Trials and tears: gifts from above

It’s been over a month now since I quit my job. God has been very gracious to provide for me. I’ve been getting work, and not only that, He has flung open the doors to an opportunity I never expected to come my way so soon. Next month I am returning to Brazil. Only for three weeks—but it is truly a gift, and I am so aware of my unworthiness of His graciousness in bestowing this gift upon me.

I am still a shattered wreck, nervous, fragile, and faltering, but my prayer is that He will minister to me in Brazil. Perhaps nothing could be more healing to me at this point in my life than to be in the country I love and amongst the people I love. To be surrounded by smiling faces and warm embraces, rather than cold, hard stares and rude, condescending glares.

It’s strange, though. Looking back now on all I’ve gone through over the last few years (and I am by no means “out of the woods” yet), I realize that despite how utterly broken I feel, He has matured me in ways I probably never would’ve attained had I not gone through what I went through. It’s a truly humbling, painful thing to be disciplined by the Lord of heaven and earth, and He is still in the process of disciplining me; but in my saner moments—when my vision is not clouded by grief and agonizing darkness, pain, and despair—I can see what He has done in me, and I can see that as much as it hurts, it is for my benefit. And as Scripture says, those whom He loves, He chastens. So even though I don’t feel His love most of the time (that’s something I still struggle with), I can at least look at the evidence, and say with some sort of intellectual confidence, He must love me. For love seeks not one’s temporary ease and comfort, but one’s long-term good.

So here I am. I’m still a mess. I’m still meandering in my seemingly endless Valley of Achor. But no matter how tempting it is to give up hope, I’ve got to remember that Abraham didn’t receive his promise till the end of his life, Joseph spent nearly half his life in slavery, and Moses spent forty years in the desert before God used him. Perhaps I will be old and gray before I get out of my valley. Maybe I will never be completely healed. God’s timing is not my timing, and His ways are not my ways. Though He slay me—-and everything within me screams at Him, “Why God, why??” and “How long, oh Lord, how long??”—-I must trust Him.

One thing that’s been a little disconcerting to me lately is how much I think about the people I used to work with. Even the ones who hurt me excruciatingly. There is an incredible burden that is weighing down my heart, a grief even, over their lost and broken souls. I find myself crying over them sometimes. I feel a little self-conscious and pathetic admitting that, but I suppose I shouldn’t. After all, Jesus wept over others. I just hope the tears I shed, and the prayers I pray, are His tears, and His prayers. Otherwise they are in vain.

Yesterday I worked an all-day event with one of my former co-workers—it was good to see him, and he caught me up on all the recent goings-on at my former employment. The young man I wrote about in previous posts—the one I worked particularly closely with, and who had particularly wounded me—came up in the conversation. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he had been seen on a few occasions, and that his greetings had been extended to me. He’s been much on my heart, and I still pray for him as often as I can, as I had promised him.

So one never knows what God can do. I keep thinking, with almost a childish hope and excitement, wouldn’t it be amazing if God completely redeemed all the ugliness and darkness I went through at that job by saving a bunch of those calloused, self-absorbed, and god-less people that contributed to my pain? I mean, certainly, if He’s God, and as big as He says He is, such a thing is possible? Well, I can dream at least. And pray. The rest is up to God.

Praying for others is often the only thing that keeps me going. Focusing on others, instead of wallowing in self-pity (which I am so prone to do, unfortunately), has often prevented me from completely losing it and attempting to take my own life. So I thank God for the burdens He has placed on my heart. Shedding tears over another is nothing I ought to be ashamed of. It is a gift.

His hand of grace

So it’s over. Done with. And much to my amazement, it ended on a positive note. Again, as with the case of my young co-worker who left nearly a month ago, God couldn’t have scripted a better ending. I could see His handprints all over the place, in spite of my failures, my doubts, and my fears.

The other day was my turn to celebrate leaving a job that has left me broken and completely run down. As if to emphasize His grace, and to provide an exclamation point to the rewards of being poor in spirit—which I just wrote about—-God showed me yesterday that nothing is beyond His redemptive power. I discovered that, despite my failures, He apparently used me to shine just a little—oh so very little—-of His light in a very dark place. I never knew so many looked to me as an example, and even liked and admired me. I could chalk it up, of course, to people just being nice to me because I was leaving, but it seemed to be more than that. The somewhat crusty older woman I worked with, for example, who complained a lot, and I often felt like I got in the way of, gave me a warm hug, and had tears in her eyes as she told me how much she was going to miss working with me. She also gave me a gift and a very sweet card, telling me what an adorable person I was, and even told me I could use her as a reference for future employment. I was so surprised and touched. God works in mysterious ways!

