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Grovel or Go? Lessons from Isaiah

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Yes, PJ IS standing in an open car window--at least it wasn't in motion! I'm amazed--and grateful--that we've only had ONE trip to the emergency room with our little daredevil. I'm sure it won't be the last.

Too often I tell God what I want Him to do with me and for me. I guess there’s an acknowledgement of weakness in these kinds of prayers—I am, after all, admitting that I can’t make these things happen—but there is also a sense of pride. I may not have the strength to carry this out, but I know what the best course of action is.

Today I discovered I even tell God what to do in regard to my sin. This morning I prayed, “Lord, reveal my sin to me. Help me to know the ways I am straying from you.”

I’m not knocking this kind of prayer, and I’m trusting that the Holy Spirit interprets it for me, but as I studied a passage in Isaiah today, I realized that this prayer is based on a lot of ignorance. If God really DID show me the depths of my sinfulness, I would be crushed, as Isaiah was when he was in the presence of God. Overwhelmed, his only understanding in that moment was of his own dirtiness in the presence of the completely clean and holy God. “Woe is me! For I am lost;” he said, “for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

Regarding this passage, R.C. Sproul comments that this is a rare occurrence: God does not often crush us with a full picture of our sinfulness. Instead He reveals it bit by bit, in His own time and plan, as it is necessary and good for us.

That leads me to examine the motives behind my “Show me my sins” prayers. Am I asking, perhaps, out of a heart that still hopes to do penance, to somehow pay for my own sins, to show that I am truly sorry for them, and in this sorrow, to gain some acceptance?

Again, Isaiah’s example helps me. Isaiah was not asked to do penance for his sinfulness. Instead GOD sent an angel with a burning coal to purify Isaiah.

He did the same for me, with the death of Christ. I cannot accomplish my own purification, and therefore, He doesn’t ask me to. He did and does that Himself.

“…your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”

Even knowing this, KNOWING that Christ paid for my sin, I have a tendency to grovel in it. I mistakenly think this is true sorrow, when it is really self-serving.

But that’s also not what Isaiah did. After God pronounced him clean, God immediately asked if Isaiah was ready to go to work. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”

And Isaiah didn’t respond as I often do. “Hold on, Lord, I’m still processing how awful I am. I’m still overwhelmed with what I did (or said or thought).”

No, Isaiah IMMEDIATELY answers, “Here am I! Send me.”

This is not only a statement of willingness but of confidence. Sproul writes that if Isaiah had said “Here I am,” he would merely have been making a statement of readiness, but the inverted structure—“Here AM I!“—speaks of Isaiah’s new view of himself. The Lord had taken him through an understanding of Isaiah’s own unworthiness and the Lord’s grace, and Isaiah came out of that with a new sense of self-worth as a creation and servant of God.

Wow!

“Lord, I am Yours. Reveal to me what you want me to know, not so I can grovel but so that You may direct me in the ways You want me to go. Bottom line, Lord, here am I, Your creation, purified, qualified, and commissioned. Do Your will, Your best, with me.”

More on Mary

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PJ and Em with "milk mustaches" (yogurt, maybe? I can't remember what they used.)

Mary SAT at Jesus’ feet.

