Very dark place, the last few days. Drifting into bitterness, toward resentment, awash in suspicions which reek of these things. It's not possible to give into these type things without actively turning away from the Lord. And that unleashes and makes room for all sorts of evil.
Hard-heartedness is so insidious, sneaks up so slyly while pain is prevalent. As put by a friend, tonight, it's a longing to sate the pain for a while which often leads toward stumbling. Rather than to bear through by pressing into the Lord.
I don't think anyone likes pain. Not really, at least. Those who develop a "taste" for pain are instead seeking to overcome the aversion to it by asserting control over it--enduring doses which are entered willingly, as an attempt to assert dominance over that which otherwise rules them. Like I used to do, regarding fear. Defying it on my terms--not quite an adrenaline junkie, but going out of my way to incite terror so as to willfully defy it. Flouting its hold on me, per my own estimation. All the while still no more in control of my aversion to fear nor my subjectivity to it than before.
The Lord was very gracious to me. Still is. But I see such depths of mercy in His preserving me despite how openly I courted death. Even entreated it, blatantly--attempted to cause it, numerous times. To defy fear of it, in part, by taking control. He did not permit me to do so. And ultimately, when I fell of a balcony at the end of 2006 (which was not intentional), He confronted me forthright with the truth: I did not want to die, I wanted to live...and I had no control over life or death, nor even control over the quality of my life. He brought me to see, while I was falling, that I couldn't even know nor expect whether I would be crippled--I had no control over anything to come...though He does. And in light of the reality of His absolutely omnipotence and my abject impotence, I surrendered up my all to His will, whatever His will. And had peace, while still falling. And blacked out. And there was no pain until the next day, noted while going in and out of consciousness in the ER (there were no beds in the hospital ICU, none in the hospital...Elmwood, by New Orleans).
He was so gracious in confronting me with the truth. And in preserving my life. And in correcting the worst of the physical trauma (TBI, inclusive). And in directing me through rehabilitation.
He shielded me from so much. Even in the midst of what was such trauma as did effectively kill me twice--my body shut down twice: initially upon impact, then again sometime after paramedics arrived. The paramedics broke an iron, barred gate to get to me--life in the French Quarter, as it were. No small feat and surely took time, is all. Given the one who had initially resuscitated me had perhaps not returned after running to phone for emergency medical assistance--no cell phone, as it were.
Coup-contrecoup, multiple contusions. And He could have let that be the end of me. Or He could have let me be paralyzed. Or He could have let it be such that word recall never regained consistency, could have let it be such that ordinal sequencing never returned, could have allowed it such that reading never rehabilitated, nor math. So many things. But He spared me. He rehabilitated me. I had no physical therapy, only an overwhelming sense of peace and an inexplicable compulsion to learn sudoku and read. All of which is inexplicable (apart from God being who He is, that is), given the continued headache the two weeks post-accident when books were randomly required, quickly grabbed, and attained.
I couldn't even bear to be awake long enough to read them for...I don't know how much longer it was, after acquiring. But He directed me and kept me.
Even though I ceased honoring Him the moment I regained consciousness. And turned wholly against Him, again, the moment I was well enough to sit up for extended periods. Despite that, He was still leading me, even then--pressing me into the Sudoku and holding the terror of realizing my inability to understand numbers subject to the peace which compelled me to continue counting, continue working, continue pressing on. And same, of the terror of learning I was unable to understand the written word. And unable to think clearly as to speak clearly. Terror, but held entirely under control of the peace of His presence. Whose presence I know now.
But after He got me to the point where I could function again, I went right back to everything which had been killing me. And things became so much darker. I didn't even reflect on how He'd spared me. Didn't even reflect on how incomprehensible it was to have rehabilitation. No, just my own will to continue having my way with life--that's all that mattered to me. I still scoffed at God--despised Him, my Jesus. My Savior, so many times over. Constant.
But He didn't turn me away. He let me, instead, face the reality of my circumstances. He let me realize that without His preserving influence, death would take me. And as He started to reveal that increasingly clearly, I started to know fear, in truth. And eventually, He was so gracious as to allow me to come to a point of great peril, including public shame of making apparent the depravity of my ways...such that I had no place left to hide from the truth: Jesus is the only one who can preserve our lives. He is the only one who can save us, even from ourselves.
It's been a long road, already. Many dangers, toils, and snares. But He's preserved me. And He preserves me, even now. Even in the midst of pain and the disgrace of open rejection and denial. He will lead me in how to lay this down, too.
If He can bring a person to surrendering gratefully, humbly to accepting and wanting His will to be done, while in the process of falling to their death from a balcony...and hold them in peace and rehabilitate them, Himself, over course of agonizing and terror-filled months of otherwise uncertainty thereafter...He can and will do whatever it takes to keep any one of us, here and now, and deliver us to want, love, and require His will rather than our own.
It just seems that the longer I walk with Him (three years is such a short time, in actuality), the more blatant becomes the requirement for resting in my knowledge of the truth of who He is during more extensive periods of pain and uncertainty and impossibility. Not ordained as some weird sort of proclivity toward my suffering, but ordained as a means of reconciling increasingly to right relationship with Himself: Refining as silver, tried as gold is tried. In the fire and under pressures. Refining faith, which is valuable beyond measure.
Those first instances, though, when first coming to Him..
