Never assume that what happens in your life is merely a matter of chance or coincidence. Remember: God is at work ~ divinely orchestrating events to bring about His purposes in your life!" ~ Chapter on Ruth from Women of the Bible by Ann Spangler & Jean E Syswerda
Friday, February 6, 2009
Leave Your Enemies in God's Hands by Max Lucado ~ Friday, December 19, 2008 at 3:26pm
This note came to my email today ~ it was just what I needed!!! God is so good to minister to my soul ~ at just the right time!!!! I am so thankful He is my God!!! ~ Rebecca
Some years ago a Rottweiler attacked our golden retriever puppy at a kennel. The worthless animal climbed out of its run and into Molly's and nearly killed her. He left her with dozens of gashes and a dangling ear. I wrote a letter to the dog's owner, urging him to put the dog to sleep.
But when I showed the letter to the kennel owner, she begged me to reconsider. "What that dog did was horrible, but I'm still training him. I'm not finished with him yet." God would say the same about the rottweiler who attacked you. "What he did was unthinkable, unacceptable, inexcusable, but I'm not finished yet."
Your enemies still figure into God's plan. Their pulse is proof: God hasn't given up on them. They may be out of God's will, but not out of his reach. You honor God when you see them, not as his failures, but as his projects. God occupies the only seat on the supreme court of heaven. He wears the robe and refuses to share the gavel. For this reason Paul wrote, "Don't insist on getting even; that's not for you to do. 'I'll do the judging,' says God. 'I'll take care of it' " (Rom. 12:19 MSG).
Revenge removes God from the equation. Vigilantes displace and replace God. "I'm not sure you can handle this one, Lord. You may punish too little or too slowly. I'll take this matter into my hands, thank you." Is this what you want to say? Jesus didn't. No one had a clearer sense of right and wrong than the perfect Son of God. Yet, "when he suffered, he didn't make any threats but left everything to the one who judges fairly" (1 Pet. 2:23 GOD'S WORD).
Only God assesses accurate judgments. We impose punishments too slight or severe. God dispenses perfect justice. Vengeance is his job. Leave your enemies in God's hands. You're not endorsing their misbehavior when you do. You can hate what someone did without letting hatred consume you. Forgiveness is not excusing.
Nor is forgiveness pretending. David didn't gloss over or sidestep Saul's sin. He addressed it directly. He didn't avoid the issue, but he did avoid Saul.
Do the same. Give grace, but, if need be, keep your distance. You can forgive the abusive husband without living with him. Be quick to give mercy to the immoral pastor, but be slow to give him a pulpit. Society can dispense grace and prison terms at the same time. Offer the child molester a second chance, but keep him off the playgrounds.
Forgiveness is not foolishness.
Forgiveness is, at its core, choosing to see your offender with different eyes. You don't excuse him, endorse her, or embrace them. You just route thoughts about them through heaven. You see your enemy as God's child and revenge as God's job.
By the way, how can we grace-recipients do anything less? Dare we ask God for grace when we refuse to give it? This is a huge issue in Scripture. Jesus was tough on sinners who refused to forgive other sinners. In the final sum, we give grace because we've been given grace.
From
Facing Your Giants
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2006) Max Lucado
Some years ago a Rottweiler attacked our golden retriever puppy at a kennel. The worthless animal climbed out of its run and into Molly's and nearly killed her. He left her with dozens of gashes and a dangling ear. I wrote a letter to the dog's owner, urging him to put the dog to sleep.
But when I showed the letter to the kennel owner, she begged me to reconsider. "What that dog did was horrible, but I'm still training him. I'm not finished with him yet." God would say the same about the rottweiler who attacked you. "What he did was unthinkable, unacceptable, inexcusable, but I'm not finished yet."
Your enemies still figure into God's plan. Their pulse is proof: God hasn't given up on them. They may be out of God's will, but not out of his reach. You honor God when you see them, not as his failures, but as his projects. God occupies the only seat on the supreme court of heaven. He wears the robe and refuses to share the gavel. For this reason Paul wrote, "Don't insist on getting even; that's not for you to do. 'I'll do the judging,' says God. 'I'll take care of it' " (Rom. 12:19 MSG).
