where waves grow sweet

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Matthew 6:33

When praying for a friend a few years ago, I had a mental picture of an arrow flying through the forest and hitting a target in the distance. I recognized the arrow as the movement of our life, aimed by our focus, and released by our will. There were countless directions to aim but the perfect will of God, as represented by the target, was the ultimate goal and highest intent for the arrow.

The space between was sovereign. This holy place between the bow and target – our will and the will of God – where every need and every true desire is fulfilled. It was exhilarating to watch the arrow speeding purposefully through the air toward the target, without anything to impede its movement. It was dynamic and beautiful.

At the time of our conversation and prayer, this friend really wanted to get married. It was a good and earnest desire, and one God undoubtedly wants to fulfill. But as this picture was playing out, I saw the arrow heading toward a tree that stood to the left of the target. As long as her focus and, as a result, her will were aimed toward marriage, she would hit something – maybe even what she wanted – but miss the target.

If we aim at anything besides God himself, we may get the thing we’re seeking but it will never satisfy. We may get marriage, but our spouse will not fill our heart, meet our needs, or complete us in the ways we thought they would. We may get success but find ourselves just as empty, lost, or lacking in identity. We may improve our financial standing, but we will not find the security we anticipated. We’ll actually find the opposite. Like Edmund’s turkish delight in the Chronicles of Narnia, our hunger will be increased rather than sated; our desires magnified rather than satisfied.

All we are truly seeking is fulfilled not in things, but in the person of Jesus Christ. This is not to say He doesn’t use people, material things, and intangibles as life-giving and very satisfying gifts. He loves to do this. I’m blessed beyond measure through the relationships, job, material provisions – and even recreation – He’s given me.  But we have to understand that it is never a person or object itself that satisfies us, but the Spirit of God. We can appreciate the gifts and enjoy them fully, but the moment we start looking to them rather than the Giver to fulfill us, we will become frustrated, discontented, and disillusioned. Because we were created to be fulfilled by only One, and everything we ever wanted or needed is found in the sacred space of His beating heart and perfect will.

Blessed Is The Man [Click Here to listen] [This is a song by a wonderful friend, Marty Goetz, from the album Sanctuary – available on iTunes.]

He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze. Psalm 18:34

I’m very girly in many ways. I love French, ballet, twirly skirts, and pretty things that dangle from my ears. But there is also a warrior side to me. I realize that a warrior in twirly skirts sounds a bit contradictory, but I think there can be a heck of a lot of strength behind femininity. Think Deborah in the Bible or Arwen in Lord of the Rings.

A while back I had a dream in which I was going to have some sort of duel with satan. Leaning against a white wall, apparently provided by God, was a silver crossbow as tall, if not taller, than me. It was wide in the middle where it flared out like mirrored wings, and looked angelically bad-ass. Rather than shooting arrows, it launched a bolt that exploded in magnificent light on impact. Mighty in a way I can’t describe. And it was mine to use.

In the dream, satan used a weaponless smirking intimidation on me. I was taken off guard by his seeming confidence and, instead of grabbing that freaking powerful crossbow and nailing him with it, I nervously fingered some earphones and tried to get feedback from well-meaning background people. Not my best warrior moment.

Upon waking, I saw only my own fear, but later realized that the greater fear belongs to satan. He is absolutely, positively terrified that we will stand up in our rightful authority as children of a God who conquered death itself. He is petrified that we will grab our weapons and start demolishing the strongholds he’s worked so hard to erect.

For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does.  The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. 2 Cor 10:3-4

If you saw the holes I left in the ceiling at the shooting range (yes, the ceiling), you would know that I’m not interested in being the sort of warrior who fights with guns… or even crossbows. [Was that a sigh of relief?] But I am intensely interested in taking down the darkness the foul enemy has constructed in the hearts of God’s people… with crossbows of the divine sort that will “demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God.” But you just might find me doing it in a twirly skirt and  lip gloss.

“Blessed are those who trust in the LORD and have made the LORD their hope and confidence.” Jeremiah 17:7

A perfect start to the day

Saturday began as I wish so many others would… on a hike with a friend. The sun was shining. Yellow flowers lined the path. The ocean winked from between the hills. There was an energy to the conversation; a connectedness. The morning ended in prayer, sealing the experience like a tasty snack in a ziploc bag.