...so totally oblivious to who He is--even the barest and briefest of difficulties (like being initially kind of homeless for a few months, sleeping on a mattress I rented in a woman's kitchen) were beyond my ability to fathom. I was bereft of what to do, but so overwhelmed by everything going on that I took it entirely for granted that things were okay despite being confusing. But that wasn't trusting Him. I just assumed things were okay and were going to be okay because they'd always been okay, no matter how utterly trying or impossible (like, falling off a balcony and not being able to read?--that was okay...so then all things were likewise "okay"). No reference to knowing or trusting God, really, in other words.
Or, actually, there was slight reference to trusting Him--begun while living in the kitchen: not questioning circumstances, still, but questioning why I couldn't go and find other accommodations: The situation was uncomfortable, very painful, humiliating, and just generally fearful and difficult. And He'd given me ample financial means at that point to be able to get something else. But I had no peace with getting another apartment. And every time I tried looking at places, it rang clarion in my mind, "Wait." And I kept gravitating to the verse about the Son of Man having no place to lay His head--which many times caused resentment to arise in my heart...until finally, I surrendered the expectation to always have a place of my own to His will. And accepted His call to wait. And accepted what was given, though it made no sense still. In that capacity, I trusted Him.
But the whole thing wasn't as blind as things, now, physically speaking. Physically speaking, back then there were ample means on all sides, and possibilities screaming at me from various corners: All so many things that could be pursued or not. All so many ways to continue with life, as known. Though, instead, being called to wait. But not from a position or situation of impossibility. Not in a situation with utter agony arising upon and attending every thought, every breath, every movement, while impossibility hemmed in on all fronts.
At that instance, I was not called to wait and trust and love and hope in and praise Him in the midst of Joseph's slavery, in the midst of Abraham's walk up that mountain with Isaac, in the midst of Noah's 50th year of ark building, in the midst of Isaiah's being sawn asunder, in the midst of Jeremiah's descent into and desertion in the well, in the midst of Daniel's decades of service in a foreign and hostile land nor in the midst of his being thrown in with the lions. Not called to trust Him and love Him with all my heart while being walked into a fiery furnace, while witnessing my jailers perish as we approach--as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego did. Not loving Him and wholeheartedly resting in His Word to me in the midst of the disgrace of Joseph's continued betrothal (which is like unto marriage, itself) to a woman found with child, nor in the midst of Mary's wholly unjust public ostracism and despising, once found with child out of wedlock.
To love and praise Him in the midst of all these is freedom. Freedom from the fear of death and of man. Freedom to walk in love and humility before a perfectly good, perfectly wise, perfectly loving Heavenly Father, and freedom to likewise love and show mercy to all those around us.
Freedom such as Jesus had--despising the shame and the pain of crucifixion because of his absolute faith in the Father who sent Him, thus also because of what reward He knew was to come: Us, all of us, whom He loves.
And because He did walk in perfect faith, even unto death--and what greater impossibility do we face than this, and yet He resurrected?...so what greater hope could we have than knowing our direst foe, the deepest impossibility has been and is overcome?--because of who He is and what He's done, He can and does lead us to greater and greater depths of such a faith, too.
Faith isn't blind. It knows Him in whom it rests. And that is the measure of faith: the measure of knowledge and trust in Him in whom faith rests. So He does, for me at least (and to the nation of Israel, as His Word attests), reveal Himself most blatantly per miraculous intervention in situations which are otherwise utterly and wholly impossible. When there's absolutely no possibility of attributing success or survival or deliverance to anything else...He manifestly reveals Himself as strong and sure and true and faithful.
Along which lines, He allows for the testing of our faith. To trust Him--blind to circumstances and developments. Blind to everything except the knowledge of who He is and what He is capable of (instead of being turned away from Him: unto wholehearted despair, unto grief allowed passage toward bitterness, and of any manner likewise reverting to self-will and private understanding--understanding per the carnal mind, rather). Like with Elisha and his servant, we are to be blind and yet to see: Elisha wasn't concerned with what he saw with physical eyes and understanding. He was aware as much as anyone of their situation, of being surrounded and utterly outmanned. But He knew God. He was aware that God is the commander of legions of angel armies which are turned to minister to those who love Him and seek His will. Elisha rested in His knowledge of God. And who knows that he even saw those armies of God, himself? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn't. It really doesn't matter. All that matters is that he trusted they were there, either way. He trusted God--trusted in who He is, in what He's capable of, and in His provisions. And he asked that God would allow his servant to know this, too, per seeing the truth of it.
He doesn't always give such sight, though. A lot of the time, lately, there's been a call to just remember Him, remember where He's brought me from, what He's brought me through, what work He's done in me, and just remember who He is, His love, and His faithfulness. Even through fellowship.
Especially through fellowship, lately.
And through some really difficult conversations in which I've confessed the uncharitable thoughts of my heart--my suspicions of and misgivings toward others who are family in Christ. The grace they extended toward me is unlike anything I've known, except that direct from the Lord Himself in forgiving me and drawing me and loving me despite and fully aware of my wretchedness: Both are unto sanctification, though. Both are of the Lord.
We confess so that there may be healing, I was reminded tonight. Same as unto asking forgiveness from the Lord, Himself.
As the Lord leads, always. Confess truths. Confess sins. But by all means, confess.
And, just to note: It is written that He has chosen us in the fires of our affliction.
...seems no small thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment