I'm too exhausted to put one thought in front of another. But here's a couple all jumbled up.
I wondered, when I was partying with friends, how anyone had fun when they weren't drinking or messing around. It seemed so impossible that you could have fun without all of that. But I've had more fun with new friends over the last year than I've quite possibly ever had, and there's no booze involved. No dramatic walks of shame. No sordid details. No shame. That feels good.
For maybe the first time ever, tonight I felt anger at my parents for not raising me with even a passing knowledge of Christ. I understand. I get that they were not with Him, so though they'd both been raised to know Him, they couldn't help me. But in a moment, the anger flared, and I thought, "How could they have known the story, have heard the Gospel, and not have told their own daughter?" The anger passed to shame, a new and different kind of shame, as I realized how many people to whom I don't tell the story.
Encountering thousands of Christian women is still overwhelming. Within a couple of months of first moving here, I attended the Designed for Life Conference. I had never seen so many Christians, nor so many women, in the same place,and I remember, very well, ambling into the bathroom at the end of that first night. I stared into my own eyes in the mirror, the disorienting chatter of female voices all around me, wondering if I was drunk. I felt drunk. I knew that I hadn't been drinking. But I didn't know if I was okay to drive home. Somehow, the combination of so many women, and so much Jesus, all drenched in pink glitter, had hit my system like a half-dozen shots of Patron. I've come to love the women's ministry, but sometimes, I can't lie, I still want to hide in the bathroom.
More some other time. Exhaustion great. Must sleep.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
still.
Tomorrow is Good Friday.
Last year at this time, I had surrendered fully to Christ only a week before. At the service, I had brought some brownies to a girl with whom I'd just started a friendship a couple of months before, asking her to bring them to her production people--people I now adore, and who've helped guide me and care for me through this last year. I had never seen the inside of the production room at that time--tomorrow is one of the three services this month for which I won't be in that room.
A lot changes in a year.
On Monday, I'll finalize the first round of details on my thesis, looking at how to help facilitate the discipleship process. Today, I lined up the parts of my application to AGTS, and by next week, my file will be started in the admissions office. On Sunday, roughly 14,000 people will hear me talk about the emptiness of my life before Christ, and the love I've come to know.
I wonder if I'm up for all this? Truthfully, the answer is "No." But, He is. So we'll keep walking.
I wonder if I'm one of those creepy, over-zealous converts who gets too deep too fast, and goes crazy religious? But the fact that I know enough to ask that question is reassuring.
I wonder if I've come to worship the church, but not the Savior? Honestly, probably sometimes. But He always brings me back.
I wonder if, related to the last point, I've sought His work in my heart, or have just become a busy church bee? Again, honestly, probably sometimes. But I see evidence of sincere heart change.
Categorically, one by one, my wonderings are met with truth ("maybe" or "sometimes" or "yes"), but His power can handle that truth, can change it. G.K. Chesterton wrote that "though the dragon's jaws may fill the sky, still they are not everything." Though I've much to learn about life in the church, and much, much more to learn about life with God, God is always bigger than what I lack. He's bigger than my ignorance, and bigger than my insecurity, and He's bigger than my sin. He is, in fact, bigger than my life. Than church services, and science, and seminary.
Maybe I'm not ready for all of this, but We are.
Last year at this time, I had surrendered fully to Christ only a week before. At the service, I had brought some brownies to a girl with whom I'd just started a friendship a couple of months before, asking her to bring them to her production people--people I now adore, and who've helped guide me and care for me through this last year. I had never seen the inside of the production room at that time--tomorrow is one of the three services this month for which I won't be in that room.
A lot changes in a year.
On Monday, I'll finalize the first round of details on my thesis, looking at how to help facilitate the discipleship process. Today, I lined up the parts of my application to AGTS, and by next week, my file will be started in the admissions office. On Sunday, roughly 14,000 people will hear me talk about the emptiness of my life before Christ, and the love I've come to know.