Revenge removes God from the equation. Vigilantes displace and replace God. "I'm not sure you can handle this one, Lord. You may punish too little or too slowly. I'll take this matter into my hands, thank you." Is this what you want to say? Jesus didn't. No one had a clearer sense of right and wrong than the perfect Son of God. Yet, "when he suffered, he didn't make any threats but left everything to the one who judges fairly" (1 Pet. 2:23 GOD'S WORD).
Only God assesses accurate judgments. We impose punishments too slight or severe. God dispenses perfect justice. Vengeance is his job. Leave your enemies in God's hands. You're not endorsing their misbehavior when you do. You can hate what someone did without letting hatred consume you. Forgiveness is not excusing.
Nor is forgiveness pretending. David didn't gloss over or sidestep Saul's sin. He addressed it directly. He didn't avoid the issue, but he did avoid Saul.
Do the same. Give grace, but, if need be, keep your distance. You can forgive the abusive husband without living with him. Be quick to give mercy to the immoral pastor, but be slow to give him a pulpit. Society can dispense grace and prison terms at the same time. Offer the child molester a second chance, but keep him off the playgrounds.
Forgiveness is not foolishness.
Forgiveness is, at its core, choosing to see your offender with different eyes. You don't excuse him, endorse her, or embrace them. You just route thoughts about them through heaven. You see your enemy as God's child and revenge as God's job.
By the way, how can we grace-recipients do anything less? Dare we ask God for grace when we refuse to give it? This is a huge issue in Scripture. Jesus was tough on sinners who refused to forgive other sinners. In the final sum, we give grace because we've been given grace.
From
Facing Your Giants
© (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2006) Max Lucado
Tornado ~ Sara Groves ~ Saturday, December 27, 2008 at 3:44pm
You live your life like a tornado.
Destruction follows everywhere you go.
And you have no plans to stop or slow (oh).
I will not let this bitter root grow in me.
I will not let you leave that legacy,
But it gets so hard when pain is all I see (oh).
And every time I find healing, you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And I tried to remove myself from your path,
But I keep on waking up in the aftermath.
So I pick up again and say I won't look back (oh).
And I will not let this bitter root grow in me.
I will not let you leave that legacy,
But this constant fight is breaking me (oh).
And every time I find healing, you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And it hurts when you hit at the hearts of the ones I love;
When everything you touch is rubble and dust.
And it gets so hard to know how to trust,
But I will not let that bitter root grow.
I will not let it, no no.
But it gets so hard (oh).
And every time I find healing you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And I could move and never send you a forwarding address,
Or I could learn the real meaning of forgiveness.
Destruction follows everywhere you go.
And you have no plans to stop or slow (oh).
I will not let this bitter root grow in me.
I will not let you leave that legacy,
But it gets so hard when pain is all I see (oh).
And every time I find healing, you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And I tried to remove myself from your path,
But I keep on waking up in the aftermath.
So I pick up again and say I won't look back (oh).
And I will not let this bitter root grow in me.
I will not let you leave that legacy,
But this constant fight is breaking me (oh).
And every time I find healing, you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And it hurts when you hit at the hearts of the ones I love;
When everything you touch is rubble and dust.
And it gets so hard to know how to trust,
But I will not let that bitter root grow.
I will not let it, no no.
But it gets so hard (oh).
And every time I find healing you're making a new mess,
And I am learning the real meaning of forgiveness.
And I could move and never send you a forwarding address,
Or I could learn the real meaning of forgiveness.
Why we are going to the Inuauguration ~ Friday, January 16, 2009
We put our names on the list for tickets to the Inauguration before the election & had hopes of witnessing the swearing in of John McCain & Sarah Palin. But of course, God’s plans were different. We decided after the election that if we got the call from Sen. Sessions office & actually received tickets that we would attend. We feel like it is an important that we acknowledge God’s authority over our leaders & that it is He who puts them into authority over us ~ this is a way for us to demonstrated that honor, as well as the fact that even though it isn’t “our guy”, it will be a very historical day! We attended the Inauguration 4 years ago. It was amazing & although extremely cold (16 all day!!) It was an experience that we will always remember & know that our girls will learn many things from this trip as they did the last!