I doubt she had a computer in her lap so she could work on lesson plans in the spare minutes. I doubt she was even doing handwork, like, say, knitting a gift for someone’s birthday.
I think she was just sitting.
Just.
Sitting.
I don’t do a whole lot of that.
I CAN’T do a whole lot of that.
I’ve heard several pastors talk about the hours they spend studying the Scriptures. They talk about gaining great insights during these big chunks of time. The Bible, too, tells the stories of prophets and apostles who followed this practice. Most importantly, it gives the example of Christ, who regularly spent focused time in solitude, prayer, and fasting.
When I hear pastors share of hours spend in study or I think about Daniel’s twice-daily focused prayer times, I feel discouraged. I can’t spend hours a day reading, studying, and meditating on God’s Word. I don’t even have a whole lot of quiet time, much less sitting time.
I’m not alone. For most of my mom friends, the bathroom’s not even a guaranteed “alone spot.”
So how can we have daily intimacy with Christ? Is it possible without gobs and gobs of free time?
I would like to argue yes, it is.
Again, I’m NOT saying that solitude and focused prayer aren’t important. I regularly NEED to be a Mary. But as I rush around in my usual Martha life, I sometimes cheat myself by thinking, “Well, since I can’t spend an hour in prayer, I can’t pray.” I don’t take captive the bits of time I DO have.
And, like so many of my errors, this one, too, comes from a wrong view of God, a wrong view of how He loves us.
When our oldest, Emily, began talking, Dave and I had to learn a new way of conversing. As our household has continued to grow, we’ve had to adapt it more and more. We don’t wait until we have a big chunk of time to have meaningful conversation. If we did, we never would.  One of us shares something, even something deep. Before the other person can respond, someone or something interrupts. We put on Lego arms; we break up budding arguments; we answer homework questions; we fill out field trip request forms, etc. And our conversation flows around all of it. We understand that trips to the coffee shop for us to talk through an issue cannot happen every day (though they need to happen regularly), and this is our life.
Is God any different? Does He not know what my life is like?
He has given me four children, two international students, a husband, and a job. Would He really say to me, “Oh, no, don’t you try to talk to me with all these other things going on! It’s got to be one-on-one or not at all.”
No way! To think this way is to say that God is less wise than Dave and I. Heaven forbid!
Absolutely, alone-alone time with Him is NECESSARY, but for me to walk with Him through my day, for me to ABIDE in Him, intimacy has GOT to be built through the nitty-gritty.
And I’ve got to take advantage of tiny moments. Paul says, “We…take every thought captive to obey Christ.” What if I take every MINUTE captive? And my thoughts along with them!
One busy, rushed Sunday morning last fall I “finally” got to sit down at church. My body sank gratefully into the seat. But my thoughts didn’t sit. They raced, reviewing wrongs and frustrations, fighting battles. The Holy Spirit interrupted this tirade. “Save the battle for when you are IN it. I’ve given you THIS time. BE in it.”
There are many minutes in my day when my full mind doesn’t need to be completely involved in what I’m doing. Working out, doing laundry, cooking even: how often are my thoughts running rampant in these times rather than turning to conversation with God?
I’ve begun taking practical steps to help me take these minutes captive.
I’ve pasted verses above the sink so I can meditate on those while I’m washing dishes. I take my mp3 player down to the laundry room and listen to the Bible on audio while I fold and sort. I’m learning to turn off the radio in the car after I drop the kids off and spend a few quiet minutes. I carry verses on notecards while I walk the dog.
They add up.
They add up to prayer.
And meditation.
And memorization.
And listening.
And, really, they add up to intimacy.

Slow down

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I took this picture during our trip to Vermont, where life DOES seem a little slower. It made me laugh then and it seemed quite appropriate for today's post. Another sign on the property said this lady sold wool. It was a little late for us to stop and bother her, but I wish we had.

“My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her” (NLT).

Last Saturday I got sick with a cold, sick enough that I slept through the Saturday noise of my household and still fell asleep early that night. When I got out of the bed Sunday morning, still woozy but better, I felt slowed down. Quick movements made my head feel like the tilt-a-whirl at the carnival.

I actually enjoyed it. I washed the breakfast dishes methodically, enjoying the warm water on my hands. I did only the things that absolutely needed to be done before going to church. When I began to cough during the service, I stepped out, got myself coffee, and chatted with a young mom nursing her baby daughter.

This quiet spirit flowed through the entire day, even through the meal preps and cleanup and the lesson planning for my classes.

Then came Monday.

Vroom, vroom. Let’s go. Hurry, hurry. Lots to do.

I left my lower gear behind and jumped straight to overdrive.

And I lost something really important in the process.

Then my in-laws arrived Thursday afternoon. Though it doesn’t seem so bad to multitask while interacting with my kids, husband, and colleagues, to do that with people you love but don’t live daily life with seems, well, RUDE. I slowed down.

