Ponderings: Sensitivity, Solitude, Suffering, and Solidarity (Never Alone, but by Grace)

Everything has come unhinged, even further. Which...really...no..

Just seeing slightly more clearly, by God's grace. Even along the course of matters prevening continued and continue along their paths of development. If it weren't for the fact of Christ's faithfulness--that Jesus, Himself, keeps me and directs me and redirects me (even though He doesn't direct me to such extent that He's utterly delivered from sin--longing for that day, to be with Him, though things here are so deep of rejoicing in His goodness and mercy in the midst of abject depravity and horrors)...

...if it weren't for Him being who He's said He is and how He's said He is...

...I would be so many times lost, daily and every moment.

It's again as though I'm seeing things for the first time. Anew. Seeing a deeper, broader, more gut-wrenching and heart-breaking depth of the expanses of my prevailing and somewhat (deeply grievously) persist selfishness, callousness, detachment, lovelessness, self-indulgence, lustful, covetous, and idolatrous fallen nature according to the flesh. Those moments which ever were compassionate and giving have been so gilded with self-exaltating impetuousness. Maybe never truly giving out of generosity and love, alone. Giving out of as much I knew of generosity and love, yes. But so blind to the superficiality. Still so prone.

When there've been moments of deepest conviction, before, I'm not sure the grief has so much been about the slights against others as against God, alone. Despairing of having erred against Him.

Now, though, seeing for the first time how I've also been so callous all along the while to others. Controlled by fear, sometimes, other times by a self-centeredness which prevents any awareness of the needs or feelings of others, except very superficially. But I'm so confused about this, still. Because there's still been some modicum of love. There's still been some amount of charity. Of generosity. Of empathy. Of concern. And compassion. It just seems so small.

And increasingly, the Lord has been cementing in my heart and mind that the way to love best is not with cheap platitudes, pleasant chatter, and evasive (which often equates to outright deceitful) diplomacy meant to avoid and preclude offense at any cost...but instead to love through meaningful exchanges which are wholly authentic, not predicated on maintaining false peace but neither overtly inflammatory--truthful exchanges which don't dilute the steadfast nature of absolute reality yet which are sensitive to and very concerned with each and every precious person (whom He's lovingly fashioned) I am being or ever have been blessed to interact with at any length.

Not impression management. But authentic interactions which are sensitive to the Holy Spirit's leading, which is unto a deeper love (thus truthfulness comported thereof and thereby) than could ever be privately engendered.

For the sake of loving Him and loving others as He loves me. He is so kind to me, still, even having paid such an inconceivable price to salvage such a wretched creature as I have ever been both toward Him, toward others, and toward myself (all of which is against Him, in truth). I love because He has loved me and has been so gracious as to change my heart, increasingly breathing new life. Unto richer, more animated love for others, too.

These are hard things to bear, and except that He carries the burden I couldn't. And wouldn't. Impossible.

Especially in the midst of the shearing torments of so much brokenness on all sides and encountered in so many ways. There's nothing but to trust Him. He's faithful. Constant. Friend, brother.

And gladly holy in all His ways, even as husband. Provider, comforter, shelter, protector, and leader.

My shepherd.

I keep getting so confused about things, still. But He patiently leads me to safe places, directs me to solace, and provides companionship, instruction, and shelter. In addition to giving me strength and peace and place for gainful employ (which also includes service of others for other than monetary gain). My needs are met in Him. By Him. Continually.

But it's much in my head, along that line, that it seems as though others have mentors that lead them in the here and now. As though there are dedicated teachers given to other disciples, yet somehow I am left with (blessed) passing bits of fellowship and exchange, but no concerted discipleship apart from His own. Which, with as willful and stubborn as my heart still is, if He had placed such a person in my life I'd have probably immediately rebelled in defiant resentment of being condescended to and expected to take someone, anyone else's word as sufficient for doctrine regarding godliness.

Especially now that, yet again, there's been an experience where people who were leaders had pressed for that sort of blind dogmatism regarding their interpretations of Scripture, to such extent that I'd defied the Lord for a long while to be in compliance with them...ending mercifully with a good bit of nervous breakdown and departure from such group.

I haven't met anyone (self included) whose theology is perfect. So dogmatism according to rote learning of another soul's interpretation of God and His will and ways...is inherently fraught with danger.