Then there was the Goth girl upstairs, who gave me a little gift, and a card which had been signed by nearly all my co-workers. She wrote in the card that I was “probably the sweetest person she’d ever known.” She told me the same thing later in the day as well, when I said goodbye. Then there were all the kind comments in the card—some obligatory, of course, but others genuine in their sentiments. I was so surprised, and again, touched. I was actually saddened that I couldn’t stay a little bit longer to get to know some of the newly-hired temps—an unusually nice and friendly batch of young people, who had been quite a pleasant change from the majority of temps hired in the past. I got especially kind words and fond farewells from some of them.

And then when I finally said my goodbyes—-there were hugs from people I didn’t even expect to get hugs from. The greatest surprise was a hug from the company’s owner. He had always intimidated me a little, and was not exactly known for being the warm and fuzzy type, but at the end of the day, he expressed his thanks to me for all I’d done, and came up and gave me a hug. I never would’ve seen that coming. And another guy I worked with told me anybody who got me next, as far as employment was concerned, was “very lucky.”

So here I was, thinking I could sneak out quietly without anyone noticing, and without one glance back—-but it didn’t quite turn out that way. I found myself actually leaving with a little regret. Not regret over the job itself—that part I will never miss—-but regret over the relationships I could have deepened and pursued further. Even the two new guys I worked with, who had replaced my former co-worker, had become fond of me, and I of them, and I was sorry to leave them behind.

God continually astounds me. That He can take even a miserable experience, and strained relationships, and things like gossip, slander, and unkindness, and even my own failures, and turn them into good, is so amazing. What grace. I realize now, too, that despite how broken I feel, He has instilled in me a strength that I never had before, due to what I went through at this job. A strength that only comes from Him, and comes from going through deep valleys and dark places. It is not an external strength—-but an internal strength.

I also praise Him for giving me the chance to be around difficult people, different people, and people even more broken and dysfunctional than myself. I don’t see people quite the same way I did before. I don’t see the exterior as much anymore. I see the interior. It’s so easy to be judgmental—-especially for those of us who are Christians—and it’s easy to look down on and outright dismiss some people, just because they dress different, or have piercings and tattoos, or swear like sailors, or listen to Satanic music. Certainly many of these people are godless, selfish, and worldly people—often demonically-influenced people, to be honest—but they are also lost people.

And that’s how God has enabled me to see everyone I worked with. Some got under my skin, some I really didn’t like, and some didn’t really like me….but, in the grand scheme of things, I see now that such pettiness matters so little. They are still people loved by God, that Christ came to save, and loving the unloveable is part of what we Christians are called to do. God not only enabled me to love that specific young man who hurt me deeply, but He has put a genuine love in my heart for everyone else I worked with as well. My heart breaks for them, and I regret so much that I could not have been a bolder witness to them—-but I rejoice that they apparently saw a tiny bit of the light of Christ in me. Hopefully my time amongst them was not completely in vain! So as I go forward now, each of them remains very much in my thoughts and prayers, and my dearest hope is that God draws many of them to Himself, in His perfect time, and in His perfect way. That His hand of grace will continue to redeem and restore, and that the wind of His Spirit will move upon the hearts of those that need Him so, so much.

Being poor in spirit

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” ~Matthew 5:3

“There are many servants of Christ who are given to prayer, doing good for the sake of others, fasting, and practicing self-denial so as to abstain from sin. And yet they miss the mark.

How quickly are you offended, scandalized, and stirred to anger by a single word—-all because you count it as a personal injury? How quickly are you offended when something you feel is yours is wrongfully denied you?

If you find this is true, then it simply means you are not yet ‘poor in spirit,’ counting nothing as your own—neither reputation, nor position, nor possession.

When you are truly ‘poor in spirit,’ you will despise everything that causes you to be selfish and self-centered. Soon you will become so free in God that you will take no notice of offenses, no matter how great or slight, so that someone might actually strike you on one cheek and you would not fail to respond in love.” ~Saint Francis of Assissi

Oh that I might learn this lesson of poverty of spirit. I read this passage this morning in a little devotional I have, one made up entirely of Scripture and Francis of Assissi’s writings, and I think it was simply God reminding me again about the importance of being poor in spirit. It was very timely, too.

To not take offense at sharp words, gossip, misunderstandings, and overt slights, is an extremely difficult and painful lesson to learn, but one God has been forcing me to learn of late. It doesn’t make it any easier that I am a naturally very sensitive person, and so I take offense (even though I may not show it) more easily than some. But the question always boils down to—-why am I taking offense? Is it my pride that’s been wounded? Is it my reputation? If, as Francis of Assissi indicates, taking offense really points to a love of self, then I have to examine, every time I’m offended, the root of that offense. If nothing is truly mine—if I know where my true security lies—-if I am truly poor in spirit—-then absolutely nothing in this world should personally offend me. I also read this morning, appropriately enough, in another devotional, the Scripture “If God is for me, who can be against me?”

Indeed—-if God is on my side, if my conscience is clean before Him, then what does it matter what others say or do to me? That is where the freedom lies that Francis of Assissi refers to. No one can touch me. I can be mocked, spit upon, scorned, rejected, slighted, and still turn to those oppressing me, and say, like Jesus did, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Oh for the grace to always respond in this manner! Daily I have to ask for the strength to have this kind of poverty of spirit. Because it doesn’t come naturally. My flesh and my pride war within me, wanting to harbor bitterness toward those who have been unkind to me. Especially those who have been unkind to me for reasons I can’t even fathom. And this past year has been full of these kinds of instances. I used to be naive enough to think if I was kind and civil to someone they would return the favor—-but that naivete has been shattered, as I have come to understand more fully the true range of human nature. To be hated without a cause, to be disliked without reason, to be misunderstood, to be slighted, to be the subject of cruel gossip…..I have experienced all of these over the last couple years. I feel like God has allowed Satan to buffet me in ways I’ve never been buffeted before, perhaps to test me. And the buffeting hasn’t just come from unbelievers, but believers as well. Which is hardest of all to swallow. For of course one has different expectations of those that know Christ.

But isn’t that where part of the problem lies? Why should I have “expectations” of anyone (even other believers)? As God began to show me with the young man I used to work with (see earlier post), I have to continually lay down my expectations of people. If I love them with a need-based love, I am not truly loving them. Loving unconditionally—-loving without expectations—-is what God offers me, and what I must offer others. And the only way I can love that way is by being poor in spirit.

So perhaps it is this poverty of spirit that God is seeking to instill in me, as He has allowed numerous “barbs” to inflict me over the last year or so. I just pray that He would, in teaching me how to be poor in spirit, also restore the immense mistrust that has grown in my heart towards people. I used to trust so easily—perhaps too easily—and now I find myself barely able to trust at all. So I hope and pray that, in time, He will restore this part of me that has been shattered to pieces.

But He is for me! No matter how others might hurt me or let me down, my God, my Rock, my Savior, is for me. And as long as I have Him on my side, I can let the winds blow, and the rains fall, and my house will remain standing. I have endured so, so much already, and perhaps the worst is to come, but as long as my anchor is secure, I need not fear what man can do to me. So continue to teach me, Father, what it means to be poor in spirit. To let go of my need to be accepted, loved, understood, and praised by men, so that I can truly love others freely and unconditionally and never take offense.

Taking a leap

Well, I have taken a plunge. A plunge of faith, I hope. A plunge into the vast unknown.

Last Friday I gave my current employer my two weeks’ notice. The greatest sense of relief and freedom has flooded me, as I look forward to leaving a job that has caused me perhaps some of the greatest stress I’ve known in recent years. As I alluded to in my previous post, I’ve been very unhappy there for a while now, and shared that unhappiness and frustration with a co-worker, who quit himself a little over two weeks ago. I knew I would not last long after he left—-his leaving was the final straw that broke me. I depended on him for so much, as he made my stressful job at least somewhat less stressful. He was replaced by two young men, who, while relatively nice fellows, and decent workers, don’t do half of what he did, and their lack of experience, coupled with their different method of doing things, has brought extra strain upon me. Immediately after my co-worker left, the company also decided to make several drastic changes in the way our two departments worked together, and this has left me reeling. It’s been too many changes all at once, and I can’t tolerate stress heaped upon already overwhelming stress.

So after an agonizing two weeks of deciding what to do, I finally called it quits. I was offered a pretty significant pay raise to stay, and I actually considered it for a few days, but even money finally lost its temptation. I don’t have another guaranteed full-time job lined up—merely baby-sitting work with a baby-sitting agency, which I have already been doing on the side  in addition to this job. The agency told me that they could get me plenty of work should I need it, and that the chances of eventually landing a permanent position were extremely high. So, on that basis alone, and after one dead end after another in all my other job pursuits, I decided to take a leap of faith.

So here I am. At a crossroads. Excited and hopeful, yet apprehensive and still wondering if I did the right thing. One thing’s for sure, though—-when I walk out the doors of my current employment for the last time, there will be no looking back. There will be no tearful goodbyes, and very few people I will genuinely miss. I shall slip out as quietly as possible, and try to forget so many of the bad memories associated with this place, and this period of my life. It has definitely been a learning experience, but one I hope I shall never have to repeat. I shall share the elation my former co-worker also expressed when he left—-he told me on his last day that the closest feeling he could compare his anticipation to was the day he graduated from high school. Obviously, that says volumes about what kind of working environment this company fosters. Tragic, really.