During our time together, before a kind young park ranger made us turn around (did I mention the trail was closed?), we hit on an interesting topic. It was about how God will not make our decisions for us. Even though he knows what would be best in any given situation, he will not override the free will he gave us. Because that would only create external change, and leave an unchanged heart. And, if I’m right in thinking that “whitewashed tomb” wasn’t a compliment, God is utterly uninterested in the way things look on the outside and concerned only with the heart.

Cole has struggled with his study habits, which has resulted in iffy grades. I used to do his projects with him (okay, for him). It was even a family thing at times (wouldn’t you say we did a rockin’ good job on the mission project, dad?). Projects are fun for me so it was partly self-serving, but I also just really wanted him to do well. So he would wait until the last minute and I, the faithful mom would come to the rescue, saving the day (or the grade), and make it all better.

The problem was it never made anything better. It actually made it worse because it reinforced the idea that he could leave things to the last minute and trust that it would all work out. Because, from his experience, it always did. I was giving a false compassion, alleviating a temporary discomfort while encouraging a behavior that would hobble him in life.

I grew up a little and stopped doing his work. I let go of the immediate concern of grades, except as a measure of what was going on beneath the surface. I learned to set up consequences for poor grades – not as a way to shame him, but as a way to help him make the choices that will benefit him in school, work, and relationship. Has he improved his study habits and grades? Absolutely. Does he always choose what’s right? No. Is he learning how to live well? I think so.

In a similar – but far more divine – way, God doesn’t impose his will on us. Nor does he leave us to our own defenses. Like the loving parent he is, he lets our wrong choices lead to their natural end and our good choices lead to theirs. Will he be manipulated into a false compassion, rescuing us from our distress? Nope. Will he come alongside us, showing us how to walk out of our distress? Absolutely. Will we be changed so that we are no longer like crooked-wheeled shopping carts that are forever going in the wrong direction? I think so.

On a totally separate note…

I was called out today on the back-peddling that went on in yesterday’s blog. You know, the one about the crazy big mountain just being a metaphor for trust or faith? Well, the friend who invited me thinks I said I would actual climb the darn thing, and pointed out that it would be more powerful to climb an actual mountain and parallel it with faith, than just talk about it.

So I pinky swore* that I would indeed climb Mt. Whitney.** Or at least try. Do I have faith for this? From my max level of “3” on the elliptical… no. From never having been at 14,505 feet outside of a pressurized cabin… no. From not being particularly fond of the unknown… no. Is that pretty much everything I was saying in yesterday’s post? Dagnabit, yes.

*It is questionable whether Pinky swears are legally binding after junior high.

** This agreement is contingent on the promised participation of Autumn, Ashley, and Alex.

Then Hwin, though shaking all over, gave a strange little neigh, and trotted across to the Lion. “Please,” she said, “you’re so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I’d sooner be eaten by you then fed by anyone else.”

“Dearest daughter,” said Aslan, planting a lion’s kiss on her twitching, velvet nose, “I knew you would not be long in coming to me. Joy shall be yours.”  The Horse & His Boy

At church last Sunday, the pastor spoke on pride. Not just the puffy and bloated kind, but also the deflated and self-deprecating kind. He called the latter something like ‘pride under the guise of humility.’ Because pride is anything that believes differently than what God has said is true.

Back in the day, I bombarded my body with substance, assaulted it with eating disorders, and cut it with knives.  It was self-destruction based on a premise of self-exaltation. I was denying God’s declared love for me, calling him a liar and my own view of myself true. Absolute pride.

Now I have plenty of the other kind of pride too. The kind that thinks too highly of itself and relies on those parts for acceptance. My own righteousness, if you will. Just as ugly, but decidedly more acceptable – not to God, but to the world and even the church.

In a dream years back, I got to heaven and stood before the Lord. I held a rectangular wooden box, longer and thinner than a shoe box and light in weight. It was clear that he was going to make an assessment of my life based on its contents. I have never felt so uncovered as that very profound moment when I realized that he was looking only at my heart for him and nothing else. He did not see my appearance, friendliness, depth, spirituality, or any other thing I’ve relied on for identity. He did not see any natural gifting, ability, or resulting accomplishments. He also did not see my failures. He saw only the parts of my heart that had been yielded to him on this earth. He saw only the actions I had performed in response to what he asked of me. He saw only his kind of love given freely to others. As I think about it, all that box contained was a heart of worship. The rest had been removed.