And then, late that night, after everyone else was asleep, I read the next day’s devotional in Jesus Calling (just trying to get a jump on the day, you know). It was about time—literally, “time.” “Don’t fall into the trap of being constantly on the go. Many, many things people do in My Name have no value in My kingdom. To avoid doing meaningless works, stay in continual communication with Me.”

Oh.

The next day I read the Scripture passages that were listed with the devotional. “Mary…sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what He said.

But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.”

I’ll be honest, though I LONG to be a Mary, I identify more with Martha. I often say, “But, Lord, ALL these things HAVE to be done. And quickly!” I can understand exactly how Martha feels.

Then I looked at the passage in a couple other translations. The “had to be made” is absent. The ESV just says “distracted with much serving,” and the Amplified says she was “overly occupied and too busy with much serving.”

What if all my rushing around, my multi-tasking fifth-gear—an attribute so highly praised by our culture—is nothing more than “over-occupation” and “busyness”?

Maybe rushing is, ouch, sin.

Maybe slowing down is “choosing the good portion,” like Mary did. The Amplified says this “good portion” is “to Mary’s advantage.”

There is still much that HAS to be done. But I don’t think my rushing accomplishes it any more quickly. And rushing keeps my focus and concentration off of Christ and on the pile of “has to be done.”

This afternoon, in a conscious effort not to rush it, I left early for an appointment. PJ, in between his morning and afternoon sessions of preschool, was with me. As we walked out the door, he said, “Look, Mommy. It’s snowing. It’s a gift from Jesus.”

We had a couple blessed minutes to stop and watch the gigantic flakes float down, a couple blessed minutes to consider the gift and the Giver.

“Only one thing is needed. … (Choose) “what is better,

And it will not be taken away…” (NIV 84).

Monk Envy

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This morning I returned from my volunteer hour at PJ’s preschool (which is a hilarious exercise) and spent a few minutes reading a book that someone (I’m assuming Dave) placed on the kitchen counter. Clay in the Potter’s Hand  by Dorothy Sun is the story of a Chinese follower of Christ (Dorothy) who lived through great persecution during the Chinese Cultural Revolution (I highly recommend it, along with Randy Alcorn’s book Safely Home, another book about the persecuted church). The honk of PJ’s bus interrupted my reading, and I was into my role of mom. I fixed lunch, read him a book (we’re on a Curious George kick right now), and began preparing for my in-laws to stay with us tonight. As PJ and I put fresh sheets on our bed, I sensed a grumpiness in my soul. On the surface I was annoyed at both PJ and Chai, the dog, for managing to be exactly where I next needed to step, but I knew that wasn’t the real problem.

Then I heard the little voice whispering in my ear. “What do you do that is worth all that much? What do YOU do for God’s glory?”

Ah, monk envy!

It’s what I call my strange tendency to assume that going through persecution, discomfort, poverty, etc. makes me dearer to God, to assume that He loves persecuted believers or those doing “great” things more than He loves me. So if I am persecuted or in distress… If I choose to go without or take on something I know will be difficult, then…

It’s a kind of reverse prosperity gospel–and every bit as deadly. Because what I’m REALLY doing is doubting God’s wisdom and plan–and thinking some pretty lofty thoughts about myself (although they seem at first to be self-abasing).

Upon realizing that my funk was actually monk envy, I was at first disappointed. I thought I was “past” this. I thought I had some bits of this theology worked out in my life. I thought I knew God and His Word better than to slip back into this thought pattern.

Just as I was tempted to try to correct my thinking, to try and

oh, the joy in taking time to be silly!

crawl out of the quicksand I’d stepped in without even knowing I was, a line from the hymn playing on the CD player suddenly sounded out clear. “He to rescue me from danger…”

THIS is danger, I realized. Both the quicksand of monk envy and the idea that I can pull myself out.

“Rescue needed!” I prayed.

He did.

And though I didn’t have it all figured out, couldn’t write even a blog post on why some believers undergo persecution and others don’t, why some go through this particular trial, and others that one…

…I was able to rest.

In a God who knows perfectly how my itty-bitty part fits into the BIG picture.

Who knows how everyone’s parts fit.

Whose love for me is not based at ALL on what I do or do not do.

I was able to trust.