I don’t know what my future holds. I’ve thought about returning to school, and I’ve also thought about trying to get a job abroad. But no matter what I do, I want God to lead me, and I know that His hand must be upon me. I want Him, first and foremost, to bring me out of this deep, dark valley I am in. Perhaps this new chapter of my life will be one of healing and restoration. I am praying it will be so. I feel so utterly broken, so shattered mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, that any endeavor I pursue must be preceded by His healing touch in my life. My job has been one of the big factors affecting my descent into this Valley of Achor, and I hope, as I leave the job now, the scars it has left me will not be permanent. I went into the job feeling strong, wanting to make a difference, but am leaving weak and broken, ashamed of my failures. My pride whispers to me constantly, telling me what a fool I am for giving up so easily—but when I look at what kind of person I’m becoming in this place, I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing. Though my pride doesn’t like to admit it, I now know just how weak I truly am, and that apart from the grace of God, I would sink even further than I’ve already sunk. It really has been His grace that has kept me going all this time, in the face of severe testings, and I am grateful to Him for showing me how dependent upon Him I truly am.

So I don’t know where the road ahead will lead me.  It’s wherever He leads me. It’ll be an adventure, regardless.

Undeserved grace

It’s amazing what a little undeserved kindness can do.

I have shared a very strange relationship with a young man over the last year and a half, one in which God taught me a little about unconditional, undeserved grace. I have not learned the lesson completely by any means, and have fallen flat on my face more times than I care to admit. But yesterday I saw the results of what it means to “heap coals” on another’s head.

I worked with this young man. Our working relationship started off very badly. I learned very early on I could not trust him, at least when it came to his tongue. He wounded me severely in things he said—not to me, but to others, about me. He was two-faced, and he liked to gossip. But as our working relationship required  the two of us to work together very closely, I knew I had to find a way to deal with him. So, even though I didn’t feel like it, and still didn’t trust him, I cried out to God to enable me to love him. And God did enable me. And gradually—ever so gradually—I saw a change come over him.

What started off so ugly, God began to transform into something beautiful. We still had our ups and downs (some of them my own fault, I am sorry to say), and there was still sometimes tension and strain between us, but it soon became evident that we had developed what could almost be called a friendship. I soon realized I cared very deeply about him—he felt like a brother to me—and though he tried to conceal it, I could see he had a tiny tender spot for me as well, somewhere in his heart.

So when he announced to me a couple weeks ago that he was quitting, my heart just sank within me. I knew why he was quitting, and didn’t blame him one bit, for we were both extremely dissatisfied with our jobs (if there was one area we truly confided in each other, it was our frustration over the state of our jobs). I also knew there would never be anyone else who could replace him, and that once he left, I would most likely never see him again. I had learned quite a while ago to lay down any sort of expectations I had with this young man, so I wondered what parting with him would be like.

I agonized over the simple matter of even getting him some sort of farewell gift. I knew in my heart I had to, but had no idea what would be appropriate. I had to ignore the voices in my head that told me he probably wouldn’t even appreciate a gift. I knew I would never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t extend one last gesture of kindness to him. So I finally picked out a funny card, and remembering his coffee addiction, bought a $10 gift certificate to the nearby coffee shop that he frequented.

Yesterday was his last day. I waited till nearly the end of the day to give him my gift, long after other co-workers had already peppered him with cards and gifts. I was pleased when he broke into laughter over the card, but even more so when he turned to me after seeing the gift certificate—there was a look of complete surprise on his face. He thanked me heartfeltly, and told me I “didn’t have to do that,” clearly overwhelmed that I had bestowed even the smallest bit of kindness upon him.

But the most priceless moment of all came when he said his goodbyes, before walking out the door for the last time. First he wrapped me in a warm hug—something that I never expected. He had never shown any physical affection for me before. It was my turn to be touched. But then….when I looked up and saw tears nearly forming in his eyes, and his voice cracking, as he thanked me again for the gift I had given him, saying again “you didn’t have to do that,” my joy was made complete, and the journey we had shared together for over a year had come full circle.

We had been through so much together, he had wounded me deeply in many ways, and I never learned to fully trust him, but now here he was, standing before me, nearly in tears. Only God could have arranged an ending so sweet and satisfying. It was indeed an answer to prayer, for I had anxiously prayed all week long that my parting with this young man would go well. It truly exceeded my expectations. After gaining a little control over himself, he told me he sincerely hoped and wished I could leave this job soon too, and that he wanted all the best for me. I in turn expressed the same to him, telling him he would be in my prayers. It was such a tender, heartfelt moment, one in which we both seemed to break out of our normal reserve and say what we really wanted to say. And when he finally ran out the door, there were several goodbyes shouted between us, until he stood in the doorway, looked back at me one last time with a wistful look on his face, said goodbye, and waved.

Perhaps it is just the romantic, poetic and dramatic in me that savors such an ending, but I think God enjoys the romantic, poetic, and dramatic as well. For I could never have expected or scripted the ending that He wrote yesterday. Love truly does cover a multitude of sins.

I pray that young man finds Christ. That maybe somewhere down the line, if I should ever run into him again, I will see the results not only of undeserved love and grace, but of fervent prayer on his behalf, and that we can embrace once again, as brother and sister in Christ.

Suffering for the sake of

This woman is incredibly inspirational. I always find the greatest comfort in the midst of my pain from those who know firsthand what suffering is. May I learn to respond to my trials in the same way she has.

