Even though Redemption Group is officially over, the sense of fragility that hung over all of life during that time has remained, in large part, intact. I am beginning to wonder if the Lord is trying to teach me something about the emotional state that I've held toward him for so long - a state of guarded trepidation and a lack of surrender. Lately it seems like all I know how to do anymore is collapse in surrender. And being able to do that is pretty amazing.
Jesus, I am continually in awe of the fact that you continue to put up with me, continue to pursue me, and continue to bless me even as I sprint in the other direction. So often these days I just don't know how to respond to Your incredible grace other than just weep with joy and gratitude, finding myself in a place that is almost comically childlike.
I have missed You. I'm so sorry for running. Give me a heart that runs to you, not away from you.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
AHHHHHHHHHH
Holy freaking goodness.
I'm really trying to get this whole priorities-on-the-plate thing down, and all I can say is that it feels like the low priority stuff just fights all the more ferociously to steal the day.
I'm really trying to get this whole priorities-on-the-plate thing down, and all I can say is that it feels like the low priority stuff just fights all the more ferociously to steal the day.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Everything's Right
Quiet contentedness tonight. Just some time with Jesus. And the world and all its trials and trivialities melt away when I'm with Him.
Everything's right tonight.
Everything's right tonight.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Psalm 69
I had never really thought about it until this last week, when someone called me out on it and asked that I examine my heart about this, but I've realized something about the journey that I've been on: I am frustrated not with the situation, but with God.
I am angry with God.
Angry and frustrated at what just doesn't seem to be fair. Why me, God? Why have you allowed me to suffer this way for so long? And when is it going to be enough? I've done ABC and not done XYZ - what more do you want? There is a part of my heart that screams at heaven and shakes its fist in anger. I hate this. And I hate you for letting it go on so long. You say you love me but you continue to let me suffer. What have I done wrong?
And even as I delve deeper into that anger and take it to Him in honesty, there is a parallel sense of brokenness and raw emotion coming out of this that I don't know how to process. I'm struck more deeply than ever before in my life by the significance of the cross, humbled and shamed by its power and my undeserved state. I'm desperate for a way out, for redemption, and even as my heart screams in anger, it also screams in agony and pleads for deliverance.
Today I absolutely lost it in the middle of worship at church. Psalm 69 was the catalyst.
Help me God
For the water's come up to my neck
I sink down
I cannot stand without
I've gone blind
while waiting for Your voice
Tears run down
My lungs have had enough
Hear, hear me now
Don't hide Your face from me
now
Hear, hear me out
Don't hide Your face from me
now
It struck to the core of a heart hardened by anger and frustration like a hot knife through butter. I almost ended up on the floor, clinging to and sobbing into the back of the chair in front of me.
It's because even through everything - all the anger, all the frustration, all the pride, all the rebellion - there is still a scared little boy who just wants to call out to his Father for help. He cries out in fear and desperation, not confident that his Father will even answer him, terrified of His wrath but desperately in need of mercy and rescue. Love, the boy believes, must be earned - and it is fragile, easily shattered. And it's still not enough to make the boy let go of the thing he wants even more than his Father's smile.
And that is why the cross is so powerful.
Because the truth is that Jesus' love isn't fragile and it isn't easily shattered. And even as I come to Him like a child, kicking and screaming and refusing to let go of my own picture of redemption - refusing to surrender the deepest places - He still holds me securely in His arms and whispers to me until I calm down, even as I try to escape. Like a father restraining a child throwing a tantrum, he refuses to let me have it my way.
I've got you. Too long have you fought me. Too long have you held on to your own poorly conceived notion of redemption and transformation. Too long have you been content making mudpies in a slum. I have plans, and My perfect will shall be done. And I'll whisper as long as it takes.
I am angry with God.
Angry and frustrated at what just doesn't seem to be fair. Why me, God? Why have you allowed me to suffer this way for so long? And when is it going to be enough? I've done ABC and not done XYZ - what more do you want? There is a part of my heart that screams at heaven and shakes its fist in anger. I hate this. And I hate you for letting it go on so long. You say you love me but you continue to let me suffer. What have I done wrong?
And even as I delve deeper into that anger and take it to Him in honesty, there is a parallel sense of brokenness and raw emotion coming out of this that I don't know how to process. I'm struck more deeply than ever before in my life by the significance of the cross, humbled and shamed by its power and my undeserved state. I'm desperate for a way out, for redemption, and even as my heart screams in anger, it also screams in agony and pleads for deliverance.
Today I absolutely lost it in the middle of worship at church. Psalm 69 was the catalyst.
Help me God
For the water's come up to my neck
I sink down
I cannot stand without
I've gone blind
while waiting for Your voice
Tears run down
My lungs have had enough
Hear, hear me now
Don't hide Your face from me
now
Hear, hear me out
Don't hide Your face from me
now
It struck to the core of a heart hardened by anger and frustration like a hot knife through butter. I almost ended up on the floor, clinging to and sobbing into the back of the chair in front of me.
It's because even through everything - all the anger, all the frustration, all the pride, all the rebellion - there is still a scared little boy who just wants to call out to his Father for help. He cries out in fear and desperation, not confident that his Father will even answer him, terrified of His wrath but desperately in need of mercy and rescue. Love, the boy believes, must be earned - and it is fragile, easily shattered. And it's still not enough to make the boy let go of the thing he wants even more than his Father's smile.
And that is why the cross is so powerful.
Because the truth is that Jesus' love isn't fragile and it isn't easily shattered. And even as I come to Him like a child, kicking and screaming and refusing to let go of my own picture of redemption - refusing to surrender the deepest places - He still holds me securely in His arms and whispers to me until I calm down, even as I try to escape. Like a father restraining a child throwing a tantrum, he refuses to let me have it my way.
I've got you. Too long have you fought me. Too long have you held on to your own poorly conceived notion of redemption and transformation. Too long have you been content making mudpies in a slum. I have plans, and My perfect will shall be done. And I'll whisper as long as it takes.
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