to get there, ask for it. If there is something trying to knock you down, dodge it and press on. The body of Christ is your team (and you will not get there on your own), so use it. If there is something God has already asked you to do, stop asking for further instructions and, as Nike says, just do it.

I’ll leave you with a story from Corrie ten Boom that encapsulates this picture for me…

It was in a church in Munich that I saw him, a balding heavy-set man in a gray overcoat,
a brown felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the
basement room where I had just spoken. It was 1947 and I had come from Holland
to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives. …

And that’s when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One
moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and a
visored cap with its skull and crossbones. It came back with a rush: the huge
room with its harsh overhead lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in
the center of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see
my sister’s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin.
Betsie, how thin you were!

Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi
occupation of Holland; this man had been a guard at Ravensbruck concentration
camp where we were sent. …

“You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk,” he was saying. “I was
a guard in there.” No, he did not remember me.

“I had to do it — I knew that. The message that
God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have
injured us.” “But since that time,” he went on, “I have
become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did
there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fraulein, …”
his hand came out, … “will you forgive me?”

And I stood there — I whose sins had every day to be forgiven — and could not.
Betsie had died in that place — could he erase her slow terrible death simply
for the asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to
me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had
to do.

For I had to do it — I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior
condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. “If you do not
forgive men their trespasses,” Jesus says, “neither will your Father
in heaven forgive your trespasses.” …

And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness
is not an emotion — I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the
will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. “Jesus, help
me!” I prayed silently. “I can lift my hand, I can do that much. You
supply the feeling.”

And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to
me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my
shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this
healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart!”

For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the
former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so
intensely as I did then.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Hebrews 12:1

I feel like a runner with my head down, focused and determined. There’s been some wind and discouragement. I’ve hit some walls. I started thinking it might be nicer to take an easier road and was warming up to the idea of a normal, uneventful life. Nothing wrong with that. Unless God made me for something different, in which case I would miss out on the part of the story he’s calling me to play.

I was thinking recently about standing in the holiness of God at the end of my life and my seemingly inevitable response of, “If only I had known…”  I’m sure there are many things I will know in that day that, had I known here on this earth, would have caused me to do life so differently. Another thought, which holds the  weight of my determination, hit me almost simultaneously. It was that I can know on this side of heaven. He wants me to know on this side of heaven… of his love, of his power, of the significance of his sacrifice… things that will dramatically change the course of my existence; things that will change the course of others so they can stand before the throne of God, accepted.

This is just a quick, lunchtime post and I have more to say later. But, for now, I’d like to remind the scoundrel of an enemy that a great and mighty King has already won, and I’m on His team.

In peace I will both lie down and sleep, for You, Lord, alone make me dwell in safety and confident trust. Psalm 4:8

I’m on a flight from Baltimore to L.A.  Next to me, almost lying on my shoulder, is a woman wrapped in an enormous floral towel, sleeping deeply. The woman in front of me is fully reclined, pushing my laptop against my body and causing me to type like an old lady with bad vision and curved hands. The flight attendant is walking down the aisle with a three-year old helper and a trash bag chanting, “reduce, reuse, recycle.” The Office is playing on the row of TV’s above the seats, each with the same picture but a different hue, like an Andy Warhol painting. I love to travel.

Fairest Karen & Katherine

Gino & grown-up Elisabeth

The time with Gino and Karen in Maryland was so good for my soul. The conversations were rich and real, as always. I met my four-month old niece, Katherine, held her chubby body, and rubbed my lips on her chicky fuzz head. I laughed with my four-year old niece, Elisabeth, as we made up funny, unflattering stories about her daddy and read silly library books. We drove to Annapolis, ate crab chowder, and took a “beach” trip to the Severn River just a few blocks from the house. The trees were everywhere, wrapped up in leaves and vines, causing everything to be as green as I picture heaven. I was tempted, if ever so briefly, to pack up our stuff and live with them in their lush, humid land.

Ten days away from home has seemed like a long journey. It’s almost as if I’m a different person than when I left. I feel old and kinda worn, like Mickey Rourke in the Wrestler. Not because of hard living, excessive tanning beds, and steroids. More because of a working out of my faith, wrestling through the things that have kept me from the kind of trust I want to have and the freedom that goes with it. But peace is coming to my heart and I’m ready to go home. Which is good, since I’m almost there.