I would be lying if I didn’t say I am a bit nervous about the trip. We are going into this trip with our radar turned up! We know the quantity of people in the city will be even higher than it was 4 years ago. One of the most impactful things last time was when we left the Inauguration & went to watch the parade. Because we were inside the ticketed area for the Inauguration there were very few places left to watch the parade. Where we ended up was right next to the protesters. We were able to talk to our girls & help them understand that everyone doesn’t always believe the same way as we do & that it is so important to know WHAT you believe & WHY! So, with all that said ~ we see this is a great learning experience for our girls.
We sure would be grateful for your prayers! We leave in just about an hour & will be in DC for the next week!
I would be lying if I didn’t say I am a bit nervous about the trip. We are going into this trip with our radar turned up! We know the quantity of people in the city will be even higher than it was 4 years ago. One of the most impactful things last time was when we left the Inauguration & went to watch the parade. Because we were inside the ticketed area for the Inauguration there were very few places left to watch the parade. Where we ended up was right next to the protesters. We were able to talk to our girls & help them understand that everyone doesn’t always believe the same way as we do & that it is so important to know WHAT you believe & WHY! So, with all that said ~ we see this is a great learning experience for our girls.
We sure would be grateful for your prayers! We leave in just about an hour & will be in DC for the next week!
Press On ~ Selah.... first thoughts after the Inauguration 2009
When the valley is deep
When the mountain is steep
When the body is weary
When we stumble and fall
When the choices are hard
When we're battered and scarred
When we've spent our resources
When we've given our all
In Jesus' name, we press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
Dear Lord, with the prize
Clear before our eyes
We find the strength to press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
Dear Lord, with the prize
Clear before our eyes
We find the strength to press on
To press on
God is on the His throne, He is not surpirse by anything & He is a loving & merciful Father! We place our hope in the ONLY one who can give hope ~ Jesus Christ our Lord & Savior! May He cause us to be fervent in prayer, constant in our devotion to Him & that through that we may draw others to Him for this is the ONLY way our world will be CHANGED!!!!!
When the mountain is steep
When the body is weary
When we stumble and fall
When the choices are hard
When we're battered and scarred
When we've spent our resources
When we've given our all
In Jesus' name, we press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
Dear Lord, with the prize
Clear before our eyes
We find the strength to press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
In Jesus' name, we press on
Dear Lord, with the prize
Clear before our eyes
We find the strength to press on
To press on
God is on the His throne, He is not surpirse by anything & He is a loving & merciful Father! We place our hope in the ONLY one who can give hope ~ Jesus Christ our Lord & Savior! May He cause us to be fervent in prayer, constant in our devotion to Him & that through that we may draw others to Him for this is the ONLY way our world will be CHANGED!!!!!
Abortion ~ my letter to our President
I wrote this yesterday to President Obama. I hadn't thought of posting it on Facebook until I realized that one voice on this issue may not be heard but if all those who believe that each unborn child is a life, precious to our Creator would write to President Obama ~ maybe the Lord would use those words to convict him of his wrongthinking. The President's contact information is listed below. He is OUR President ~ write him & let him know your thoughts & your convictions ~ but PLEASE I beg you, do it with a spirit of love & of peace, one that would honor our Savior & not malign the Word of God!
The President, Barack Hussein Obama
White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave
Washington, DC 20500
Phone: 202-456-1414
or: 202-456-1111
Fax: 202-456-2461
E-Mail: The President, White House at comments@whitehouse.gov
1-27-2009
Dear Mr. President,
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, And before you were born I consecrated you; I have appointed you a prophet to the nations." Jeremiah 1:5
"Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother's womb. I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation! You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, The days of my life all prepared before I'd even lived one day."