Go

I want to go! Oh God, send me. I have never wanted to be here. The American, suburban, middle-class way of life has never appealed to me. I long to be amongst the poor, the downtrodden, and the oppressed. My heart is with them…it is not here. My fondest memories are the times I have spent with the “least of these.”

Playing hide and seek with a little Nicaraguan girl outside her tin shack in the middle of a city dump. Holding close to my breast the soaking-wet street girl from Recife, Brazil—-Nataliane, she of the big brown eyes and the beautiful smile. Teaching English to a room full of poor Brazilian children, who forever touched my life with their exuberance, creativity, and warm hearts. Holding the hand of a beautiful little Moroccan girl, who followed me around a city square and would not let me go. Crying as I listened to Paula, the dirty Nicaraguan street girl, relate matter-of-factly her life of abuse and neglect.

I ache to go back to ones such as these. But what does going really mean? Perhaps I have been rather naive about what is really involved in the actual going. It is not about merely feeling a nice feeling of sympathy….it is about laying down one’s very life. Every inch of it.

I just finished reading the book Chasing the Dragon, the story of how this one woman, Jackie Pullinger (the speaker in the video) obeyed God’s voice and laid down her life for the drug addicts, prostitutes, and the poorest of the poor in Hong Kong, and as a result she saw hundreds come to Christ. She didn’t just preach the Gospel…..she lived it. And her story—-which I would tell, only it’s too amazing to even sum up, one just has to read the book—has affected me in a profound way.

I have always had a heart for the poor, the broken, and the needy, but perhaps I never really understood till now that serving the poor means more than giving them a hug or a handout now and then….it means total sacrifice. Jackie described compassion as not just a nice feeling one has…..but as something that’s gut-wrenching and bold and propels one to action. Jesus displayed this kind of compassion. And He was willing to give His own life because of it. And that is what we, as Christians, are called to do as well. It’s not enough to send a check now and then, or donate to the food bank….are we willing to give up our time, our selfish pursuits, our resources, anything and everything, in order to show even one broken person Who Jesus is?

That is the challenge that God is laying at my own doorstep, and one which I must confront. How much am I willing to give up? Though I tell myself I’m not as materialistic as most people around me, God keeps nudging me, showing me how attached I actually am to so many worthless things. Where your heart is, there is your treasure also. Store up your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust and thieves cannot steal or destroy. Where is my treasure?? Is it in financial security? Is it in looks? Is it in clothes? Is it in ANY of my material possessions? Because if I am not willing to give up any of these comforts, then I have just betrayed where my treasure is.

So I’ve been feeling pretty convicted lately, as I’ve realized I have not been laying up my treasure in heaven. Following Christ is no half-hearted affair. And though I desire, more than anything, to GO, and to be Christ’s hands and feet to the least, I have to realize that ministering to the least means being willing to become the least myself. To take the lowest position, to be a servant of all. What did Jesus tell the rich, young man who came to him, asking what else he could do to inherit eternal life, after claiming he had kept all the commandments? “If you wish to be complete, go and sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” (Matthew 19:21)

Jackie Pullinger also had something else enlightening to say in regards to compassion, and she referenced I John 3:17, which says, in the King James version: “But whoso hath this world’s good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?” She pointed out that the phrase “bowels of compassion,” while to our modern ears might sound very strange, is actually a very appropriate description. True compassion always pours out. It never holds in, or shuts itself up. What we have in this day and age, according to Jackie, are too many “constipated Christians.” God has given us so much, and instead of pouring back out everything He has given us—which is what we are meant to do—we have held it all in, till we have become sick and “constipated.” It would be a humorous analogy if it weren’t so true!

I no longer want to be a “constipated Christian.” Nothing I have is mine anyway—-how selfish and deluded I am to think I “own” anything. Everything I have is a gift, and if I do not learn to give more than I receive, then what a pitiful creature I’ve become. Thinking I am rich when in reality I am blind and poor.

But where do I start? For now, as much as I want to go, I know I cannot. I think it ironic that the ones who are so often hesitant to go, God sends with great urgency, and ones like myself, who accept the call with alacrity, are held back. At least for the time being. I am still in my Valley of Achor, so broken, so wounded, that I am tempted every day to give in to despair. This pathetic excuse for a blog has been my attempt to vent the pain that I feel, and I am ashamed of many things I have written, many things I have done and said, but God knows my heart, and hopefully He will redeem every broken, shattered piece of my life and use it for His glory. All I can do is hope that He is using all the painful parts of my life to shape me more into His image, and to prepare me for whatever lies ahead.