“Don’t remember these earlier events; don’t recall these former events. Look, I am about to do something new. now it begins to happen! Do you not recognize it? ” Isaiah 43: 18-19

Self-portrait in the Amtrak bathroom

I am sitting in the 30^th Street Amtrak Station in Philly with a large latte, a burned tongue, and a sense of awe at all the past week contained. As my new friend, Jacinta, said in her distinct African accent several times this week, “God is good… all of the time.” He was good when I was present and joyful with remarkable people from around the world, worshiping the God I love each morning, learning more of how and why my organization helps the poor. He was equally good when I was overwhelmed by doubt, fear, and a consuming sense of failure over things past; when the floodgates of my eyes opened up and couldn’t be shut again.

I’m not particularly fond of seeing my weakness and wonder from a very proud part of my being if skipping this work retreat would have kept it nicely buried. But then I wouldn’t have been with Jacinta when she picked out a wedding dress for her June wedding in Congo.  Or received the kindness of Chris, a coworker from Atlanta, when my emotions got the better of me. Or laughed with Pastor Jun from the Philippines on our bus trip to the mall.  Or witnessed firsthand the ridiculously artful skit of the interns who had the rest of us beat before we’d even started. And I wouldn’t have experienced the great love of everyone back home covering my world there with grace. Yes, it was a good week. And God was in every single bit of it.

Here I am now, in this grand echoing train station, transitioning into the next leg of the journey with my sweet sister in Maryland… and into a greater level of trust in this faithful God who clothes my weakness with his strength. So I’m going to take my peace, hop on this train, and go forward with a whole lotta joy. Because God is good… all of the time.

I’m on an early morning flight to Philadelphia with a travel pillow in my lap and a rare measure of unoccupied time. Sleep may come to my bleary-eyed self after the half-caff and diet coke wear off, but I can’t pass up this chance to check in. Jeez, I’ve missed you! But where does a slacker blogger begin?

The only way I can describe what’s going on in my world is expansion. I’ve always known the boundaries of the hard and underdeveloped thing in my chest that vaguely resembles a heart. I have wanted so badly for it to flow with love and kindness, but the boundaries of my heart seemed so defined. Not like the dotted lines on a freeway where I can flip on a blinker and throw myself into a lane I deem better, or at least know that I could if I wanted to. Much more like a carpool lane sealed in by two fat yellow stripes, foreboding metal cones, and perhaps a mote of smoldering acid for good measure. So I pretty much figured that my lot in life was to drive alongside, but never truly with, others.

I prayed for it to be different. Sometimes through tears. I wanted to see beyond myself. To love. To have compassion. To give. A few years ago, I came across a verse – in Psalms I think – that said “for you will enlarge my heart.” I clung to it and prayed it would be true. God is faithful. It hasn’t looked like what I thought, because I thought it was about me and my ability to grow into something more. But it’s quite the opposite. It is about me surrendering all that I am and have, including my puny finite love and all the boundaries that surround it, in order to receive the unceasing greatness of his love.

Before he formed me, when I was just a thought in his mind, he loved me. Fervently. Relentlessly. Unconditionally. Before time began, he laid out a plan to show me this love in a painfully tangible way. He gave up what he held closest to his heart so I could be forgiven and gain an intimate understanding of what love looks like. It’s through this understanding that my stony little heart is transforming into something vibrant and living, beating with his life, flowing with his love. Not because I have the ability to expand my boundaries, but because his love obliterates boundaries and brings perfect freedom.

Psalm 119:32

“I shall run the way of your commandments, for you will enlarge my heart.” NKJ

“I will run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.” NIV

“I will pursue your commands, for you expand my understanding.” NLT

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation,whether well fed or hungry,whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:11-12

I’m becoming increasingly disinterested with the subject of me, which is a strange feeling after 37 years of pretty consistent self-focus. The implications in my life are yet to be seen, although I imagine they will be good. It’s unclear what that will mean to a blog that revolves around me, and got me considering today whether even to continue writing. But between some helpful feedback from John and my increased interest in letting things work themselves out, I think I’ll just continue to share where I’m at and see where it goes…

After a conversation with a friend a few weeks back, I had a realization that in our many years of friendship I had never known a time when he had been content. Happy, yes. Content, no. There was no judgment attached. It just was. So I mentioned nothing and moved on.

Enter my vanity. As clear as the observation about my friend – and far more piercing – came one about my own perpetual discontentment. I have never in all my life been satisfied with my appearance. Before aging skin came to the forefront of my vision, the fixation was on my features or the way they fit together. And my body – which has been everything from thin to shapely to muscular – has never been quite right either. I had never considered this discontentment… rather legitimate problems that required my attention. Funny how we can justify our own sin and yet see that of others so clearly.