Psalm 139: 13-16
Our family was among the other 1.8 million on the National Mall last Tuesday. What an amazing day that was! Although we did not vote for you, we recognize that you were appointed for this position by God. We honor you & will be praying for you as you lead our country. We are confident that God has a great plan in store for our Nation & for you as our President!
I know that you confess to be a believer. Because of that, I listed these scripture above. These and many others proclaim the Word of God & His deep love for His creation. From the moment of conception we are a treasured life to our Heavenly Father.
I beg you to reconsider your view on abortion. Abortion goes against all that is good and decent, and humane. That child has the basic right enjoyed by all Americans, the right to life.
Rebecca Krueger
Calera, AL
On Asking God Why ~ Elisabeth Elliot
One of the things I am no longer as good at as I used to be is sleeping through the night. I'm rather glad about that, for there is something pleasant about waking in the small hours and realizing that one is, in fact, in bed and need not get up. One can luxuriate.
Between two and three o'clock yesterday morning I luxuriated. I lay listening to the night sounds in a small house on the "stern and rockbound" coast of Massachusetts. The wind whistled and roared, wrapping itself around the house and shaking it. On the quarter hour the clock in the living room softly gave out Whittington's chime. I could hear the tiny click as the electric blanket cut off and on, the cracking of the cold in the walls, the expensive rumble of the oil burner beneath me, and the reassuring rumble of a snoring husband beside me. Underneath it all was the deep, drumming rhythm of the surf, synchronized with the distant bellow of "Mother Ann's Cow," the name given the sounding buoy that guards the entrance to Gloucester Harbor.
I was thinking, as I suppose I am always thinking, in one way or another, about mystery. An English magazine which contained an interview with me had just come in the mail, and of course I read it, not to find out what I'd said to the man last spring in Swanwick, but to find out what he said I'd said. He had asked me about some of the events in my life, and I had told him that because of them I had had to "come to terms with mystery.'' That was an accurate quotation, I'm sure, but as I lay in bed I knew that one never comes to any final terms with mystery--not in this life, anyway. We keep asking the same unanswerable questions and wondering why the explanations are not forthcoming. We doubt God. We are anxious about everything when we have been told quite clearly to be anxious about nothing. Instead of stewing we are supposed to pray and give thanks.
Well, I thought, I'll have a go at it. I prayed about several things for which I could not give thanks. But I gave thanks in the middle of each of those prayers because I was still sure (the noise of the wind and ocean were reminding me) that underneath are the everlasting arms.
My prayers embraced four things:
1. Somebody I love is gravely ill.
2. Something I wanted has been denied.
3. Something I worked very hard for failed.
4. Something I prized is lost.
I can be specific about three of the things. A letter from a friend of many years describes her cancer surgery and its aftermath--an incision that had to be scraped and cleaned daily for weeks.
"It was so painful that Diana, Jim, Monica, and I prayed while she cleaned it, three times and some days four times. Monica would wipe my tears. Yes, Jesus stands right there as the pain takes my breath away and my toes curl to keep from crying out loud. But I haven't asked, Why me, Lord? It is only now that I can pray for cancer patients and know how the flesh hurts and how relief, even for a moment, is blessed."
The second thing is a manuscript on which I have spent years. It is not, I believe, publishable now, and I can see no way to redeem it. It feels as though those years of work have gone down the drain. Have they? What ought I to do about this failure?
The other thing is my J.B. Phillips translation of the New Testament, given to me when I lived in the jungle in 1960 and containing nineteen years' worth of notes. I left this book on an airplane between Dallas and Atlanta several weeks ago. The stewardess brought my breakfast as I was reading it, so I laid it in my lap and spread my napkin on top of it. I suppose it slipped down beside the seat. (Stupid of me, of course, but on the same trip my husband did just as stupid a thing. He left his briefcase on the sidewalk outside the terminal. We prayed, and the prayers were almost instantly answered. Someone had picked the briefcase up and turned it in to the airline, and we had it back in a couple of hours.) I am lost without my Phillips. I feel crippled. It is as though a large segment of the history of my spiritual pilgrimage has been obliterated. It was the one New Testament in which I knew my way around. I knew where things were on the page and used it constantly in public speaking because I could refer quickly to passages I needed. What shall I do?