Yet...He has and does use preaching to direct and instruct and correct and encourage me. And books. And fellowship. Just not the sort of "parent-child" sort of discipleship that I kind of have in my mind as being an ideal and pattern, relationally, amongst present tense teacher-disciples.

Does anyone really have that, though? There's one lady whom He's blessed me with ongoing fellowship with whom He also led in so many ways, despite her family's rejection of God as sovereign. But she recounts her faith being somewhat sheltered and directed by a woman of God who "took her under her wing."

Again, it comes to mind that I'm too jaded to take well to close instruction at length, still. The pressure would be suffocating. And terrifying. And likely as painful and somewhat destructive as some attempts at fellowship have been, when become too familiar, familialy.

But I trust Him. He has been leading me, and there are moments when the ache for present, physical direction completely fades beneath the weight of joy...and times when it's been completely satisfied for moments at a time in sweet, God-honoring, if fleeting fellowship. He tends my needs.

Even when my need really is to be alone with Him for a span, despite (and even because of) deep yearnings for other fellowship (distraction). Heartbreaking that He would have to force that. But He's faithful, despite my wretchedness.

And there are so many things on all sides which could completely explode into a whole new level of terror and torment and grief and pain at any moment. But because of His steadfastness, His constancy in directing me (and reminding me of His constancy), I defer to Him and will defer to Him, whatever comes. Whatever comes is less than He ever bore for me. And far more deserved, though no longer as a punishment at all (since He bore that, whole)...but sanctifying, unto a deeper knowledge of His faithfulness--proving, testing, trying, and refining my knowledge of and faith in Him. Unto a steadfast belief in His nature and dependability that I'll be able to testify of His goodness and grace in the midst of any storm, fire, flood, drought, or disaster. No matter how devastating.

Not because there's no pain. Not because I'm strong. Not because I'm able.
But because He is faithful. And Jesus--our God and Creator--is good.
Bless His holy name, for He is good.

Thank you, Lord, for your mercies on me.
I am a wretch, a sinner. Made saint by grace, alone. Your righteousness covers me--I have none of my own and all that which I could muster would still be utterly defiled....thus not righteousness.
So thank you. And help me. Have mercy on me. Have mercy on these others.
We are nothing, Lord, and yet we grieve and are tormented. Except for your love, we would be undone. So, have mercy. Help us. Give us your strength. Lead us and turn us to depend upon you, wholly. Direct us to honor you, for your name's sake and glory, even as it's for our good to do so.
Teach us to strive, to press, to fight to remain in your rest, suffused by your peace, rejoicing even as the flames rise around us. Teach us that melody, Lord, to sing in our suffering and thus be lifted out of it and into your blessed Spirit's embrace--kindled by a different flame, then, unto joy.
Jesus, teach us to love you as you have loved us, and to love each other just the same. Form our hearts, Lord. Give us new ones, as needed. But transform our minds and renew and further enliven our hearts each day. By your grace. Be praised.

From the Last Few Weeks and Present

1- Trusting and professing the truth of who God is, based on knowledge of Him and understanding of His ways which is unwavering as steadfastly founded upon revelation through His Word (even as ever corroborated by His Spirit), need arise and remain regardless (and sometimes despite) emotion or passion or heartfelt reliance and conviction Accepting truth as true, accepting God at His Word is the right and just thing to do, no matter how I feel (or don't feel) about it.

2- Based on His Word, when feelings run amok and fear and anxiety and doubt crowd in and mock and taunt and batter faith, believing He is who He says and will do as He says He will do all the while is likewise the right course. No matter appearances. No matter confusion of circumstances. No matter lack of passion. No matter whether my heart and mind are fully aligned, and no matter what intellect might try to construct as argument against. Accept truth as true, rather than trying to conform reality to expectation entails allowing that I don't and cannot understand everything, simultaneously accepting that He can and does.

Likewise the course:

3- When things go differently than what seemed to be His will, submitting entirely to Him rather than persistently demanding explanation, requiring understanding, expecting Him to justify Himself to me (woe, to even dare such a stance). Rather, accepting whatever is as from Him, thus unto ultimate good, so given as unto to His glory and our good.

4- Crying out to Him for help to feel what ought be felt, and to do what ought be done, renewed in awareness of abject inability and incapacitation from mustering even a right thought.