God used that conversation to bring revelation. It didn’t carry judgment or condemnation, but truth. I was uncovered and, in all honesty, shocked by this big blaringly unfruitful expenditure of emotional energy and care in my life.

I remember praying with friends several years ago and this verse from Proverbs came to mind: “beauty is fleeting.” Obviously, outward beauty fades. That’s a reality and makes it a very unsound investment. But something else clicked in me during that prayer time. Beauty is elusive. You go to where you think it will be and it fades like a mirage, leaving you thirsty for the satisfaction you thought was going to be there. So you run for the next promising pool, all the while getting further depleted of that which will actually quench your thirst and deliver the promise.

This is true of every form of discontentment. If we cannot accept who we are, where we are, and what we have – now – we will be kept in a perpetual motion that keeps us chasing after illusions and keep us from the very satisfaction we’re seeking. I believe this with all my heart.

Discontentment is saying that either God is unable or unwilling to provide the best for us. The natural result of this false belief is that we have to go out and get it ourselves. It is fueled by a focus on the world’s standards of what matters, comparisons to others, and a fixation on what we don’t (but should) have. Conversely, contentment comes from recognizing God’s love and power. It is fueled by a knowledge of his character and word, faith in the things he has promised, and an acceptance of his values and priorities.

What this means is that in God we will find true beauty. We will be fulfilled. Every need will be met. And even so many wants. Even if nothing changes on the outside, we will feel pampered by the love of God and spoiled by his goodness. This is freedom. It is what will set us apart from a discontented striving world. And, who knows, maybe they might even want what this beautiful freedom that we have…

Yep, that's what love looks like

Do you ever have those moments where you get it? I mean, when everything just finally makes sense? I remember this happening in school, maybe with a math concept. I generally got the formulas and could plug numbers in and spit out a correct answer. But I didn’t usually understand the concept well enough to apply it to anything more significant than lined paper on a veneer desk. Every once in a while, though, this narrow tunnel of the algebra classroom would shoot me out into this wide open space of understanding. Suddenly those concepts mattered. It was thrilling.

While I enjoy and appreciate algebra, this is way better than that. It is about love and God and life and freedom. Talk about thrilling. I can hardly contain myself. And yet I have no idea how to say it. But I’m gonna try.

It all starts and ends with love. I can’t believe how easy it is to get wrapped up in religion and totally miss this radically life-changing truth. God gave his son because of love. The Son gave his life because of love. For you. For me. For all the jacked up people of this world.

Not because we were deserving. We were – and are – so far from deserving anything but death and judgment. If we haven’t yet seen the contents of our own hearts or reached the end of our own resources, it may be difficult to grasp this. It’s why the Pharisees couldn’t receive from Jesus but the prostitutes and tax collectors could. But it is true. Our very best is putrid and bemired next to the purity of our Lord.

And yet this purity reached into the darkness of our sin and shook the foundations of the earth and our lives with Love. He looked on us with compassion and gave a mercy that cost everything. Because love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

How resistant I have been to lay down my rights. I’ve wanted things in my own way and my own time. I’ve wanted to love the people I deem worthy with the measure I feel capable of. I’ve been fearful, controlling, and manipulative. I’ve been ruled by self-interest, putting my own needs above those around me. How little I’ve understood of love.

Last week I determined to persist in thanking God for loving me. So I wake up in the middle of the night and thank him for loving me. I sit at my desk at work and thank him for loving me. I interrupt my thoughts of self-condemnation and fear to thank him for loving me. Because true love is the only thing capable of true change.

Something interesting has happened in this process. Rather than feeling the expected warm fuzzies toward myself, I have finally been able to see past myself. I have been able to see others; to love them in some measure without regard for myself. How sweet the surrender that allowed this love to flow as it was meant to. It wasn’t ever intended to stop at the edges of me, but to continue on to the ends of the earth.

Love sets us free from the confines of our own way. It is so much bigger, wider, deeper, higher than anything we could ever create with the building blocks of our will and desire. It reaches beyond us, sends darkness running, looses chains, touches hearts, and changes history. It is humble. It is mighty. It does not exclude, but extends itself to all. It can’t be measured, controlled, or contained. It takes no account of wrongs suffered and demands no reciprocation. It is the most beautiful thing that ever existed and it changes everything. All I can say is thank you God for loving me… for loving us… and for pouring your love through us like fresh water on a hot and thirsty world.

Deep In Your Eyes (There Is A River) by Jon Foreman