He hears you

I took a quiz today and I didn't do so great on it. It could have been worse, but it could have been better, and it left me really discouraged. The more I thought about it, the hazier my thinking got and the worse I felt. What am I doing? Maybe I've finally found the thing that I just can't do. What am I going to do on my test Thursday? And it just went downhill from there. Everything I'd been doing to prepare myself went out the window and my faith was gone with it. 

It bothered me for a long time. Then on our way to church, Ta asked me something about one of the questions that I'd been having trouble with on the quiz and I lost it just a little. My frustration came bubbling back to the surface, ready to grab me and drag me to the bottom of despair with me hardly kicking in resistance. I didn't take it out on him, I took it out on myself, and I wallowed in it for a good ten minutes. 

Then my head began to clear a little, and the distress slowly ebbed. I felt reason returning, and I gradually got my emotions under control enough that I could start reapplying logic to the problem. I worked it out out loud and got through it, and it made me feel just a little bit better. And I thanked him for letting me just get it out of my system and verbalize what I needed to.

And he said that's ok, that he was mad at himself for bringing up something that would upset me like that. And that the minute I'd started crying he'd started praying really really really hard. And he had only gotten out two "Lord help her"s before I'd started talking it out and had gotten better.

It's a great gift to have a Lord that will listen to your prayers. It's just as amazing when he gives you friends who will go to him on your behalf when you forget.

Acquiescence

I am proud of my boyfriend. He has accomplished a lot, and he's doing very well, and I love to see that. But that's not really what I'm talking about here.

He's just good. And that's what makes me proud.

I don't have to fight with him or "play games" or scheme to get what I want. Usually what we want is the same thing. We have the same goals for the future, and I know we will find places where those don't quite overlap as perfectly as we think, or where our ideas of how to get there don't perfectly mesh, but that doesn't scare me. Because he cares for me, truly and very deeply. And that love, with its earnestness so pure it amazes me, lends sincerity to his desire to include me in every decision he makes.  

I also don't need to "train him." That same love is patient and knows that sometimes I want things he doesn't understand. If it's important to me, he makes it important to him. I don't need to condition him - I need to communicate with him. And I need to remember that sometimes he thinks what I want just doesn't make any sense, and it really doesn't. 

He would go out of his way to make me happy in anything. He literally just spent an hour looking up corny jokes on the internet, trying to find one to make me smile because he knew I wasn't doing too hot. The minute he senses that I feel bad he's there with a hug and a shoulder for me to wipe my nose on and his concern is genuine in a way that epitomizes his love for me I think. 

If I want something, all I have to do is ask. He may say no, but he will always consider it before he does. He's the logical one, and I can always count on him to be my counterbalance. I know too that it will never be neglect of my desires that causes the negative decision. Conceding that Star Trek is sometimes better than Star Wars - that little acquiescence is the mark of a man that really cares.

His love reminds me of a greater one, and it encourages me to do better on my part. His devotion is such a wonderful gift, and it makes me so thankful, that I want to do my best for him too.

Gideon

      The story of Gideon and the fleece has always been one of comfort to me, but also of some befuddlement.

36  And Gideon said unto God, If thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast said,

37  Behold, I will put a fleece of wool in the floor; and if the dew be on the fleece only, and it be dry upon all the earth beside, then shall I know that thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast said.

38  And it was so: for he rose up early on the morrow, and thrust the fleece together, and wringed the dew out of the fleece, a bowl full of water.

39  And Gideon said unto God, Let not thine anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.

40  And God did so that night: for it was dry upon the fleece only, and there was dew on all the ground.

      Gideon says twice that he knows God has said it will be so, yet he still asks for proof. And not just one form of substantiation, but this complex dewey vs dry thing twice. He wasn't satisfied with just God saying Israel would be saved by his hand. He needed a sign. Twice.
      I've always wondered why God gave it to him. Twice. Even Gideon was a little worried that God would get fed up with him because when he asked the second time he was a little hesitant, sort of going to God with his hands up like an apologetic fence-sitter - Ok, don't get mad when I ask this, and this is the last time I'll ask, I promise, but could I get just one more?
      I say this like I'm incredulous, like I really can't believe Gideon could do such a thing, but that's not the case. I empathize completely. That's why the story is also comforting. We have a very patient God who doesn't roll his eyes when I go to him for the 45,272,884,626,720,938,475,638th time today to ask that he remind me of his presence, be with me in this trial, give me some modicum of comfort to help me get through just this moment.