I have done the obvious things. Prayer is the first thing--asking God to do what I can't do. The second thing is to get busy and do what I can do. I prayed for my friend, of course, and then I sat down and wrote her a letter. I don't know what else to do for her now. My husband and I prayed together about the lost New Testament (and many of my friends prayed too). We went to the proper authorities at the airline and have been assured that everything will be done to recover it, but it has not turned up. We prayed about the bad manuscript and asked for editorial advice. It looks quite irremedial. I continue to pray repeatedly, extensively, and earnestly about all of the above. And one more thing: I seek the lessons God wants to teach me, and that means that I ask why.
There are those who insist that it is a very bad thing to question God. To them, "why?" is a rude question. That depends, I believe, on whether it is an honest search, in faith, for his meaning, or whether it is a challenge of unbelief and rebellion. The psalmist often questioned God and so did Job. God did not answer the questions, but he answered the man--with the mystery of himself.
He has not left us entirely in the dark. We know a great deal more about his purposes than poor old Job did, yet Job trusted him. He is not only the Almighty--Job's favorite name for him. He is also our Father, and what a father does is not by any means always understood by the child. If he loves the child, however, the child trusts him. It is the child's ultimate good that the father has in mind. Terribly elementary. Yet I have to be reminded of this when, for example, my friend suffers, when a book I think I can't possibly do without is lost, when a manuscript is worthless.
The three things are not all in the same category. The second and third things have to do with my own carelessness and failure. Yet in all three I am reminded that God is my Father still, that he does have a purpose for me, and that nothing, absolutely nothing, is useless in the fulfillment of that purpose if I'll trust him for it and submit to the lessons.
"God disciplines us for our good that we may share his holiness." That is a strong clue to the explanation we are always seeking. God's purpose for us is holiness--his own holiness which we are to share--and the sole route to that end is discipline.
Discipline very often involves loss, diminishment, "fallings from us, vanishings." Why? Because God wills our perfection in holiness, that is, our joy. But, we argue, why should diminishments be the prerequisite for joy? The answer to that lies within the great mystery that underlies creation: the principle of life out of death, exemplified for all time in the Incarnation ("that a vile Manger his low Bed should prove, who in a Throne of stars Thunders above," as Crashaw expressed it) and in the cross and resurrection ("who, for the joy that was set before him, endured a cross"). Christ's radical diminishments--his birth as a helpless baby and his death as a common criminal--accomplished our salvation.
It follows that if we are to share in his destiny we must share in his death, which means, for us sinners, the willingness to offer up to him not only ourselves but all that goes with that gift, including the simplest, down-to-earth things. These things may be aggravating and irritating and humiliating as well as mysterious. But it is the very aggravation and irritation and humiliation that we can offer--every diminishment of every kind--so that by the grace of God we may be taught his loving lessons and be brought a little nearer to his loving purpose for us and thus be enlarged.
Somehow it's easy to understand the principle of control and denial and loss in the matter of self-discipline. It is perfectly plain to anyone who wants to do a difficult and worthwhile thing that he's got to deny himself a thousand unimportant and probably a few hundred important things in order to do the one thing that matters most. Bishop Stephen Neill said that writing is almost entirely a matter of self-discipline. "You must make yourself write." I know. Alas. Sit yourself down, shut yourself up, restrict your enthusiasms, control your maunderings. Think. (Sir Joshua Reynolds wrote, "There is no expedient to which a man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking.") Diminishments. Then put things on paper--carefully. Then (and this is the part I resist most strenuously) rewrite. Cut things. Drop things you've spent hours on into the wastebasket.
I lay in bed, luxuriating in the physical bliss, cogitating on the spiritual perplexities. I could not explain why God would restore Lars' lost briefcase and not my New Testament. I could not fathom my friend's suffering or the "waste" of time. But God could. It's got something to do with that great principle of loss being the route to gain, or diminishments being the only way we can finally be enlarged, that is, conformed to the image of Christ.
"Who watched over the birth of the sea?"