“For consider your calling, brethren, that there were not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble; but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and the despised God has chosen, the things that are not, so that He may nullify the things that are, so that no man may boast before God.” (I Corinthians 1:26-29)

I’m certainly one of those “foolish things,” one of those “base and despised things.” I’m not wise, I’m not mighty, I’m not noble. I have absolutely nothing in the flesh to boast of. But maybe….just maybe….that’s the whole point. God has to break me to use me. He has to strip me of all pride and self-sufficiency. Part of the process of gaining that heart for the broken and outcast is to know what it feels like to be broken and outcast oneself. How amazing that Jesus, the Lord of heaven and earth, allowed Himself to be “despised and forsaken of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and like one from whom men hide their face.” If He “despised the shame for the joy set before Him,” then who am I to complain of my own shame and suffering, and how can I learn to even “despise” it, as He did?

Recently, God showed me some beautiful and thought-provoking verses in Micah, that I had never noticed before. Micah 4:6-7 says, “In that day,” declares the LORD, “I will assemble the lame and gather the outcasts, even those whom I have afflicted. I will make the lame a remnant and the outcasts a strong nation, and the LORD will reign over them in Mount Zion from now on and forever.”

What a beautiful promise! But I found it interesting that God doesn’t shy away from revealing that He is the One Who often does the afflicting of the lame and the outcasts. He who allowed Himself to be afflicted also sovereignly allows His children to be afflicted. Hosea 6:1 presents the same idea: “Come, let us return to the LORD. For He has torn us, but He will heal us; He has wounded us, but He will bandage us.” What a strange thing, and at first glance, it causes us to question His goodness.

But we have to understand that any afflictions He allows into our lives, He allows out of love, and bears with us, as He allowed Himself to be “smitten of God, and afflicted.” This is something that I am only beginning to truly understand.

So, regardless of how painful things get, I have to remember that one day I, who am actually privileged to be a part of that group of lame and outcasts, will be part of a “strong nation.” I, who am so, so weak, and so, so broken. It’s hard for me to comprehend, but it does bring me comfort. I can’t wait to see that day. Those who in this life are deemed the “least,” will one day be the “greatest.” The poor. The afflicted. The needy. The downtrodden. The oppressed. The broken. The lame. A strong nation! Not for man’s glory, but for God’s.

So send me, God! Help me to learn what it means to lay down my life. To die so that others may live. To store up my treasure in heaven, and not here on this earth. Show me how I can reach out to those who are around me even now….for there is need where I am now, though it might be harder to see than in a third-world country. Give me your eyes, your hands, your feet. Show me the path You want me to take. And in your perfect time, that which You have torn, please heal; and that which You have wounded, please bandage. Make me whole, so that I might better serve You.

Sadness

Sometimes everything just hits me like a ton of bricks.

Today was one of those days. I sat for about an hour on a pasture fence, underneath a deepening twilit sky, bats swirling overhead, lightning bugs blinking softly all around me, birds chirping…….and I simply wept. Sobbed like a baby. And I actually contemplated going off somewhere nearby to try to end my life.

I am not doing so well right now. It’s hard to be in the pit of deepest despair, sadness, and loneliness, and hide it away from everyone one knows. It’s hard to want a shoulder to cry on, but have none. I have God, but His comfort is not the physical kind. And how much I long for the physical kind right now.

I do not know what to do. Just keep praying, I guess. Just keep clinging to God with what little strength I have, and hope that He will keep me from harming myself or completely losing it.

A different perspective

As much as I have whined, complained, doubted, and expressed anger toward God over my difficulties and trials in life, one thing that’s becoming increasingly clear is how beneficial these trials and hardships have actually been. Sometimes it’s hard to see through the gloom and feelings of utter despair, and so, caught up in my emotions and pain, I grumble at Him. Like the Israelites in the wilderness. I stupidly look back with fondness on the years when I was “living in Egypt”—-caught up in the things of the world, instead of the things of God, and though in bondage then, oblivious to it, because I was supposedly “happier” (mainly because I was in denial).

But going through the crucible of suffering does a marvelous thing to one’s character and  perspective. Lately, God is making me more and more aware of this. Going through the “valley of the shadow of death” helps one see the world, and life in general, with different eyes. I’m beginning to see more and more how selfish, worldly, and shallow I’ve been. And I no longer want to be so selfish, worldly, and shallow. Sometimes, as I stroll through public places like malls, I like to just observe the swell of humanity going by me. And what I see saddens me. People strut about, secure in their stylish clothes and outward appearance, chattering about meaningless, self-focused topics, and I wonder, do they really have any idea how lost they are? I ponder the same thing at my work-place. All day long I hear profanity and meaningless chit-chat, and all I see are shallow people who find their identities and security in their abilities and looks—incredibly shaky foundations.

Suffering, if allowed to do its work, can shatter every shaky foundation, rip away every tottering crutch, and open one’s eyes to see what truly matters in this life. It’s not one’s possessions. It’s not one’s achievements. It’s not one’s outward appearance. It’s not one’s intelligence. All of these are fleeting. And we are foolish to suppose they will bring us any lasting happiness or contentment.