Sitting in that box, my heart looked so puny, but I could see that what remained of it was as pure as living gold. However exposed, I did not feel inadequate. My adequacy was as filthy rags.  It was terrifying and beautiful. So I stood quietly before his unadulterated presence and recognized his absolute righteousness and sufficiency, as well as all the nothing I had once considered something.

Suddenly beside me, maybe cutting in line, was a business man who had obviously done well in this life. He talked continuously with big and expressive hand motions, trying to convince the Lord of his virtues and successes. He wasn’t holding a box; just presenting his well-dressed self. He was baffled at the lack of response to his charisma and salesmanship. It did not get him very far. Or anywhere at all.

Thinking about this makes me feel the same quietness I did standing before the Lord, as I reflect on how much nothingness I rely on for identity and approval… the things I worship instead of the only one worthy of worship. How much importance I put on aspects of myself – or others – that the Lord doesn’t see or value. How much thought, energy, and money I spend on what is absolutely worthless. Believing that I am getting somewhere, when all the while I am building a kingdom of pride… outside of the box.

Happy and peaceful...

First of all, I would like to welcome my beautiful niece, Katherine Noel, to this great big world full of people who love her and people who are yet to love her. If she weren’t across the country, I would go to the hospital and wrap my arms around her little body and hold her tightly. And I would smile with radiant pride at being connected to this splendid little creature.  I would hug my sister and declare to her my admiration of her selflessness and courage as a mom and wife, and to her husband, Gino, my appreciation of the way he lays down his life for his growing family. Elisabeth and Katherine are luckier than they yet know.

Next, I would like to tell you that today was glorious. Can’t tell you exactly why, except that this familiar strength rose up inside me… the fire of God or the life of God, or some other aspect of God that is good and powerful. I felt clear and sharp and full of hope. [Insert exuberantly happy sighs.] Now I know I spent much of yesterday’s post declaring how misleading emotions can be.  I stand by that. But something else I know is that when I put God where he belongs  – on the throne of me – my emotions tend to follow his lead and wind up in some really great places. There’s a proper order to these things, you know?

Okay, I am sparing you the detailed paragraph I started writing about the rest of my day. Feel glad. But know that it was satisfying. I worked out, listened to a sermon, cooked (holy wow, it was good), and enjoyed my son. We both had a happy trip to our brilliant chiropractor friend who happens to be covered in full by our brand new health insurance. I played piano and talked to my brother. I’m writing my blog, which you know I enjoy. And, hey, my body didn’t even ask for sugar today. It seemed perfectly content with the banana it got at snack time. Who knew that was possible? So much for sparing you the details.

I feel joyful. Not because of any of these things but because today I chose to believe that God is good. My mind is still and my heart is at peace. Blessings to all for the same.

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5

My first deep and very spiritual thought is: OMGOSH I WANT SUGAR!!! Oh, did I mention I’m a sugar fiend who is currently fasting from this tasty, addictive, and very comforting substance? I want to devour every last cookie in this well-stocked house. Or maybe just roar really loud.

There has been an intentional stripping of some significant things over the next couple of weeks, and perhaps beyond. I am hungry and thirsty for the Lord. For his word, his heart, his peace. Even more than I am for sugar or alcohol or entertainment or relationship. Or maybe even food. It’s a worthwhile tradeoff, I think, to lay down these things for a time and let those places be filled by the only One who satisfies; to sever myself from distraction, quiet my mind and emotions, and listen.

[It sounds so nice and peaceful, doesn’t it? Definitely. Except my brain is running around in my head like my old psycho hamster, Morgan, on her squeaky wheel. And my body is feeling kind of like Morgan’s angry face right before she would launch toward my hand to bite me.]

On my lunchtime prayer walks, the sweetest time of my day when my body moves and my mind calms down, the Lord has been meeting me in the relative stillness and touching deep places in my heart. Today, as I moved down the path, I saw so clearly how I have allowed myself to be dominated by my overwrought thought process and capricious emotions. I have listened to them intently, as though they provided some factual basis for making decisions and directing my life. But they don’t, because they can’t. There is nothing that they can ascertain of worth to me. All they can do is gather information from the natural, which does not – and cannot – take into account the spiritual realm where the heart of God, his wisdom, and his plans are found. And these, really, are the only things I’m interested in knowing.