The words from God's dialogue with Job came to mind as I listened to the throbbing of the ocean from my bed.
"Have you descended to the springs of the sea, or walked in the unfathomable deep?"
No, Lord, but you have. Nothing in those dark caverns is mysterious to you. Nor is anything in my life or my friend's life. I trust you with the unfathomable.
But you know I'll be back--with the usual question.
Copyright© 1989, by Elisabeth Elliot all rights reserved.
Between two and three o'clock yesterday morning I luxuriated. I lay listening to the night sounds in a small house on the "stern and rockbound" coast of Massachusetts. The wind whistled and roared, wrapping itself around the house and shaking it. On the quarter hour the clock in the living room softly gave out Whittington's chime. I could hear the tiny click as the electric blanket cut off and on, the cracking of the cold in the walls, the expensive rumble of the oil burner beneath me, and the reassuring rumble of a snoring husband beside me. Underneath it all was the deep, drumming rhythm of the surf, synchronized with the distant bellow of "Mother Ann's Cow," the name given the sounding buoy that guards the entrance to Gloucester Harbor.
I was thinking, as I suppose I am always thinking, in one way or another, about mystery. An English magazine which contained an interview with me had just come in the mail, and of course I read it, not to find out what I'd said to the man last spring in Swanwick, but to find out what he said I'd said. He had asked me about some of the events in my life, and I had told him that because of them I had had to "come to terms with mystery.'' That was an accurate quotation, I'm sure, but as I lay in bed I knew that one never comes to any final terms with mystery--not in this life, anyway. We keep asking the same unanswerable questions and wondering why the explanations are not forthcoming. We doubt God. We are anxious about everything when we have been told quite clearly to be anxious about nothing. Instead of stewing we are supposed to pray and give thanks.
Well, I thought, I'll have a go at it. I prayed about several things for which I could not give thanks. But I gave thanks in the middle of each of those prayers because I was still sure (the noise of the wind and ocean were reminding me) that underneath are the everlasting arms.
My prayers embraced four things:
1. Somebody I love is gravely ill.
2. Something I wanted has been denied.
3. Something I worked very hard for failed.
4. Something I prized is lost.
I can be specific about three of the things. A letter from a friend of many years describes her cancer surgery and its aftermath--an incision that had to be scraped and cleaned daily for weeks.
"It was so painful that Diana, Jim, Monica, and I prayed while she cleaned it, three times and some days four times. Monica would wipe my tears. Yes, Jesus stands right there as the pain takes my breath away and my toes curl to keep from crying out loud. But I haven't asked, Why me, Lord? It is only now that I can pray for cancer patients and know how the flesh hurts and how relief, even for a moment, is blessed."
The second thing is a manuscript on which I have spent years. It is not, I believe, publishable now, and I can see no way to redeem it. It feels as though those years of work have gone down the drain. Have they? What ought I to do about this failure?
The other thing is my J.B. Phillips translation of the New Testament, given to me when I lived in the jungle in 1960 and containing nineteen years' worth of notes. I left this book on an airplane between Dallas and Atlanta several weeks ago. The stewardess brought my breakfast as I was reading it, so I laid it in my lap and spread my napkin on top of it. I suppose it slipped down beside the seat. (Stupid of me, of course, but on the same trip my husband did just as stupid a thing. He left his briefcase on the sidewalk outside the terminal. We prayed, and the prayers were almost instantly answered. Someone had picked the briefcase up and turned it in to the airline, and we had it back in a couple of hours.) I am lost without my Phillips. I feel crippled. It is as though a large segment of the history of my spiritual pilgrimage has been obliterated. It was the one New Testament in which I knew my way around. I knew where things were on the page and used it constantly in public speaking because I could refer quickly to passages I needed. What shall I do?
I have done the obvious things. Prayer is the first thing--asking God to do what I can't do. The second thing is to get busy and do what I can do. I prayed for my friend, of course, and then I sat down and wrote her a letter. I don't know what else to do for her now. My husband and I prayed together about the lost New Testament (and many of my friends prayed too). We went to the proper authorities at the airline and have been assured that everything will be done to recover it, but it has not turned up. We prayed about the bad manuscript and asked for editorial advice. It looks quite irremedial. I continue to pray repeatedly, extensively, and earnestly about all of the above. And one more thing: I seek the lessons God wants to teach me, and that means that I ask why.