5- Trusting Him to guide, lead, empower, and direct...without "requiring" awareness (let alone understanding) of the process, but instead accepting His sovereignty entails He is capable of leading without our awareness being required.

6- Submitting to His leading, then, as whatever comes. Desiring He would lead by whatever means. Yet without needing to know, while still being grateful to be aware that He does and will lead and direct all things to His glory, ultimately, regardless what any of us do or don't do. He's God. He can and does and will do what He wants. He has glorified His name, Himself, and He will be glorified evermore.

7- Reminded that His sovereignty and perfection means the perceived strength or weakness of our faith, the perceived aptitude or failure of ourselves to do right, to do good, to do His will...has no bearing on our salvation, ultimately, because the strength or failure within us doesn't alter Christ's perfection and ability to save, doesn't tarnish His righteousness one iota...reminded that salvation and our "safety" in Christ's keeping doesn't waver dependent on our moods, perceptions, perspectives, falterings, and frailties allows for further gratitude and surrender to the truth of His goodness and ability and the sufficiency of His grace toward those who know Him and love Him as God.

8- Further, being prompted to rejoice, not out of a sense of obligation but because of the remembrance that He's worthy all praise. Whether my heart's in it or not, I know and can know that He is worthy of praise, so it's true regardless whether I feel anything regarding the process, regardless what I may or may not feel. It's true. He's worthy of praise, and I will praise Him.

9- Similarly, doing whatever can be mustered as turning to Him: in prayer, in worship, in devotion, in attuning to His Word...whether through the hearing of it per recorded preaching, through the reading of even a verse or two at a time, or howsoever else, as just desperately clinging to whatever there is, longing that He would give grace and strength to passionately revel in His Word, in His Presence, in His fellowship again.

10- Grieved to see, again and again, how those blessed times of fellowship have yet still shown the wretchedness of the flesh as so pervasive and perverse, in how oft that blessed communion is turned from a place of sacred respite to a place of secret pride and self-congratulatory (thus other-demeaning) exultation. How wretched is this human nature even to ever turn against the One who is good and kind and loving and perfect, even as turning inwardly against those else whom He loves by taking on an air of superiority for having perceived to "reach a point of right devotion."

11- Despairing of wretchedness, then, but in context of seeing how great is His goodness, how consuming His love, how vastly overwhelming His grace, and how perfect His righteousness, that He would have mercy on such, even as unto allowing insight into both depravity of self and further insight into the depths of His mercy.

12- Reminded again that His righteousness isn't altered nor tarnished nor lessened by such falterings, that salvation rests in Him, not in me, there's deeper peace and gratitude. Apart from salvation being in God, by God, from God...I couldn't maintain a right stance, couldn't manage to remain unwaveringly steadfast sufficient to be worthy. The only worthiness is in Christ, Himself: If I am to walk worthy, it will be by similar grace as that which saved me. And His grace is sufficient.

Faltered Yet Not Forsaken

I am powerless to change myself. My only deliverance and keeping is Christ, Himself. Resting in Him. Drawing nearer Him, ever nearer.

Which may seem somewhat contradictory--to be "in" and yet "draw nearer." But it's a matter of being pressed in on all sides by the world, by the flesh--by internal and external forces, physical and spiritual, mental and emotional.

Recently, the battle was too much and I succumbed to so many horrible tendencies. I was mean to people I care about--suspicious, clingy, as overall, fractious, self-righteous, and unstable. When the flesh rules in times of stress and trial, this has cyclically been how I'd acted out. Either that or simply broken, shattered emotionally, and so anxiety-ridden speech is nearly impossible. Or despairing unto death. Or perhaps other things--none of them good, none of them arisen out of nor founded upon a grasp on truth.

The truth is what frees. Truth frees from offense, from fear, from self-righteousness, from anger, from anxiety, from obsession, from despair, from lust, from greed, and from any and all else which binds us up and inspires so much self-exalting (or debasing--either way, self-focused) and destructive behaviors.

Jesus is truth. He is that which binds everything together and sustains everything in creation and existence. Going far enough in any sincere pursuit of understanding will lead to Him, because He is the ultimate. God is all, in all.

And we're all His creatures, His creation. We exist because of and depend upon Him, wholly. Whether we like it or not. Yet the further that is from conscious regard, conscious acknowledgment, the further we are from truth, the more bound by lies. Absolute truth is such that deviation or departure is a turning unto something else.