     I have been told that the command to "fear not" is in the Bible in some form 365 times, one for every day. And I need every single one of them. There are few times when I am not worried about something, and there are days when I could read all 365 and still beg for more damp fleece.
      It's not that I doubt God's word. It says over and over - sort of as a companion phrase, I think, to the "fear not" - that He will neither fail thee nor forsake thee; which is to remind you that God won't leave you without hope, and he won't fail in anything he tries. You can't somehow escape the reach of God's comforting hand; you are never in too deep for his help.
      What I fear instead is that though he is able to fulfill his will, maybe his will isn't the same as mine. I pray to do good on this test, and I know that he could help me make a perfect score if he wanted, but maybe he doesn't want. Maybe I didn't study enough and I won't get the grade that I want. I know to just do my best and let God handle the rest, but maybe I didn't work hard enough, maybe I should have done more, maybe it's my end of the deal that won't get upheld. It's completely ridiculous. Honestly, trying to put it into words now makes it seem like the silliest thing. Like God and I have this contract about my grades and if I don't do my part of the bargain, neither will he. (From this I can extrapolate and I really become so thankful for a doctrine not based on the works of man. Free grace is the most wonderful thing I've ever heard. If fear for my grades is this debilitating, imagine what fear for my eternal salvation would be like...) So I wind up going back to the Lord over and over again, asking for peace, reassurance, comfort, support, anything.


     So why does God continue to dish out the fear not and the be not afraid and the oh ye of little faith? He's the ever-merciful soup kitchen attendant with an endless supply of warm meals for the needy - never turning away, sometimes saying wait, but always delivering. It's because he knows we need it. We are so weak and feeble that we require repetitive reminding and reassurance. Our sinful nature keeps us slipping like sweaty hands on a non-mechanical, number two test pencil. And it's okay to need it. It keeps us present in the throne room.

      And one more thing. When Gideon asked for the fleece to be wet, the results weren't questionable. It wasn't just a little moist, there was a bowl's worth of water wrung from it.
      Sin also makes us come back over and over. The king's dainty meats are sweet and tempting, but they are also deceitful and hardly filling. We go back to sin out of habit like the nauseated canine, feeling relief for a while but then sick again. Both repetitious behaviors are due to weakness; we are weak to sin and sinful promise is too weak to stand up to the meat of God's word. So when we find ourselves going back for more, we should question the cook and try the spirits. If it is of the Lord, we will wring the fleece and take a swim; if not, we will find ourselves hungry, wanting, and looking for another place to eat.

Darling

I just had a thought. I was midway through a cracker and it was such a moving thought that I involuntarily stopped mid Ritz to contemplate it a little while longer.

And the thought was this: 

I have someone on whom I can lavish every bit of affection my little heart desires and this person not only enjoys it, but reciprocates! 

Even my dog gets wiggly when I try to snuggle with him too long. That's one thing that I count invaluable - that he never breaks away from a hug unless absolutely necessary, he's always willing to hold my hand and seeks it out at every opportunity, and for every sentence in a conversation he has twice as many "I love you"s. He truly loves me. He places my happiness above his own. He praises me far beyond what I consider really accurate.

I'm talking about Ta of course, but most of what I've said applies to God too. And I think I am right to commend my sweetheart for loving me with a love that mirrors the greater one. I consider often how I might improve myself to be more like the great women of the bible (a topic that Bro Philip Conley has been covering lately, much to my delight: http://coolspringspbc.org/audio-sermons/?series=41 ), to be a good wife eventually, to be valued far above rubies. But I forget that it goes both ways. There are things he needs to do too. And that is not to say that I should spend more time critiquing his actions and comparing him to the very highest standard; I should guide when need be and remind if necessary, but I should also praise him when he does well and lift his heart when he's feeling discouraged about it. 