I want your thoughts, continued…

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Another pic from Dave's and my Vermont trip. Wish my sister-in-law, Tammy, or my niece Anna had been there (well, not for our anniversary celebration :), but to take the picture. They would have been able to capture far better than I could the light coming through the bridge.)

If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, please do so. I really would like to hear your thoughts. One of my friends from childhood, Anne, gave her very wise perspective in a comment. I would highly recommend reading it.

Last night Emily, my eleven-year-old, shared a story that made me think of this subject of unfulfilled dreams. In her quest for an “interesting to a sixth grader” current event, she came across the story of pythons moving into the Florida Everglades. Formerly pets during the exotic-animals craze, these pythons were released by their owners when they got too big. Somehow quite a few made their way to the Florida Everglads and began eating what is usually food for the alligators. In an attempt to restore balance, people have been catching and killing these pythons who have grown to ginormous sizes. One was discovered  with a young deer–not a fawn–in its gut (guess that would hamper its getaway!).

Here’s the part of the story that relates to unfulfilled dreams: they found another that had tried to swallow an alligator and had split itself open in the attempt.

Ew! Gross! Who would ever do that?

Well, maybe we would! Could it be that we often try to grasp things that will end up splitting us wide open? Perhaps some unfulfilled dreams (even good ones) are thwarted or postponed because God is helping us to avoid this end.

I look forward to reading your thoughts.

Thanks,

Jen

I want your thoughts

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A couple weeks ago Dave went to hear Donald Miller (author of Blue Like Jazz and several other books that Dave and I have each really enjoyed) speak at Wheaton College. A few days after that Dave read aloud to me a blog post written by one of his former soccer players who had also gone to hear Donald Miller speak. The former soccer player’s post focused on the advice Miller gave to a crowd of mostly college-age kids (I’m at the age I can say that now) who are also, mostly, wondering what “God’s WILL” is for their lives. Miller told these kids to do whatever they want to do, whatever their hearts desire. His premise is that God created us and gives us passions, so we should follow those passions until God makes it clear otherwise.

Former Soccer Player was fascinated with Miller’s reply, but he had a few questions in response. What if we follow our dreams and they don’t work out? What if our passions are frustrated, and, though there are other options, those don’t excite us? What then? Do we give up on our dreams? Do we “settle”? Is the problem, then, with our dreams, with us?

Those are questions I’ve certainly thought a lot about, since writing has always been a passion, and my pursuit of it has prompted guilt (am I going after this simply because I want it? It seems so selfish.) and despair (will anything ever come of this?) as well as great joy (I simply love to write). I have my own ideas about these questions, but I’d also like to hear from others. I’m going to check back on Former Soccer Player’s blog and read the comments his readers leave, but my suspicion is that many of his readers are also 20-somethings and will have the perspective of 20-somethings. Most of you who read mine, however, are, well, we’ll say, “more experienced.” What has your “experience” taught you about frustrated dreams–or dreams that are not quickly realized–or perhaps, NEVER realized? Would you mind leaving a comment?

Thanks,

Jen

From the left, Em, Jane, and Em's long-time friend, Bekah

Not sealing, HEALING

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For PJ's recent birthday, Dave's parents gave him a Bears helmet and jersey (and he and Jake have been running plays in the living room ever since :)). This is Dave's dad adjusting the chin strap before a "game."

“Take my heart, Lord, take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.”

I “get” the hymn writer’s meaning. I’ve read a bit of his background. He was a man who struggled with doubts. He eventually lost his faith.

So, in that sense, I, too, pray that God seals my heart.

But yesterday I sang that song and I got a vivid picture of myself holding my heart out to God. “Here, Lord, keep it safe.”

And then, like the camera had zoomed in, I got a look at the object in my hands. Deep fissures cut through its surface. Rather than a healthy red, it was mottled with blue, green, and a white that looked like congealed fat. Swollen and puffy, it made me think of rotting chicken breasts.

It was unhealthy, incapable, and sick.

Sin is, according to a couple of the Greek definitions, a “missing the mark,” a “falling short.” My own riddled-with-sin heart is sinful because it is too diseased to “hit the mark”: to be true like God, to do good like God, to love like God.