I wonder if I'm up for all this? Truthfully, the answer is "No." But, He is. So we'll keep walking.
I wonder if I'm one of those creepy, over-zealous converts who gets too deep too fast, and goes crazy religious? But the fact that I know enough to ask that question is reassuring.
I wonder if I've come to worship the church, but not the Savior? Honestly, probably sometimes. But He always brings me back.
I wonder if, related to the last point, I've sought His work in my heart, or have just become a busy church bee? Again, honestly, probably sometimes. But I see evidence of sincere heart change.
Categorically, one by one, my wonderings are met with truth ("maybe" or "sometimes" or "yes"), but His power can handle that truth, can change it. G.K. Chesterton wrote that "though the dragon's jaws may fill the sky, still they are not everything." Though I've much to learn about life in the church, and much, much more to learn about life with God, God is always bigger than what I lack. He's bigger than my ignorance, and bigger than my insecurity, and He's bigger than my sin. He is, in fact, bigger than my life. Than church services, and science, and seminary.
Maybe I'm not ready for all of this, but We are.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
forgive me Father, for...
Life in the church is hitting me like a freight train this week.
The heart ache of shared tragedy. The busy-ness of conferences, and councils, and holidays. The intricacies of personal relationship, when God is watching your heart, and knowing your thoughts. The awareness that comes with knowing that in a few days, a whole mess of people are going to see a part of your heart for God.
I see it all, and think, "I can't possibly live all of this." And then, "Thank God, I don't have to do it on my own."
This week has been a hard one for my church. A week that has me thinking a lot about holiness. About my own sin, and how little attention I pay to it. For me, sin is a million negative comments, thoughts simmered in anger, or frustration, or callousness, that no doubt affect my heart's ability to love Christ the way I ought to, to love others the way they deserve to be loved. That isn't my only failure, but it hits the hardest.
At night, I've been forcing myself to confess. Well, first, to think. Not to gloss over the sins of my day, but to remember, that in remembering I might seek forgiveness, and free my heart from the deception of my own lies to myself. Those lies that say things like "You've nothing to confess, you've no sin."
These conversations about sin can sometimes seem creepy. I hated hearing about sin when I first came here. Thought that the intense focus on it encouraged people to feel more poorly about themselves than was necessary. Felt that the word "sin" was too intense--too fiery and negative.
The word still makes me cringe. Partially still because it seems so intense, so fire and brimstone. But now also because I understand sin to be a separation from God. And, having been close to Him, the separation is painful. And yet...
So I try to confess. Try to remember, to pay more attention to my thoughts--those I allow to fester and poison my heart. It's not easy. I think I probably need to gain some wisdom of balance. How do I acknowledge, and confess sin without becoming mired in the guilt and hurt that comes with realizing what I've done? When I know I've fallen short, not loved someone the way I should, or worse still, hurt someone, made someone feel less than the preciousness they were created as, how do I recall that, focus it, confess it, seek forgiveness for it, and then really experience that forgiveness?
Is that an issue of really understanding God's love for me? Maybe.
At any rate, I do believe that part of the power of confession is the license it gives for His great power to move through my heart. For now, that will have to be the wisdom needed.
The heart ache of shared tragedy. The busy-ness of conferences, and councils, and holidays. The intricacies of personal relationship, when God is watching your heart, and knowing your thoughts. The awareness that comes with knowing that in a few days, a whole mess of people are going to see a part of your heart for God.
I see it all, and think, "I can't possibly live all of this." And then, "Thank God, I don't have to do it on my own."
This week has been a hard one for my church. A week that has me thinking a lot about holiness. About my own sin, and how little attention I pay to it. For me, sin is a million negative comments, thoughts simmered in anger, or frustration, or callousness, that no doubt affect my heart's ability to love Christ the way I ought to, to love others the way they deserve to be loved. That isn't my only failure, but it hits the hardest.