So, being distracted from Him again, in the midst of all many circumstances pulling at emotions and hopes and dreams and memories and concerns--learning to love others and stumbling along the while as being confronted by my own brokenness and sin...

...has mercifully come to another point of humble remembrance of His kind shepherding, in context of yet again being confronted with my own aptitude for wandering and my own obliviousness to what in truth is good for me, daily and circumstantially and in the midst of learning even to love and regard others well. Rather than still in a way which is so unhealthy and broken.

Which is part of being confronted with my fleshly tendencies, apart from constant conscious reliance upon Christ, of interaction--as unto the meanness which occurred.

Same as with every other sphere of life, I cannot interact with others without depending upon Him. There's no sphere of life which remains untouched by need of conscious dependence upon Him, surrendering consciously to the knowledge that the life I now live I live by faith in Him, having been crucified with Him (as Paul wrote), as it's not I but He who lives, now, having loved me and given Himself for me. Wholesale deliverance into His keeping, into His life.

And it comes that sanctification continues to be a progressive surrender of all the varied aspects and facets of self and life which, in fact and truth, are already fully His. But consciously surrendered, as unto walking in unity with Him and others.

There's been much, lately, about His desire that we would love one another as He has loved us. And He's again let me see that I am patently incapable of doing so, except through continual conscious surrender to Him, even as unto others at times, in love. Just, however He leads. Moment by moment.

So many things. And yet He never changes. He never leaves. Though my attention wanders, my heart strays...He is steadfast and I am so grateful Jesus keeps delivering me further and further. I miss Him, still. And yet He's not gone. He's gone nowhere. His Spirit is present, still, and His love. It's my own heart which has grown slightly harder again perhaps, more insensate against Him perhaps, for having lingered too long on other things, without surrender to Him. Wanting to grasp and cling and know and hold things for myself, rather than as unto Him. Rather than as seeking Him foremost and first, still, even in the midst. 

So, I faltered. And hurt people I cared about as part of faltering, yet again.

Some of the blessed ones He's gifted me with current fellowship, ongoing, have again reminded me that He calls us to bear with one another in love. Because we do hurt one another, and yet are to love one another and forgive. And I've been told that I have to also surrender unforgiveness of myself in these matters to Him, too, as part of the process. The whole deal surrendered to Him. All of life, daily, then. And all of life and heart and soul and mind and strength, too, though it's beyond me to do so. But He works to will and to do His will, and He has let it be known that He continues His work until the day of His return, once begun. So, I will keep trusting Him and keep turning to Him with this. Grateful, though grieved. Confused, yet certain He'll guide.

Song: King of My Heart

This is the new anthem.

Things have been utterly chaotic. Jesus has been faithful and has been so kind, though.

And the sermon today was so much what was necessary, too. Carrying the death of Christ and His resurrection, even as much as proclaims His death and resurrection until He comes--as a testament to the world that God is just, sin deserves retribution, and also proclaims He is merciful and good and faithful to forgive and care for those who come to Him through Christ Jesus for forgiveness and reconciliation. Walking testimonies, in enduring trial after trial. Suffering unto deliverance, again and again--living again and again the death and resurrection of Christ, in minute measure.

A great grace. And it's all working a weight of glory beyond imagining. He is good.

Song: Heart of the Wood

Trusting God

Walking with Him, it seems as though afflictions increase. Each to each, though--for some, "light afflictions" may constitute ease to others, while of others, "light afflictions" would drive to immediate catatonia. And yet, He fashions the clay for its use.

Or to borrow the metaphor of a friend, He carves the wood masterfully--shaving bits and pieces, and sometimes rending vast swathes at once, perhaps in seemingly rapid succession. To the very heart of the wood, He carves deeply. Masterfully, always.

Again and again, lately, I've heard people reference that He doesn't give us more than we can handle. But this just isn't so. He doesn't allow us to be tempted beyond that which we can bear, is the actual case. But allows, always, means of escape. Submitting to Him, moreover. 

It's not contradictory to His love of us that He allows great suffering. We're refined by fire, by the trials of affliction (Zechariah 13:9). We're chosen in the fires of our affliction. One even wrote he had gone astray before being afflicted. We learn deeply of Him in times of trial. And we learn deeply of Him through the trials of others, too: Even as through the trials of Joseph, of Daniel, of so many who have gone before us.