There are those who insist that it is a very bad thing to question God. To them, "why?" is a rude question. That depends, I believe, on whether it is an honest search, in faith, for his meaning, or whether it is a challenge of unbelief and rebellion. The psalmist often questioned God and so did Job. God did not answer the questions, but he answered the man--with the mystery of himself.
He has not left us entirely in the dark. We know a great deal more about his purposes than poor old Job did, yet Job trusted him. He is not only the Almighty--Job's favorite name for him. He is also our Father, and what a father does is not by any means always understood by the child. If he loves the child, however, the child trusts him. It is the child's ultimate good that the father has in mind. Terribly elementary. Yet I have to be reminded of this when, for example, my friend suffers, when a book I think I can't possibly do without is lost, when a manuscript is worthless.
The three things are not all in the same category. The second and third things have to do with my own carelessness and failure. Yet in all three I am reminded that God is my Father still, that he does have a purpose for me, and that nothing, absolutely nothing, is useless in the fulfillment of that purpose if I'll trust him for it and submit to the lessons.
"God disciplines us for our good that we may share his holiness." That is a strong clue to the explanation we are always seeking. God's purpose for us is holiness--his own holiness which we are to share--and the sole route to that end is discipline.
Discipline very often involves loss, diminishment, "fallings from us, vanishings." Why? Because God wills our perfection in holiness, that is, our joy. But, we argue, why should diminishments be the prerequisite for joy? The answer to that lies within the great mystery that underlies creation: the principle of life out of death, exemplified for all time in the Incarnation ("that a vile Manger his low Bed should prove, who in a Throne of stars Thunders above," as Crashaw expressed it) and in the cross and resurrection ("who, for the joy that was set before him, endured a cross"). Christ's radical diminishments--his birth as a helpless baby and his death as a common criminal--accomplished our salvation.
It follows that if we are to share in his destiny we must share in his death, which means, for us sinners, the willingness to offer up to him not only ourselves but all that goes with that gift, including the simplest, down-to-earth things. These things may be aggravating and irritating and humiliating as well as mysterious. But it is the very aggravation and irritation and humiliation that we can offer--every diminishment of every kind--so that by the grace of God we may be taught his loving lessons and be brought a little nearer to his loving purpose for us and thus be enlarged.
Somehow it's easy to understand the principle of control and denial and loss in the matter of self-discipline. It is perfectly plain to anyone who wants to do a difficult and worthwhile thing that he's got to deny himself a thousand unimportant and probably a few hundred important things in order to do the one thing that matters most. Bishop Stephen Neill said that writing is almost entirely a matter of self-discipline. "You must make yourself write." I know. Alas. Sit yourself down, shut yourself up, restrict your enthusiasms, control your maunderings. Think. (Sir Joshua Reynolds wrote, "There is no expedient to which a man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking.") Diminishments. Then put things on paper--carefully. Then (and this is the part I resist most strenuously) rewrite. Cut things. Drop things you've spent hours on into the wastebasket.
I lay in bed, luxuriating in the physical bliss, cogitating on the spiritual perplexities. I could not explain why God would restore Lars' lost briefcase and not my New Testament. I could not fathom my friend's suffering or the "waste" of time. But God could. It's got something to do with that great principle of loss being the route to gain, or diminishments being the only way we can finally be enlarged, that is, conformed to the image of Christ.
"Who watched over the birth of the sea?"
The words from God's dialogue with Job came to mind as I listened to the throbbing of the ocean from my bed.
"Have you descended to the springs of the sea, or walked in the unfathomable deep?"
No, Lord, but you have. Nothing in those dark caverns is mysterious to you. Nor is anything in my life or my friend's life. I trust you with the unfathomable.
But you know I'll be back--with the usual question.
Copyright© 1989, by Elisabeth Elliot all rights reserved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