Emotions are often loud, manipulative, and determined, drowning out the quiet voice of the Lord. Reason is equally resolute, often more subtle and proud, and draws me into a place of unbelief, creating a spiritual deafness… or at least the distraction of constant motion. I’m not saying that I should cut off my ability to reason or feel. That would be bad. What I am saying is that these things need to be held up to the word of God and brought into submission. So my job description right now is to lasso and hogtie every single thought and feeling that has made assertions, as well as some – or most – of the advice I’ve received. To take ‘em down until I can ascertain their value in light of Truth. To acknowledge the rule of God over every part of my life… down to each and every thought.

When I have regained rightful authority over the drunken mardi gras in my head, I will hear the Lord’s voice clearly and easily. It is a simple thing. He didn’t make it elusive or difficult. We have made it elusive and difficult. Often, I think, on purpose. Because we can play the ignorance card as long as we don’t hear. In all honesty, I’ve probably done this recently. As I begin to quiet down, I realize that I’m scared what the Lord will say. He is unfailingly good and has never yet made a poor choice for me. But he has fed me some hard truths. It is not always an easy dialogue and often requires tough action. But I’ve seen too much of what my way brings, and I want nothing more of it. Just his way. His voice. His heart. His mind. His plans. And his perfect peace.

By the way, I do have a wild side. Always have. And as I’m submitting myself to his rule, I think he’s going to open up some sweet and holy places for me to let out a righteous and mighty [non-sugar-withdrawal-related] ROOOAAAARRRRRR…

Then God said, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.” Genesis 22:2

While talking about Abraham, it’s hard to avoid the fact that he didn’t just proclaim a trust in God but acted on it. We know of this trust because of what he was willing to sacrifice – the very thing that God had promised; a promise he held onto despite every reason not to; the fulfillment of which he carried in the depths of his heart… his son, Isaac, and the innumerable descendants and blessing to all people made possible through him.

In our Christian logic – or mine anyway – we would reason away God’s request to offer Isaac up as a sacrifice. After all, why would God ask us to give back a gift He Himself had given and one that would cancel out the other parts of the promise? Just doesn’t make sense. So we would ignore the voice of the Giver and cling to the gift, considering ourselves the guardians – maybe even the saviors – of it. But that’s not what Abraham did. He trusted God beyond the initial giving of the centerpiece of his existence and the sole link of promise to his future generations. He trusted Him for the entire life – and death – and resurrection – of this boy.

This story hits quite a tender spot in me. Not that God ever asked me to hold up a knife to my son, but about 7 years ago I had an experience that felt like the equivalent. I won’t go into the details, but trusting God in this circumstance for the wellbeing of the son God had used to save my life – oh jeez, definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I was backed into a corner where I couldn’t protect him from what seemed like certain harm. I cried until I thought my heart was torn in half, and told God I felt like He was asking of me what He had asked of Abraham countless generations before. “That’s exactly what I’m asking. Will you trust Me?” By some miraculous measure of grace, I said yes, I would trust Him with my only treasure. Peace flooded my heart and I knew, just as Abraham did, that God had the power to resurrect Cole from the ashes of this situation. After the trust had been forged in the heat of the fire, the inevitable harm was snuffed out so completely there was hardly a trace that it had ever existed.

You can’t walk these things out unchanged. I didn’t. I’m pretty sure Abraham or for that matter, Isaac, didn’t either. Trust is a force to be reckoned with. Think about someone you have been through hard things with; someone whose friendship has been tested on rocky paths and proven true. I imagine it would be nearly impossible to get you to believe something contrary to what you had seen with your eyes and known with your heart. So it is with God. If we read about Him and sing about Him and think nice thoughts about Him, we may know about Him. But we don’t really know Him. So when hard things come and we feel accusations arise and we hear unkind things about Him, we have nothing to stand on. It is only through these difficult times, when we press into Him as a friend, that we come to see that He is always faithful. That He always cares. That He always has our best at heart.

About three years back, I had another test of this friendship. It was a different kind of surrender; almost as difficult as the first. It was the surrendering of a hope; stepping back into a place of waiting and trusting that God saw me and knew me and hadn’t forgotten me. Once again, my heart was shredded and raw and hurt. The desires of my heart looked trampled. Peace didn’t come as quickly this time. But I pressed in and found a path lined with the sweetest tokens of love. And I found that trust had grown stronger.