At night, I've been forcing myself to confess. Well, first, to think. Not to gloss over the sins of my day, but to remember, that in remembering I might seek forgiveness, and free my heart from the deception of my own lies to myself. Those lies that say things like "You've nothing to confess, you've no sin."
These conversations about sin can sometimes seem creepy. I hated hearing about sin when I first came here. Thought that the intense focus on it encouraged people to feel more poorly about themselves than was necessary. Felt that the word "sin" was too intense--too fiery and negative.
The word still makes me cringe. Partially still because it seems so intense, so fire and brimstone. But now also because I understand sin to be a separation from God. And, having been close to Him, the separation is painful. And yet...
So I try to confess. Try to remember, to pay more attention to my thoughts--those I allow to fester and poison my heart. It's not easy. I think I probably need to gain some wisdom of balance. How do I acknowledge, and confess sin without becoming mired in the guilt and hurt that comes with realizing what I've done? When I know I've fallen short, not loved someone the way I should, or worse still, hurt someone, made someone feel less than the preciousness they were created as, how do I recall that, focus it, confess it, seek forgiveness for it, and then really experience that forgiveness?
Is that an issue of really understanding God's love for me? Maybe.
At any rate, I do believe that part of the power of confession is the license it gives for His great power to move through my heart. For now, that will have to be the wisdom needed.
Friday, April 15, 2011
something beautiful.
"And Ashley Louise, I told her it was ALL God, not me, because only God could do it, and she thought it was so amazing that she came to our bible study, and she's JEWISH!"
That was my Mom this morning, on the phone. Telling me about how she's been praying for situations at work, and as God answers her prayers, she's telling others about Him.
I don't know what to tell you.
Last week, my Dad told me that he's been using examples of the things I tell him about my experiences at James River to change his Lutheran church. Honestly, the most I hear the word "missional" all week is on the phone with him.
I'm in awe. No matter what I think or feel about the faith of my parents, they are becoming influencers for Christ in their own rights.
It hasn't always been like this. When I was 14, and new in the church, I remember feeling incredibly hurt that, unlike my friends with their seemingly perfect Christian families, my own family was so broken. Adultery, and mental illness, and anger had torn it apart again and again and again. Literally, I've been through three parental divorces. I have heard countless screaming matches, and been through court battles, and gotten the call saying "Your parent is checked into the hospital on suicide watch." I have the memories of hiding in a dark corner of the living room, watching while he leaves, seeing her sobbing on the stairs. When I was a kid, I cried myself to sleep every night for years, because I knew deeply that things were not right, that I lived in a dark world. And no number of piano or figure-skating lessons, no school achievement--gifted programs, or IQ tests, or accolades--could light it.
I'm not thinking about all of that to stir pity, or melodrama. But because it was real, it is real. It happened. But just as surely, this transformation, the fruit of the transformation in the life of my family, is real. It's happening.
Since I first discovered Him, Christ has been using my journey with Him to reach out to my parents. Though they were both raised strongly in the church, they both fell away. When I found church at 14, they both began attending again, though irregularly. While I was away in college, they became stronger. And as I've surrendered completely, and begun to grow, they seem now to be seeking new levels in their own faiths. We're growing together.
I don't say this lightly: this is a miracle.
It's one of the most amazing stories of redemption and grace I've ever heard. That 12 years ago, I cried to my first pastor that I felt so alone in this new faith I had found. And now, I truly know Christ, and see my parents reaching out to know Him as well. Helping others to know Him. That He took something ugly, so terribly ugly. Something filled with hatred, and hurt, and brokenness, and is making a beautiful story, a new opportunity not only for my family, but for those who might come to be helped by my family. That is so far beyond my own capacity to imagine.
Thinking of this reminds me to be faithful, to be trusting, to be willing. How beautiful it all looks from this moment. But how grotesque from within those moments. He's so faithful.
Father, I'm in.
That was my Mom this morning, on the phone. Telling me about how she's been praying for situations at work, and as God answers her prayers, she's telling others about Him.
I don't know what to tell you.