So, as God strips away all the shaky foundations in my own life, He is helping me see that He alone is the one Sure Foundation. He alone brings true joy and contentment. All that the world values is actually smoke and mirrors. For too long I have thought as the world thinks, looked like the world looks, and valued what the world values. But as I have traversed this deep, dark valley of mine, my Father in heaven has opened up my eyes to see as He sees. And He is not encumbered by our illusions and self-imposed blindness. He sees reality as it truly is. And that is why I believe He has such special regard for the poor and broken of this world. In His upside-down kingdom, it is the “least of these” that have the most prominence. For it is in the valley of suffering that one is granted the privilege of seeing as God sees.

So I’m grateful. Grateful for the revelations, the depth and width of perspective, and the deep roots suffering has granted me. And I’m grateful too for being allowed my experiences in other parts of the world, where I have witnessed suffering far worse than my own. My own trials, and the awareness of the trials of others, have made me a more complete person. Not necessarily a better person—-for I am still a broken, weak, sinful vessel, totally unworthy of anything my Father gives me, but I’m beginning to see a little more clearly that His allowance of my “Valley of Achor” is a blessing, not a punishment.

This deeper revelation has begun to affect various practical areas of my life. One area in particular that the Holy Spirit has been convicting me about is my obsession with my outward appearance. Another big weakness is my vanity. I am a girly girl—-well, not overly girly, more earthy-hippie-girly—and I love pretty things. Pretty clothes, pretty shoes, pretty jewelry, pretty hair. I like looking as pretty as I can (without looking fake, that is—my obsession doesn’t go that far). Since I was such an ugly, dorky duckling as a child, and had a strict upbringing that forbid makeup, pierced ears, or any stylish clothes, I was like a kid in a candy shop as soon as I became an adult and gained some independence. I was all about transforming myself—-making myself as outwardly beautiful as I could by buying loads of clothes, makeup, shoes, and other accessories. Of course, this need to feel beautiful also tied in with the weakness I’ve already discussed—-my need to feel accepted and desired by the opposite sex.

But as God has been dealing with me in my shortcomings with men, so is He also dealing with me in my shortcomings in regards to my vanity. It’s been a gradual process, but one that probably began in earnest a couple years ago, when I went through all my health problems. It was then that I was literally forced to confront some of my insecurities.

One thing most people don’t know about me is that I was semi-anorexic for a good part of my adolescence and young adulthood. Not only did I not eat much, but I exercised like a maniac. I ran, I swam, I biked, I lifted weights—all in this effort to gain the kind of slender, toned physique I saw in magazines. Now, I am by no means “fat” in the first place, nor have I ever had a tendency to be overweight. I am naturally petite, naturally “small.” But I wasn’t satisfied with that. I wanted a certain physique, a certain figure. And the more men complimented me on my appearance, the more I felt the need to maintain it. And it drove me to unhealthy measures. But all that ended abruptly, when my body basically said “enough.”

So there I was, two years ago, nearly bed-ridden for a while, barely able to walk, let alone exercise, and forced to eat more. I gained weight. I completely lost that slender, fit physique I once had. I had to look in the mirror and totally change my thinking. I had to confront my insecurities.

And with God’s help, I have confronted and dealt with many of my insecurities since then. I no longer place unrealistic expectations on myself to look a certain way, and feel more comfortable with the body God gave me. In many ways I am far healthier now than I used to be. Maybe not as slender, maybe not as toned, but I am ok with that. I am just grateful that I can even walk again, and marvel at God’s grace in allowing me to even exercise once more. Walking/jogging two to three miles around the park is not something I take for granted anymore.

But lately it’s not just body image issues that God has been convicting me of, but how much time and money I still put in to looking “beautiful” or “cute.” It’s not that I feel God wants me to be frumpy and dress like a nun—I believe there is definitely a place for some outward beauty in a woman’s life. To a certain extent, God created us that way. We are meant to be the more beautiful sex, and to desire beauty is not necessarily a bad thing. We are simply being women by desiring to be beautiful. But that desire can become twisted, distorted, and overemphasized, especially in light of the culture we live in today.

What God has been gently prodding me with is, have I become so focused on attaining outward beauty, like the rest of the world, that I have neglected inner beauty? Especially as I get older, and realize my outward beauty is fading, I think, what is more enduring—my inner, or my outer, beauty? What should I be prioritizing right now? When I am gone, do I want my legacy to be that I was merely cute and wore stylish clothes, or do I want it to be that my life reflected the beauty of Christ? The obvious answer is the latter.

As that wise, well-known Proverb says, “Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord shall be praised.” That truth is hitting home to me more and more every day. I used to balk at that proverb, but now I understand it better, and desire to be the woman it describes. I am a long ways off, to be sure, and sometimes I wallow in despair and self-pity at the reflection I see of myself, but I just have to trust that God will continue to shape me into His image. And the way He’s doing it right now is through the valley.

