Your Steadfast Love is Better than Life

Because your love, O Lord, is better than life. 
I sit in Global Village, with a third of a latte left.
Once scalding, now luke warm.
I've been here for almost an hour already,
frustrated. hardened. self condemning.
Just now my soul is beginning to quiet down.
To take in the presence of the Divine.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.
It takes some of us a long time to quiet our souls.
I am one of those.
Anxious. Turbulent. Questioning. Whether this is in fact where I should be.
Where else would I be?
I think back to the deep things whispered into me
early, early this morning from the Word itself.
For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. 

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence for my hope is from him. 

Hm. Is this meant to convict? I think of that incessant drive I so often write of, that plagued me even today. As I long to fill my time, instead of being led by the spirit. I know where life is found. In Christ alone. But I don't know. I'm such a wrestler inside. And I am terrified that this Love I proclaim verbally my heart is still against. And I know its true. I know it by the things that make me happy, how I pursue full days and let my love for the lord depend on what people he brings into my life, what purpose he gives me or I give myself because purpose is the idol I bow to. Its selfish at the core, not a pure motive.

He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. 

My rock, my fortress, my salvation-its myself and what I am able to do. Therefore, its constantly torn out from under me, leaving me worn out and hurt and unworthy by own proclamation of worth. If the day is full, O lord, you are my rock and my salvation-The rock there is a filled day, a meaningful life...not Jesus Christ.

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you. 
the next psalm reads.
What I do I earnestly seek?
My righteousness based on my works.
Not Christ.
Where is my righteousness?
Christ.
He himself is my righteousness.

Lead me to the rock that is higher than I

I soak in the psalms this sweet Sunday morning, overcast outside and resting in the fact that I have little to do and few places to be today, I think of how deeply they praise the Lord. I think of how true psalms are. I think of my weakness. My desire to have “more to do” than this. Just because I want to know I am worthy. But I am worthy because of Christ, not because of how my day plays out. On the 7^th day, God rested.

God rested.

God, limitless in every way, chose to rest. Why? For us. For me to rest because I depend on him not myself. The basics of Christianity, yet I keep discovering that it is the most basic things that my soul utterly rejects. Yes, God rested but I still need to have filled day. Because maybe I am just a little bit against this idea of complete dependence on God. Or entirely against it, even though I proclaim I am for it.

This I know that God is for me.

Psalm 56 says.

What do we make of that? How often do I think of that. How often to I dwell in it, taste it, tasting and seeing that the Lord is good. This worship the psalms pour out…I am a worshipper but so rarely is my worship directed to Jesus Christ.

What I found today in these psalms (55-61):

He redeems my soul in safety from the battle that I wage.

He will never permit his righteous to be moved

You HAVE delivered my soul from death, my feet from falling, that I may walk before you in the light of life.

God fulfills his purpose for me.

Lead me to the rock that is higher than I (Jesus Christ.)

Let me dwell in your tent forever.

I want to be with you forever God. I want to be with you more than I want to be out doing things for you. Make this true, I beg you lord. You know my brokenness flips the two to keep me apart from you. Bring me into your tent.

Bound

Thankful for a rich little 24 hours with a very incredible community. When asked to write the mission of my life in 3 to 5 words I simply wrote "Bondservant. Bound to Christ." Later, we were reminded by our gentle and helpful leaders that those of us who are very religious have to be careful about using religious language that has very different connotations to different people, even if its normal to us. As I listened, I started to sense that turning inward as I felt that they were talking about me. Now, there are many people in the group who are open and bold about their faith. But that didn't change my sense that I was there, frankly proud of myself for sharing and clearly speaking of how much I love Jesus without even considering how it was being received and what it may have meant to the other people who came from completely different home environments and belief systems. As my dear friend Lydia and I sat on a bench and talked and talked it struck me how easily I could share my faith with people and how hard it was for me to labor in prayer for people. I started to realize that there is something in me a little ashamed of the gospel and I try to overcome and overpower that by talking about whenever I can. I saw that I was so bound to christ in how I write and speak but what about my heart? Why this discrepancy between who I am in public and who I am in private? And I remembered a pastor getting up and asking who respects you the most? Who thinks most highly of you? Those who know you the best, most intimately, or those who don't really know you at all? And as we talked and as I asked myself WHY I felt the need to always bring up God I couldn't help but see how at the deepest level I had taken God out of the picture even in my proclamation because I wasn't even bound to him in seeing when to speak and when to be silent, I wasn't laboring over specific words for specific people, I wasn't asking who I was called to love on following the retreat...I was just doing what I thought worked best without even considering how he may lead me in a way and to say something I would never anticipate. And Lydia and I realized that IF we were internally bound to christ, if I was deeply bound to him in ALL my thoughts and ALL my actions that this question of being externally bound would no longer exist because the external flows out of the internal. There would be no mistake. There would be no question of the One I served, the One I loved. I realized that I love proclaiming being externally bound to Christ because it is so much easier than dealing with the nastiness of sin in me and the idols hiding, those pretty little idols that look like Christian things til I start to worship them more than God.
Oh Lord, I am sorry when my witness does not point to you. I am sorry when I love to proclaim light and hide the darkness in me, not letting that light I love so fiercely enter into the places where it would conquer the darkness I cling to. I am sorry when I take you out of mission and when I use conversations and relationships to prove my worth to myself and to you, as if I have somehow gained something when I am just using people to give me identity and meaningful that you already gave me in your Son. Wretched creatures we are Lord. Sheep. In need of a Shepherd. How much more you love the people I spent the weekend with than I could ever hope to. How sovereign you are, how able to proclaim. God help me to resistant the temptation to blanket the internal with the external, like how Adam and Eve pointed to their nakedness instead of their rebellion. But you are good. And you work through me, despite of me. I love you lord. Show me how to love. Show me how to submit to the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, who ALONE can save. How often I forget God. You came to save sinners, of which I am foremost. God, I admit that I don't really believe that statement, make to see how true it really is. I love you, my kinsmen redeemer. I need you. Bind me to you. I can't do it on my own.