Last week, my Dad told me that he's been using examples of the things I tell him about my experiences at James River to change his Lutheran church. Honestly, the most I hear the word "missional" all week is on the phone with him.
I'm in awe. No matter what I think or feel about the faith of my parents, they are becoming influencers for Christ in their own rights.
It hasn't always been like this. When I was 14, and new in the church, I remember feeling incredibly hurt that, unlike my friends with their seemingly perfect Christian families, my own family was so broken. Adultery, and mental illness, and anger had torn it apart again and again and again. Literally, I've been through three parental divorces. I have heard countless screaming matches, and been through court battles, and gotten the call saying "Your parent is checked into the hospital on suicide watch." I have the memories of hiding in a dark corner of the living room, watching while he leaves, seeing her sobbing on the stairs. When I was a kid, I cried myself to sleep every night for years, because I knew deeply that things were not right, that I lived in a dark world. And no number of piano or figure-skating lessons, no school achievement--gifted programs, or IQ tests, or accolades--could light it.
I'm not thinking about all of that to stir pity, or melodrama. But because it was real, it is real. It happened. But just as surely, this transformation, the fruit of the transformation in the life of my family, is real. It's happening.
Since I first discovered Him, Christ has been using my journey with Him to reach out to my parents. Though they were both raised strongly in the church, they both fell away. When I found church at 14, they both began attending again, though irregularly. While I was away in college, they became stronger. And as I've surrendered completely, and begun to grow, they seem now to be seeking new levels in their own faiths. We're growing together.
I don't say this lightly: this is a miracle.
It's one of the most amazing stories of redemption and grace I've ever heard. That 12 years ago, I cried to my first pastor that I felt so alone in this new faith I had found. And now, I truly know Christ, and see my parents reaching out to know Him as well. Helping others to know Him. That He took something ugly, so terribly ugly. Something filled with hatred, and hurt, and brokenness, and is making a beautiful story, a new opportunity not only for my family, but for those who might come to be helped by my family. That is so far beyond my own capacity to imagine.
Thinking of this reminds me to be faithful, to be trusting, to be willing. How beautiful it all looks from this moment. But how grotesque from within those moments. He's so faithful.
Father, I'm in.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
ramblings.
When I can't sleep, I imagine this house. Specifically, a room in the house. Way out in the country, on the top floor of an old farm house, with the windows open and the curtains blowing gently through. I'm sleeping in this huge bed, covered in white down blankets. So peaceful. Safe.
I've never seen such a house, or room, or bed, but it's where I go, when my own space isn't working.
I'm thinking about where my life is going. Whether it's going. I'm feeling restless. Sometimes, I want to just pick up and move. Pick a city, go there, get a job, work, live. What would be wrong with that? I'm not tied here. Phoenix? Atlanta? Back home to Chicago? Portland? Why not?
I used to have a plan for my life, and it made me feel settled, stable, valuable. Now, I have no plan. Because all I know is that I don't want the old plan. And the eschewing of one is not the presence of another, so I am plan-less. In my stronger moments, I think things like "Ok, God, whatever You'd have me do, I'm all in..." In my weaker moments, I spit it out, kind of angry with Him, as though to say "Fine, You want me? You got me." Because I'm scared. Because I don't yet fully understand my value in Christ. Because plans make me feel valuable, but without one, what am I?
I pray for guidance, but I get nothing. What now?
I've never seen such a house, or room, or bed, but it's where I go, when my own space isn't working.
I'm thinking about where my life is going. Whether it's going. I'm feeling restless. Sometimes, I want to just pick up and move. Pick a city, go there, get a job, work, live. What would be wrong with that? I'm not tied here. Phoenix? Atlanta? Back home to Chicago? Portland? Why not?