He wants to take care of me. When we first talked about getting married his number one criteria for determining a timeline was that he would first have a steady job with which he could provide for us. On a slightly smaller scale maybe, any time I trip or cut myself on something or run into a large, stationary object that could have easily been avoided by anyone but me (as I so often do) he is right there, waaaay more concerned than he should be (at least I think so). 

He knows that we're partners in everything. Any time there is a decision to be made his first question is what I want. Choosing meal locations is a nightmare because I usually have no preference and he refuses to admit his own until I have. When he accepted the teaching position at Western Yell he called me, completely racked with guilt because he hadn't called me first - even though we had been talking about it for days during which I repeatedly told him I knew he was going to get it and I was so excited for him, and the call would have consisted of "what do you think? should I take it?" "well duh." 

He honors me. He treats me like a lady. He opens doors and pulls out chairs (even when he's on crutches and I feel like I'm taking advantage of an invalid). He doesn't ask me to do anything for him if he can do it himself. He is never intentionally condescending. He is respectful of my emotions and does his best to keep me happy, not just to keep himself out of trouble, but because he really wants me to always be happy.

 

Hiss

One thing that really disturbs me is the presence of a little voice whose speaker I know far too well. If you care to notice it, you can hear it too, though hopefully not as frequently as I do. It sneaks into your mind when you are presented with temptation, and if you're not carefully watching and defending the city, it can easily penetrate the walls and wreak havoc in your life. If you let it, it will slither under your skin and take control of you, moving your limbs, controlling your tongue, poisoning your thoughts. By grace, though, you can learn to tell it apart from good thoughts and in this way prevent it from infiltrating and ruining. (A note here: one need not be familiar with the voice to recognize it as bad - if we can recognize the voice of The Lord, we can tell all others apart from it and thereby know from which to flee.)

A few things it whispers to recognize as warnings:

It's worth it

There won't be any consequences

If there are consequences, they won't be bad

The reward will outweigh the punishment

A little guilt on your conscience is better than missing this opportunity

Nobody else thinks it's wrong

Lots of people do it

Just a little will do

You aren't harming anyone

Nobody's watching

You know you want it

It doesn't expressly say not to

It's not as bad as other things

God will overlook this one

It's really not bad

You're overreacting

When I hear these things I recognize their source, and the only way to convince myself that he's wrong is to remember who is right and the severity of ignoring what I know He would say. I imagine a slithery, scaly little thing sliding under my skin, and I think about how horrifying it is to know that there is such vileness inside me. I don't want the monster whispering to me, I want to sweep him out and scrub the floor where he stood with bleach. So I try to think about God instead, fill my heart and mind and soul with Him because if I do, there isn't room for anything else.

Continuance

When I get nervous because I know things are about to change, I find that it's helpful to remind myself that some things will stay the same. For example:

There will still be sunshine.

There will still be good food.

There will still be sleep.

There will still be people who love you.

There will still be a place to come back to at the end of the day.

There will still be music.

There will still be holidays.

There will still be funny jokes.

There will still be coffee.

There will still be a God that loves you and will support you when you forget all of this.

Boaz

So what if it's three o'clock in the morning and I have an 8am lab? Sleep is more of a recommendation than an actual necessity right?

I really like the book of Ruth, and I like to read it like a love story. In my head, Boaz fell in love with Ruth the minute he saw her. And the most romantic verse in the bible, to me, is the last verse of chapter 3: "Then said she [Naomi to Ruth], Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall: for the man will not be in rest, until he have finished the thing this day."

Now that I look at it again, I suppose I could see how this could look like a bit of an odd verse to call romantic. But that part always gets me - "for the man will not be in rest, until he have finished the thing this day."