And the heart I saw in my mental picture wasn’t just a little sickly. It was diseased through and through. “Oh, with THAT heart, God, how do I love anyone? How do I keep from slipping into despair?”

Paul asked something very like this: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

But he also had an answer: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

I sang the hymn again, but I changed a key word. I don’t want my heart sealed like THAT! I actually want a NEW heart, one infused with health, able to love and LIVE, to hope and rejoice.

“Take my heart, oh, take and HEAL it, heal it for Thy courts above”

Who will deliver me, both for eternity AND for this here-and-now life?

Thanks be to GOD, for He has and He WILL. He is the donor and the surgeon. He performed the initial transplant, giving me His own heart, and He is vigilant about follow-up care, making sure I do not reject the very thing that gives me life.

Ezekiel 36:26: “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.” (KJV)

Psalm 73:26: “My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.” (KJV) (emphasis mine).

No wonder He is called the Great Physician.

 

Lost in Translation

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We celebrated Christmas early with Nina and Jane, our international student "daughters," because they both went home for the break (Nina to China; Jane to Vietnam). This is a Christmas morning picture. One of our traditions is that each person (except me, for some reason--probably because I buy it generally) gets to pick and get (I wrap them!) a personal box of cereal (and it can EVEN be a sugary kind). Guess what we have for Christmas morning breakfast! So, really, I guess there's a present in there for me, too!

Last week I fixed an African rice pilau for dinner. Jane’s friends, Faith and Joy, sisters who are originally from Zambia, were spending the night, and I thought they might enjoy it. They went out to dinner before coming over, though, and so weren’t hungry, and all the younger kids turned up their noses at it and ate leftovers instead (and so it often goes when you have to feed eight people from three different countries who range in age from 6 to 41).

Jane, Dave, and I DID eat the pilau, but Nina, THE pickiest person in the house (which she willingly admits), sniffed it and said, “Smells like medicine.”

Hmm. I let that soak in for a minute before answering. (Oh, the wisdom of James 1:18-20: “…be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry).

Finally, “Um, is that meant to be a compliment?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Really?”

Her eyes were round and serious as she nodded. “You know, like Chinese medicine.”

“Chinese medicine?”

She crossed the room to point at the spice rack with its pictures of cinnamon, cloves, and garlic (all of which were in the pilau). “Like these.”

“Ah! Spices,” I said.

“Mmhmm. Chinese medicine.”

So, yes, actually a compliment!

But she still fixed herself potstickers for dinner.

Sugar-free coffee–yuck

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I am on day four of drinking my coffee without sugar!

I miss the sugar.

A lot!

I add cinnamon.

It’s not the same.

Not at all.

But if I’m going to kick (or, in Biblical terms, “put to death”) my addiction to sugar, I think it needs to start with the biggest culprit of all.

Have I mentioned that I add a LOT of sugar to my coffee?

So much so that close friends joke, “So, are you going to have coffee with your sugar?”

My husband calls it my “kid-coffee.”

And they’re right.

I told my mother-in-law about my decision, and she—knowing I generally disdain the little sugar packets she uses in her coffee, knowing I go for the scooper and the five-pound bag she keeps tucked way back in the cupboard—she suggested I wean myself gradually.

I’ve tried that.

I cheat.

Three level teaspoons, rounded teaspoons, heaping teaspoons…hmm, what’s the real difference? Maybe I should go for four—or five! It’s just a few extra calories.

Somehow cold turkey feels right.

Well, not exactly “right.”

It feels necessary.

Yeah.

A hymn to share

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I’m sharing a stanza from a hymn today. The hymn “The Love of God” was written by Frederick Lehman in 1917, but he wrote it based on a poem found pencilled on the wall of an insane asylum. The man who stayed in the room was said to be demented. The lines were discovered after he died. As a writer I find these lines amazing–and true! I’m finding I could write about the love of God and His miraculous Gospel every day and never run out of ideas.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade,

To write the love of God above,

Would drain the ocean dry.

Nor could the scroll contain the whole,

Though stretched from sky to sky.