I used to have a plan for my life, and it made me feel settled, stable, valuable. Now, I have no plan. Because all I know is that I don't want the old plan. And the eschewing of one is not the presence of another, so I am plan-less. In my stronger moments, I think things like "Ok, God, whatever You'd have me do, I'm all in..." In my weaker moments, I spit it out, kind of angry with Him, as though to say "Fine, You want me? You got me." Because I'm scared. Because I don't yet fully understand my value in Christ. Because plans make me feel valuable, but without one, what am I?
I pray for guidance, but I get nothing. What now?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
turned.
"...whose weakness was turned to strength..."
A gem tucked into the middle of Hebrews 11:34.
The writer tells us he doesn't have time to say more about Gideon, Barak, Samson, and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets. He doesn't have a minute to tell of how, through faith, they conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained promised glory. About how they shut the mouths of lions, and quenched the flames, and escaped the sword. He doesn't have time to tell us of all those faithful whose weakness was turned to strength.
What does he have time for? What does he tell us? What's important?
He tells us that "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance."
Abel, and Enoch, and Noah, and Abraham, and Jacob, and Joseph, and Moses, and Rahab, and Gideon, and Barak, and Samson, and Jephthah, and David, Samuel, and the prophets--they all only saw the promise from a distance. They lived, and fought, and loved and struggled, far from the glory they'd been promised. Because God had planned something better for us, so that together, with them, with heroes and warriors and prophets, we would all be made perfect in His sight, with one sacrifice for all of time.
How entirely, and breathlessly stunning that our weakness, our Weakness, our humanity, is made into strength by that one sacrifice. That in the faith of those who hadn't yet seen the Savior, we find ourselves brought to understand the vision of our own faith.
Their faith was made strong by hope in a remedy for their un-ending sacrifice. Ours has witnessed that remedy. We know the full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice that would bind us all.
My weakness is made strength not in becoming the fullest representation of humanity--the strongest, or smartest, or the best--but in most fully reflecting the glory of divinity, the reality of my own immortality, of His own image.
That's love. His overwhelming love for me is what I am to reflect, and when I don't, if I don't have it, I'm nothing. No matter the successes of my humanity.
My weakness is made over into His strength. That is to say, His love--the fulfillment of the sacrifice that ended the sacrifices.
Outrageous.
A gem tucked into the middle of Hebrews 11:34.
The writer tells us he doesn't have time to say more about Gideon, Barak, Samson, and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets. He doesn't have a minute to tell of how, through faith, they conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained promised glory. About how they shut the mouths of lions, and quenched the flames, and escaped the sword. He doesn't have time to tell us of all those faithful whose weakness was turned to strength.
What does he have time for? What does he tell us? What's important?
He tells us that "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance."
Abel, and Enoch, and Noah, and Abraham, and Jacob, and Joseph, and Moses, and Rahab, and Gideon, and Barak, and Samson, and Jephthah, and David, Samuel, and the prophets--they all only saw the promise from a distance. They lived, and fought, and loved and struggled, far from the glory they'd been promised. Because God had planned something better for us, so that together, with them, with heroes and warriors and prophets, we would all be made perfect in His sight, with one sacrifice for all of time.
How entirely, and breathlessly stunning that our weakness, our Weakness, our humanity, is made into strength by that one sacrifice. That in the faith of those who hadn't yet seen the Savior, we find ourselves brought to understand the vision of our own faith.
Their faith was made strong by hope in a remedy for their un-ending sacrifice. Ours has witnessed that remedy. We know the full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice that would bind us all.
My weakness is made strength not in becoming the fullest representation of humanity--the strongest, or smartest, or the best--but in most fully reflecting the glory of divinity, the reality of my own immortality, of His own image.
That's love. His overwhelming love for me is what I am to reflect, and when I don't, if I don't have it, I'm nothing. No matter the successes of my humanity.
My weakness is made over into His strength. That is to say, His love--the fulfillment of the sacrifice that ended the sacrifices.
Outrageous.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
an unexpected Christian.