Boaz, knowing what to do to make Ruth his wife, didn't dilly dally around. He stepped to it and got all the legal matters out of the way as quickly as he could. That was the romantic part. She meant so much to him that he didn't hesitate. He went forward with determination and assuredness that this was important. He won't go to sleep tonight without it being done. He won't stop for a long lunch. He won't pause by the edge of the road to admire a field, and he won't stop to buckle his sandle for more time than it requires. To think that this man did this so urgently because he felt so certain of me...that is the most romantic thing.

And really I'm not wrong to inject myself into the story. Because it's a picture of someone who did do it for me. For me. Of all people. Me. And he didn't rest either.

Another verse that I find romantic is Solomon 1:15. "Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes." Which is another kind of odd one to think so sweet I guess. Doves' eyes look a little vapid to me honestly. But I watched a three hour documentary about pigeons one time (yeah, I'm that person) and it said they mate for life. They have eyes only for their singular compantion. So really, it's a high compliment. Sort of lovey-dovey. (Yeah, I'm that person too.)

And preachers say when something gets repeated, it's important. So there's a lot of emphasis on my "fair-ness." To me, though, I know I am anything but. I know I am just as wretched as the most wicked of sinners, so there's obviously a breakdown in communication somewhere right? Somebody has eye problems and I'm just lucky he sees me as fair and not as trees walking about? Well...sort of. The Lord sees me as I have been cleansed and all my sins erased. I was vile, but am white as snow. This is important - He saw me and loved me in all my blackness and claimed me without hesitation. And I should have doves' eyes for him because of all that my Boaz has done for me.

Ebenezer

Let's get real for a minute. Down to the gritty, bare basics here.  

    The fifth chapter of the Gospel According to John is very dear to me. There have been times when I could feel my Lord near me, feel his presence in but a small portion of its gloriousness, as much wonder as my frail earthly figure can take, and in this chapter I once heard his voice so clearly. Here I raised my ebenezer, and I go back to it over and over to feel the warmth of his merciful love toward me.



    In the first part of the chapter, it talks about the pool of Bethesda where the infirm could be made whole again. "For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had" (5:4). And there's this man who's lame, and who "has no man" to carry him to the pool so that he might be made to walk again. This man had this infirmity for 38 years. Thirty and eight years of knowing there's a way to be healed, but not being able to drag himself to the water first.
    Then Jesus comes along and sees the man, sees the wretched condition he's in, and tells him to "rise, take up they bed and walk."(Side note here: Jesus sees him and asks, "Wilt thou be made whole?" not because the man's healing is dependent upon him saying, "yeah, fix me Lord," but because the man reflects upon his state and how there is nothing he can do to help himself. Jesus could have easily healed the man had the man said no, just like the man possessed of devils. Even demons know there is nothing that can stop the power of God.) Jesus, with a word, heals the man, and gives him a commandment. "Rise, take up thy bed and walk."

    The man is us. We, being vile, sinful creatures of the flesh can do nothing to cleanse ourselves. We "have no man" to carry us. But his children do have a God, an all-powerful and all-merciful God, who saw them, took pity, and healed them of our iniquity. Jesus healed that one man there and left the others, and yet this wasn't unfair because he didn't have to heal anybody - this is mercy. "For as the Father raiseth up the dead, and quickeneth them; even so the Son quickeneth whom he will" (5:21).

    The second part of the chapter is our bed. It's a sort of promise to God's children that as this man has been made whole again, so shall you be. It's a feather bed promise of eternal rest in holy delight; praise the King of mercy, hallelujah! "Marvel not at this: for the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation" (5:28-29). The man wasn't instructed to leave his bed, but to take it with him as we should assurance of our eternal salvation.

    The first part is an illustration of how sometimes we have problems, sometimes for a long time, and we can't do anything about it ourselves. It also shows us, as we should be reminded sometimes, of how our earthly selves can do nothing to attain goodness. We have no man to carry us to the water and we lack the strength to do it - but God doesn't. We suffer for thirty and eight years because we're trying to drag ourselves along and we're watching others pass us when all it takes is for God to say "rise." And the second part is assurance, like saying, "look, this is for you too, I promise, and it's going to happen, and this is why." It's a bed for us to lie down on and rest when we get tired of trying by our own power and then for us to carry with us when we're healed.