There’s a beautiful song by the British band Delirious that addresses the hidden treasure of valleys in our lives, and I’ve found it comforting in many of my dark times. It’s called “Find Me in the River.” I think I’ll share it, as I think it is very appropriate, and a good way to end:

Find me in the river
Find me on my knees
I’ve walked against the water
Now I’m waiting if you please

We’ve longed to see the roses
But never felt the thorns
And bought our pretty crowns
But never paid the price

Find me in the river
Find me there
Find me on my knees with my soul laid bare
Even though you’re gone and I’m cracked and dry
Find me in the river, I’m waiting here

Find me in the river
Find me on my knees
I’ve walked against the water
Now I’m waiting if you please

We didn’t count on suffering
We didn’t count on pain
But if the blessing’s in the valley
Then in the river I will wait

Bearing one’s cross

A lot has been churning around inside me lately.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading, a lot of pondering, a lot of praying, a lot of weeping, and a lot of repenting.

My spiritual life has been one heck of a roller coaster ride over that last year or so. I go from spiritual mountaintop, to abyss, to another mountaintop, back to abyss,  back to despair, back to doubt…..to wherever I am now. I wonder why God puts up with me and has as much patience as He does. If I were Him, I would’ve given up on me a long, long time ago. Most Christians I know seem to have such steady, even, ripple-free walks with God. Mine has been a long, rocky, very unsteady walk.

I’m not one of those Christians who’s happy all the time. I’m not one of those who has a mess-free, doubt-free, sin-free existence. If someone asked me, Do you love the Lord? I would answer honestly, No, but I’m learning to! Do I need Him? Absolutely. Do I believe in Him? Absolutely. But I would rather be sincere than to claim I love Him—at least, as I ought. Too many Christians I come across say a little too flippantly “I really love the Lord,” when their lives demonstrate just the opposite. If you truly love someone, your life should show it. And so, I’m very cautious about claiming to “Love the Lord,” when I know my own heart, and how desperately wicked it is, and how there is nothing in it that seeks after Him. It is only His grace that enables me to love Him anyway, and I’m in the process of learning just what loving Him means. If I’m going to love Him, I want to love Him the right way, with all my mind, spirit and strength. Right now my goal is simply to know Him. As the Apostle Paul said. For it’s not until you really know someone that you can truly love them.

So I’m working on getting to know Him. And I’ve made some observations, as, over the last year or so, I’ve been endeavoring to know Him better—-even amidst the mountaintops and the chasms. One thing that seems to go hand in hand with knowing Him is knowing oneself better. And that’s part of where my despair has so often come in. I’ve become increasingly aware of just how sinful, vile, and utterly wretched I am. Ironically, I never knew how bad I was until I became a Christian. It’s been a journey of self-discovery, in the worst possible way! But it’s really not a morbid thing—unless you’re prone to negativity like I am, which is why I so often have to fight sinking into despair over my failures, weaknesses, and sin—-it’s actually a positive thing. Seeing one’s true condition is a sign of growth. Christ can never change us, until we realize our true condition, and cling to Him with everything we have. It’s not until we come to the end of ourselves, and realize our absolute need of Him, that He can do anything with us.

For the last several years, Christ has been bringing me to the very “end of myself.” He has broken me in ways that at times I thought I could not endure. He has stripped away every shaky foundation I once clung to for support. He has let me go through “hell” at times. In fact, I could honestly say that much of my life, from childhood on, has been hellish in ways most people have no clue about. Sometimes I’m angry at God, sometimes I ask Him why over and over, sometime it just hurts so much I ask Him to let me die—-but in moments of clarity, He helps me see that everything I’ve been through, and continue to go through, is for a purpose. Ultimately, He wants to shape me into His image. And that never happens without pain and suffering. The chipping is what produces the diamond. The furnace is what refines the silver. The churning waves are what produce the smooth pebbles.

And so, I dare not ask Him to make things easier for me. I dare not ask Him to leave my conscience alone. I dare not ask Him to give me what I want. I ask Him to give me what I need. And if what I need is ten more years in the wilderness, or ten more years in this Valley of Achor, then that’s what I ask Him to give me. Make me. Shape me. Mold me. Break me. Fill me. May I decrease, and may He increase. May I learn to die to myself, and pick up my cross. I’m reminded of a quote from a preacher (can’t remember who) who basically said that “the cross is the only way God can get glory out of a man.” And as Eric Ludy said recently, “God builds us for crosses.”

So, as heavy as it might be, I must learn to bear my cross cheerfully and willingly. And pray that God can somehow use a broken, messed-up life like mine to bring glory to Himself. Sometimes I despair, sometimes I doubt—but, surely, if He could take people like cowardly, impetuous Peter, doubtful Thomas, demon-possessed Mary Magdelene, and murderer Paul—just to name a few—and transform them, He can do the same for me. I am so weak right now, and so aware of my weakness, and so utterly ashamed of it, but He is strong, even in my weakness.

These are just a few of my thoughts.