When I started this, it was (unbeknownst to me) a blog about becoming a Christian. Then it became a blog about how to be a Christian--not prescriptive, but how I was learning to be a Christian, in the face of overwhelming doubts and questions. I am positive that I will want to turn from this yet. I'm sure all do, at some time. But I'm not there anymore, so what is this blog about now?
I've been struggling with that recently, until today. I realized that, if I care to be honest, there's much about my life as a Christian I'd love to process through. There's much that I imagine is shared experience in this life.
I am a dedicated volunteer who doesn't always feel so dedicated. I struggle with the meaning of ministry, and the temptation to glorify myself over Him as I serve. I sometimes get so lost in the actions, I forget the purpose. I wonder how people avoid burnout, and how they work through those times when their hearts are messed up, but they still have to show up. I think about how to deal with people I don't particularly care for, within the church. How do I show confidence and humility simultaneously, especially when those around me have so much much experience? What do I say to unsaved friends about my faith? How much is too much to share? What if I never make it with them to the point of Christ? What about my past? I know that this me that I am is so different, and how do I help people with the transition? Forget that, how do I be the me who has Christ when I spend time with people with whom it's so easy to sink back? And just that I have a past. How do I share openly about the alcohol and the sex? There are people who can benefit from my wisdom--how do I know when those moments come? How do I make sure that I'm not pretending as though "Oh, no, I've never done that," just to save face? How am I going to deal openly with those things myself, as my understanding of sin only grows deeper? Will it be like waking up to a nightmare, every time I understand a little more, a little better, to realize all over again...? How will I incorporate new ideas into my faith? What do I do when I get questions I can't answer--like my mother calling me, asking me what happened to all of the people who died before Christ came? I'm not in fear of losing my faith, but I do fear not helping others to theirs. How will I answer those questions? What about the rest of my life? I'm not so worried about the direction anymore, but some of the particulars upset me. What if it's not in His plan for me to get married? How will I deal with that pain? Right now, it's harder than it once was, but easier than it might be yet, to imagine that God has the perfect guy for me, but what if that's not the plan? Will I know? Or just keep waiting? And if I know, what will my faith look like? In the mean time, how do I follow Him so closely it never matters? How do I deal with my own imperfections? The disappointment of sin?
These are things the firmly Christian me thinks. I can't be the only one.
At any rate, I think that this blog has life yet. There it is. There's its life. Life as an unexpected Christian.
I have great hope that my staying close to Christ will resolve all of those questions, and the many that I don't even yet know to ask. But, I'm human.
I've been struggling with that recently, until today. I realized that, if I care to be honest, there's much about my life as a Christian I'd love to process through. There's much that I imagine is shared experience in this life.
I am a dedicated volunteer who doesn't always feel so dedicated. I struggle with the meaning of ministry, and the temptation to glorify myself over Him as I serve. I sometimes get so lost in the actions, I forget the purpose. I wonder how people avoid burnout, and how they work through those times when their hearts are messed up, but they still have to show up. I think about how to deal with people I don't particularly care for, within the church. How do I show confidence and humility simultaneously, especially when those around me have so much much experience? What do I say to unsaved friends about my faith? How much is too much to share? What if I never make it with them to the point of Christ? What about my past? I know that this me that I am is so different, and how do I help people with the transition? Forget that, how do I be the me who has Christ when I spend time with people with whom it's so easy to sink back? And just that I have a past. How do I share openly about the alcohol and the sex? There are people who can benefit from my wisdom--how do I know when those moments come? How do I make sure that I'm not pretending as though "Oh, no, I've never done that," just to save face? How am I going to deal openly with those things myself, as my understanding of sin only grows deeper? Will it be like waking up to a nightmare, every time I understand a little more, a little better, to realize all over again...? How will I incorporate new ideas into my faith? What do I do when I get questions I can't answer--like my mother calling me, asking me what happened to all of the people who died before Christ came? I'm not in fear of losing my faith, but I do fear not helping others to theirs. How will I answer those questions? What about the rest of my life? I'm not so worried about the direction anymore, but some of the particulars upset me. What if it's not in His plan for me to get married? How will I deal with that pain? Right now, it's harder than it once was, but easier than it might be yet, to imagine that God has the perfect guy for me, but what if that's not the plan? Will I know? Or just keep waiting? And if I know, what will my faith look like? In the mean time, how do I follow Him so closely it never matters? How do I deal with my own imperfections? The disappointment of sin?
