For He is the Lord, my God

 

Every once in a while, I catch a real bad case of nostalgia.  And I find myself stuck in “the way things used to be” – which, for me, is probably just as bad as “what could have been.”

I would favor being a this or that person.  Confined to the definites and extremes.  Hot or cold.  Loving or fighting.  All in or all out.  Broken or bound.  The problem with these is that I’m never really either/or.  I just want to be.  That’s when I find myself caught in between putting on the mask of a real extreme. 

Half the time, I don’t even know what is definite, so I just choose to be what seems most appealing, or easy.  So much is based in fear.  Found in the ruins of a broken and wounded heart.  Sometimes it’s just hard to hurt.  And I have to fight all instincts for flight.  I get so lost in the way I want things to be.  This blog used to keep me accountable-- people used to keep me accountable.  But it’s just too natural for me to run.  Inside my own head.  It’s just too natural for me to avoid.  So I’ll try not to. 

It’s easy to think that you know the ins and outs of a situation, that you could recite the facts backwards and forwards.  I do that—get everything under control. But what God’s been teaching me lately is that I don’t get to be in control.  And I especially don’t get to say He is in control and use it as an excuse to run away, which is ultimately placing me in the role to call the shots.  I don’t get to say when or how.  What if I should stand in the midst of chaos with my hands open; maybe there’s fire and the steady drumming of wind or waves high above my head that have brought me to my knees, but what if I should plant my soul firmly in the foundation of a King, with my heart uncovered and my face to the ground?

I don’t trust the Spirit that is in me.  I don’t ask for His discernment because I am too afraid to fail.  And yet, if I were asking the Spirit to discern, I have to know that He would not fail.  I don’t know how to rest in His grace and His mercy, His depth and His sovereignty.  I don’t know how to trust that He’ll provide healing.  I try to heal myself.    I try to fix my wrongs. 

The truth is that there is only one constant that I know, one definite fact.  And that is that the Lord is who He says He is.  He is good and He endures forever.  He is the sacrifice that I don’t know how to be. 

I cannot change the past, but I  cannot forget it.  I want to learn from it—and not learn to run, or arm my heart, or keep people far away. But to learn to care better, and give grace, and show mercy, and pull love closer.  I want to learn to care through the hurt, and extend grace even when it challenges my pride.  I want to learn to stand in the storm, with the fire and the wind, with the raging waters threatening my life, and plant my soul in the Lord who is my God. 

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
Cush and Seba in exchange for you.
Because you are precious in my eyes,
and honored, and I love you,
I give men in return for you,
peoples in exchange for your life.” – Isaiah 43:1-4

“I’ve wondered for a long time why it is that writers hate to write. William Zinsser says that writers ‘love to have written,’ and I agree with that.”–Donald Miller

I used to identify myself with writing.  I used to say that’s who I was – a writer.  I also used to say that I loved to write, but I think I “love to have written” much more than the actual writing process.  I used to feel the same way about shopping.  I don’t shop anymore.

I haven’t written apart from here in some time now.  That 130-page document - it’s stayed right where it’s at since November.  And part of it is because I talk now.  I let my sisters, my family, carry with me the weight my hurt imposes, hoping I’ll recognize every opportunity to do the same for them.  But mostly it’s because I let Jesus heal.  I let Jesus bind up those things I thought I had to write about.  I let Him do what He said He would-- and carry my sin, and my shame, and my little broken heart- all bruised from exposure- on His own shoulders. 

But today I barely opened my eyes, and immediately knew it was a writing day.  I praise God for the clarity that comes with this process, however excruciating it may come to play out. 
I praise Him that it can play out.

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I’ve been discouraged the past week.  At the start of this semester, God called some pretty big things from this tiny servant.  And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, He told me not to fear.  He told me He’d gone before me and made the way, built the ground I was treading, won the war before my battle even begun.

I was reading His word, genuinely praising Him for what He’d done and what He was doing, bringing my heart in worship to Him that He might accept the vulnerable state I was in.  And somewhere in that, I stopped meditating on a living Word that was meant to sustain me and my worship was brought in distraction.  I was distracted by glory.  But it wasn’t His glory.  I was distracted by trying to do everything right, forgetting that who I am to Him doesn’t rest on what I can make from my own two hands. 

Last night was our weekly time to gather for prayer as a family.  The church we meet at is about a thirteen minute walk from my dorm, so I left twenty before.  I talked to Him the whole way there, and then on the floor of the empty church where I felt like my thoughts and words were just bouncing off the white walls and echoing back to me.  I started with my face to the ground, asking to be humbled, and never really got to the end of my prayer.  He began to soften my heart and I think I only wanted Him to a little bit because  I got terribly uncomfortable as it started slipping in between ribs to form a puddle on the floor. 

The directors of Columbia’s House of Prayer joined us last night, and the Spirit met with us as we asked Him to fill the room.

In the middle of singing and prayer, everything became still, like the air before a tornado shows itself.  It seemed strange but  I took a very audible breath because I really felt like I was going to need it—and I heard someone else do the same.  Then the ceiling opened up and the floor fell out from underneath us, and we sat in a chasm of praise and song, petitioning and intercession.  My words weren’t bouncing off of the empty walls.  There weren’t any walls.  I actually didn’t have words.  I didn’t speak at all.  I listened, which is never easy for me.  But I told Him I was tired of talking all the time, and I wanted to hear Him.  He filled us with the still, heavy air that calls of the Tornado.  The air that warns- we have to prepare for this Storm. And He came in a whirlwind. 
We cried out passionately to Him for guidance. 

Yesterday before going to meet at the church, I’d been reading about John 16:7. 

“Right now, imagine what it would be like to have Christ standing beside you in the flesh, functioning as your personal Counselor.  Imagine the peace that would come from knowing you would always receive perfect truth and flawless direction from Him.  That sounds amazing, and none of us could deny the benefit of having Jesus here physically, guiding and enabling us every step of the way.  Yet why do we assume that this would be any better than the literal presence of the Holy Spirit.” – Francis Chan, Forgotten God

Chan talks about John 16:7, how Jesus says that it’s to their “advantage” that He goes away, because if He didn’t, the Counselor- who is the “Forgotten God,” the least understood of the Godhead- wouldn’t be able to come. 

And when He comes, He will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment; concerning sin, because they do not believe in me; concerning righteousness, because I go to my Father, and you will see me no longer; concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world is judged.  I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.  When the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all the truth, for He will not speak on His own authority, but whatever He hears He will speak, and He will declare to you the things that are to come.   
                                                                                                       - John 16: 8-13

We were all sitting there, feeling the weight of still air turn to this whirlwind as it was consumed in Fire, when one of my sisters began reading this.  And one of the directors was singing out, “I keep feeling You say, ‘Don’t be afraid!’”  And He stopped me in that moment, and confirmed yet again that everything He’s promised until this point remains true. 

I sat there in that circle of believers, the piano guiding our moving and breathing and praying as one; all the walls were pushed aside, the ceiling too far above our heads to see.  I sat there and didn’t say a thing, resting not on the works of my two hands, but on the fact that He interceded for me.  He spoke on my behalf. 

I love to have written, but the words aren’t mine to write. 
I love this story, because it isn’t about me.

Praise Jesus.