I am once again watching this friendship unfold, feeling the tension of hopes and expectations pull against surrender. I feel an achy heart that is wrestling to lay down its desires. I also feel life rising back up, empowering me to take a stance of ruthless trust. I am excited… about these next two weeks in particular… as I bring all that I have to His altar, lay my eyes on my true Treasure, and witness His glory. Whatever that may look like.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. Hebrews 11:8

It is Friday night and I am home alone. For some this might be a real bummer, but I feel indulged and giddy. Like a kid home on a school day. Not a sick day where you feel crappy and have to make up work, but a snow day where you are totally and completely off the hook. Yep, tonight it’s just me and my wide open space.

Before I pull out my book and pretend that I’m actually going to go to bed early, I wanted to share a thought or two. Everywhere I turn, I am hearing or reading about Abraham. He keeps turning up in devotionals, sermons, and every bible passage I come upon (and I’m a seriously random bible reader). It is no surprise that he is churning around in my head.

One of the things that really stood out to me was a passage in Hebrews 11: “By faith Abraham obeyed when we was called to go out to the place which he would receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going.” It was really the second part of that verse that grabbed my eyes and made them sit there a while, trying to take it in.

As I have been trying to navigate life lately, I’ve realized how much I want to know what is ahead. That way, I figure, I will be able to invest my heart in the things that will matter in the end and spare myself some trouble and hurt along the way. But that’s operating in a serious deficit of faith and trust. It is not believing that God is at work in the middle of the story, when there are unknowns and tension, when we are being challenged and our character is being formed. You know, all the parts that make the end of the story worth sticking around for.

I’m brought back to this thought of how much we like controlled adventure. Roller coasters with tracks that lead riders to the same place every time. Travel that can be charted out with plane flights, tour guides, and maps. But adventure seems to me a lot more like life with God than a zipline through the rain forest. It is about moving forward in faith through the story written by the Creator, never knowing exactly what lies ahead – simply choosing to obey and putting another foot forward. Even when the story plays out differently than we thought it would. Even when we are hurt and weary and confused and discouraged. Even when we screw it up and fall hard. Because God is a brilliant author, who can weave together each element to create something of beauty… if we will continue onto the next page.

Abraham obeyed. He didn’t know where he was going, but he went out anyway. So much of what was formed in this man, this father of faith, happened along the way. Was it safe and cozy? Hell no. Was it a beautiful adventure story written into eternity by the hand of God? Heck yeah.  He just may have been onto something.

Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5:19-20

My mom asked me today to take a photo of a quilt made by a friend for my sister’s almost-born baby, and email it to another friend. The quilt was made beautifully which, I think, can be gathered by the photo. What you wouldn’t know by simply looking at a representation of it, though, is that it is soft like a fluffy lamb – an unreal, indulgent softness that makes me want to wrap it all around me and smother my skin with it. Seriously, this thing has a beauty that goes beyond nice stitching and patchwork. It is a rectangle of love and goodness. But since gmail doesn’t allow me to attach textures and emotions, the picture – which represents so little of the whole – had to suffice.

Peace by candlelight

I’m sitting here so peacefully in front of my computer and candles, next to the keyboard I had the pleasure of playing again tonight. I want to share with you the satisfaction and peace and goodness inside… this feeling that everything is okay, that God is good no matter how things look, that these things we fixate on aren’t what we make of them, that we serve a big wonderful God who conquered every dark and exasperating thing. But all I have are words and they represent so little of the whole.

I was introspective today. Seeking and searching my heart and my mind and the Spirit of God. Trying so hard to figure things out, as I tend to do. But at some point in the day I just decided to be thankful. Thankful for the very things I’m fixated on, the ones that frustrate me about myself, the things that don’t look good or that feel out of control. Thankful for a God who exists outside of these things, who inhabits my very body, who has made a way for peace despite any reason to think otherwise.

Something happened in this process. My heavy load fell off, maybe without me noticing, and my heart lifted. The things that didn’t have a place seemed to find one. Or maybe they just didn’t matter so much anymore. My body stopped whining, and is at this moment singing sweetly, blessing me with its contentment. I want to give this to you and save some for me; to bottle it up like the good dreams captured by the Big Friendly Giant in Roald Dahl’s children’s book. But all I can give is a prayer that we can learn to live in the trust and gratitude so befitting our position as children of a very loving Father.