These are things the firmly Christian me thinks. I can't be the only one.
At any rate, I think that this blog has life yet. There it is. There's its life. Life as an unexpected Christian.
I have great hope that my staying close to Christ will resolve all of those questions, and the many that I don't even yet know to ask. But, I'm human.
Monday, April 4, 2011
what's been promised.
Have you ever read Hebrews 11? It's outrageous. Seriously.
One of the strangest joys of my salvation has been that things I know I've read before are to me as though I've never seen them--so alive, and real, and strong. I read, and I think...how did this not grab me? How did I just keep reading and reading, straight on through the New Testament, so academically, without stopping, falling to my knees, praising, surrendering? Was I dead?
Oh, yeah, right. Actually, I kinda was.
So, you know what...eff it, I'm not even writing a post. Why bother? Read this:
1 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. 2 This is what the ancients were commended for.
3 By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.
4 By faith Abel brought God a better offering than Cain did. By faith he was commended as righteous, when God spoke well of his offerings. And by faith Abel still speaks, even though he is dead.
5 By faith Enoch was taken from this life, so that he did not experience death: “He could not be found, because God had taken him away.”[a] For before he was taken, he was commended as one who pleased God. 6 And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.
7 By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family. By his faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness that is in keeping with faith.
8 By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. 9 By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 11 And by faith even Sarah, who was past childbearing age, was enabled to bear children because she[b] considered him faithful who had made the promise. 12 And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore.
13 All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. 14 People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. 15 If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.
17 By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice. He who had embraced the promises was about to sacrifice his one and only son, 18 even though God had said to him, “It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned.”[c] 19 Abraham reasoned that God could even raise the dead, and so in a manner of speaking he did receive Isaac back from death.
20 By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau in regard to their future.
21 By faith Jacob, when he was dying, blessed each of Joseph’s sons, and worshiped as he leaned on the top of his staff.
22 By faith Joseph, when his end was near, spoke about the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and gave instructions concerning the burial of his bones.
23 By faith Moses’ parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.
24 By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. 25 He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. 27 By faith he left Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger; he persevered because he saw him who is invisible. 28 By faith he kept the Passover and the application of blood, so that the destroyer of the firstborn would not touch the firstborn of Israel.
29 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as on dry land; but when the Egyptians tried to do so, they were drowned.
30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell, after the army had marched around them for seven days.
31 By faith the prostitute Rahab, because she welcomed the spies, was not killed with those who were disobedient.[d]
32 And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, 34 quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. 35 Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. 36 Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were put to death by stoning;[e] they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— 38 the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground.
39 These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, 40 since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.
People. People. I know. 13 and 39 just kill me. I'm spent. Are you?
One of the strangest joys of my salvation has been that things I know I've read before are to me as though I've never seen them--so alive, and real, and strong. I read, and I think...how did this not grab me? How did I just keep reading and reading, straight on through the New Testament, so academically, without stopping, falling to my knees, praising, surrendering? Was I dead?
Oh, yeah, right. Actually, I kinda was.
So, you know what...eff it, I'm not even writing a post. Why bother? Read this:
1 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. 2 This is what the ancients were commended for.
3 By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.
4 By faith Abel brought God a better offering than Cain did. By faith he was commended as righteous, when God spoke well of his offerings. And by faith Abel still speaks, even though he is dead.
5 By faith Enoch was taken from this life, so that he did not experience death: “He could not be found, because God had taken him away.”[a] For before he was taken, he was commended as one who pleased God. 6 And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.
7 By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family. By his faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness that is in keeping with faith.