poetry

Written today in Mr. Francis's 7th grade poetry class at Ligon Middle School

What happens when you love your ROUTINE
so much because it keeps you safe
and lines are solid and you think
you know
who you are
but am I asking
and why did I stop writing
because its not worth these minutes
I count so precious
that are slowly, suddenly running out
Take me from safety
to this dangerous place where
rawness is good
and routine stomps creativity
and I look at this messy handwriting
that I haven't really SEEN for
a while
because I haven't been looking
at my very own letters
and I haven't been looking
at my very own soul
Because I pamper and protect
my pretend lines that
keep me safe and I forget
how lovely this is is
to tackle a blank page
with a pen and a hand and a heart
and let go of the lines that
were never even real
and be me.

Babies

Its been a while. And there is always much to say. But today, I say blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort. Blessed are YOU God. We share abundantly with you. In suffering and comfort. And we share abundantly with other believers. And I am rendered speechless by those you bring into my life. By a community group that is really filled with the Word. Just the Word. Not our words. Filled with the Spirit. Doing really beautiful things, reaching people in radical ways because of the Spirit not because of our selves. By a friend who will sit on the floor and whisper prayers over me and not be ashamed or surprised by the depth of my sin, who will plead with the Father KNOWING that Christ is pleading on our behalf.
And by babies. I spent two hours with 8 babies under 1. I learned so much about God. So much about myself. Oh, how unfiltered these little ones are. How they cry when they have a need. How I hide my cry. How I yearn to satisfy my own needs. How ridiculous it would be if a 5 month year old stifled her cry of hunger and attempted to satisfy herself by gnawing on her toys. Yet this is me. I have my Father. How much more am I his child than these little ones are children of other humans? The distinction between a baby and an adult is minuscule, negligible in comparison with the gap between us and God, the One who laid the foundation of the earth, who shut the sea with doors and made clouds its garment and commands the morning and causes the dawn to know its place. I think to how quiet they are when they are being fed, being held, being looked on. How their soft, unspoken contentment speaks volumes and clearly portrays the one who is caring for them. How I tend to run around, relying on myself, trying to speak of the goodness of the Lord, instead of letting my life speak of belonging to Him, delighting in the ways he meets every one of my needs, being quieted and calmed on His shoulder.
I know how to care for these children. Its written into my making. No one ever told me, "when they are crying you pick them up." I knew. No one ever said, "Hold them close, not at arms length." I knew. I show no distinction though they look different-their shapes and facial structures and hair-I would never only love on the "cutest" one. It wouldn't make sense. These babies aren't even my children, and yet I delight in caring for them.

How much more does our Heavenly Father delight in caring for us?

I am the most selfish creature I know. Perhaps because I know myself, my thoughts, my heart, more than I know anyone else's. It doesn't really matter either way. What matters is, I am unbelievably, indescribably sinful, and yet I know and love caring for babies. I will do anything for their peace, joy, comfort. I delight in them. How much greater is God? Who is without sin? Whose love is deeper and wider and longer than mine, infinitely so. He loves us. He is our Comforter.

Lord, make me that child that is not ashamed of how much I need you. Who is willing to be comforted. Willing to be needy. Willing to be broken and dependent and quieted. Let that speak deeper than any words I could give.