8 By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. 9 By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 11 And by faith even Sarah, who was past childbearing age, was enabled to bear children because she[b] considered him faithful who had made the promise. 12 And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore.
13 All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. 14 People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. 15 If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.
17 By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice. He who had embraced the promises was about to sacrifice his one and only son, 18 even though God had said to him, “It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned.”[c] 19 Abraham reasoned that God could even raise the dead, and so in a manner of speaking he did receive Isaac back from death.
20 By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau in regard to their future.
21 By faith Jacob, when he was dying, blessed each of Joseph’s sons, and worshiped as he leaned on the top of his staff.
22 By faith Joseph, when his end was near, spoke about the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and gave instructions concerning the burial of his bones.
23 By faith Moses’ parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.
24 By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. 25 He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. 27 By faith he left Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger; he persevered because he saw him who is invisible. 28 By faith he kept the Passover and the application of blood, so that the destroyer of the firstborn would not touch the firstborn of Israel.
29 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as on dry land; but when the Egyptians tried to do so, they were drowned.
30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell, after the army had marched around them for seven days.
31 By faith the prostitute Rahab, because she welcomed the spies, was not killed with those who were disobedient.[d]
32 And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, 34 quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. 35 Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. 36 Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were put to death by stoning;[e] they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— 38 the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground.
39 These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, 40 since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.
People. People. I know. 13 and 39 just kill me. I'm spent. Are you?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
anger inward.
There's this intersection between my personality and my faith that I can't figure out. It goes like this:
When I get angry with someone, but it's not worth it or feasible to bring it up, I tell myself to let it go. To love the person, and stop the record. But then something weird happens. It's as though I can't let go of the anger, so it just turns inward, and I start to think... "Hey, God, if I'm going to give up this anger, what will I have? Can you promise to love me in that place where the anger was?" It's a weird reaction, I know. I'm not even really describing it very well. It's as though my loving them hurts me. Like in giving up my anger, I become something less, something injured.
Is the problem that I'm not actually effectively purging the anger, so it just becomes anger-inward? And that's what causes the self-negativity?
Is it that I'm holding onto the anger as a way to justify myself in the relationship? And that I don't trust God to love me beyond the perceived loss of love from that other person?
Is it straight up pride? Self-pity brought on by a need to be right, so that when I let go of that, my pride is wounded?
Am I just wired oddly? Does anyone else even remotely understand what I'm saying? I've not met anyone who does. This might be a shot in the dark.
At any rate, it's something I've known, and been baffled by, for a while. And something I'm not happy about. Its presence tells me I'm missing some piece of the Truth of God's love for me, and His power. His complete ability to be the absolute center of my being, and the strength on which I do everything, loving others included.
Time to pray it out.
When I get angry with someone, but it's not worth it or feasible to bring it up, I tell myself to let it go. To love the person, and stop the record. But then something weird happens. It's as though I can't let go of the anger, so it just turns inward, and I start to think... "Hey, God, if I'm going to give up this anger, what will I have? Can you promise to love me in that place where the anger was?" It's a weird reaction, I know. I'm not even really describing it very well. It's as though my loving them hurts me. Like in giving up my anger, I become something less, something injured.
Is the problem that I'm not actually effectively purging the anger, so it just becomes anger-inward? And that's what causes the self-negativity?
Is it that I'm holding onto the anger as a way to justify myself in the relationship? And that I don't trust God to love me beyond the perceived loss of love from that other person?
Is it straight up pride? Self-pity brought on by a need to be right, so that when I let go of that, my pride is wounded?
Am I just wired oddly? Does anyone else even remotely understand what I'm saying? I've not met anyone who does. This might be a shot in the dark.
At any rate, it's something I've known, and been baffled by, for a while. And something I'm not happy about. Its presence tells me I'm missing some piece of the Truth of God's love for me, and His power. His complete ability to be the absolute center of my being, and the strength on which I do everything, loving others included.
Time to pray it out.
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