Even of our own Lord, Jesus. (1 Peter 2:21)

We overcome through Him. Because He overcame. Likewise, we overcome in like manner as He overcame: He submitted to the will of the Father, even unto death. Even as serving and loving His betrayer, up to the end--washing His feet, and permitting Himself betrayed by a kiss of greeting.

So if we're to follow Him--and follow those who have followed Him as Paul called us to do, of himself also--we know we are to be counted as sheep for the slaughter, all the day long, yet while knowing that by such a course of obedience even unto death we are overcomers. Through Christ. Who has gone before us, that we may follow.

Not in our own strength. To thusly forsake self and deny self is beyond human ability, apart from God's grace and provision--to be able to surrender everything dearest to us, as unto Him and for His sake... We just can't. But He gives and He takes away. And our lot is to be concerned with following Him, whatever the cost. Counting all costs, continually surrendering everything to Him, all the while.

He requires the impossible. Because He alone can accomplish the requirements set before us, then He is our sole sufficiency. His glory is revealed through this. And as we wane, He waxes. Our incapacitation, then, is unto unfathomed depths of His provision. Salvation from the outset is impossible, why would anything subsequent differ? Like as the Galatians wanted to be able to continue the work He began in their own strength, we often want to be able to, as well. But that's not the way. Jesus is the way. Abiding in Him. He said that apart from Him we can do nothing.

Again and again, He's required the impossible. Again and again, I've naysaid and gainsaid, pleaded and begged, and lamented and grieved. And again and again, in circumstances most dear to me, He has bid me wait upon Him, has turned my heart to submission, and has led. And He has many times not answered, responded, or intervened in ways I've deeply longed for, even believing such to be in accord with His express will. But though He hasn't intervened as I've pleaded, I've experienced and seen His provision. I've experienced and seen His love made manifest. I've many times been veritably carried by Him--moment by moment--of times when I've been abjectly felled by disillusionment, grief, despair, and pain severe as to incapacitate thought, speech, observation, ability to even move so to attempt to guard my own steps by any self-aware measure. He hasn't failed me. Not even when I've so deeply decried the injustice and tragedy of particular instances as nearly crying out against Him, even...

He hasn't often provided or intervened in ways I've wanted, but He has continually given of Himself, even as intervening per such alternate, unforeseen and inconceivable means as has oft been His wont. And He has taught me of His nature. Even as to trust in His wisdom and goodness and love--no matter any devastation and loss (even like as losing self, unto death, and of losing all things familiar, all means of self-sustenance, and also of losing loved ones in so many ways grievous, shocking, devastating, and sometime unretractable). Losing all things, by turn, all my life--but gaining Christ, all the more. Ever leading then--no matter the pain lingering, the despair and grief--to still and increasingly trust Him, regardless circumstances.

Knowing with increasing and increasingly unwavering certainty that He is kind.

Yet I've multiple times mistaken His kindness to mean He'll provide what to me seems most expedient and right and good. Especially in circumstances where pain and loss and injustice and wrong understanding abounds, I've expected Him to show Himself strong on my behalf and on behalf of those whom He loves, for the sake of His love, or even for the sake of His name--as to deliver and heal and right wrongs and protect in ways which would seem obvious to me as having done so, with immediacy upon being asked.

But He usually hasn't done as I would think best, in ways I would think best, with any sort of immediacy. Instead, He has again and again allowed me to see glimpses of the provisions which He nonetheless is making and has made. Provisions which yet fall short of my immediate desires and expectations, but which constitute and evidence His active intervention, nonetheless. And this is a great kindness and grace toward me, nonetheless--even just to be permitted and given such glimpses.
Gratefully received. And sometimes past the point of submitting to His will, whatever His will is.

He has afforded those moments as a deep, unwarranted kindness. Such that rather than remaining in a mire of despair regarding circumstances (despite surrendering to His will)--sometimes feeling as though He were standing deaf to my pleas for mercy--those glimpses have afforded comforting reminders that He is still actively interceding and intervening. Even if not in the ways I ask and absolutely feel unable to survive without receiving. 

He comforts despite my relative faithlessness, in other words. Despite my continual shortsightedness in expecting things could or can only be resolved one particular or immediate or apparent way in order to be well.

All in all, He continues to comprehensively reveal there is a better way. His way. He reveals this by allowing depths of insight into who and how He is: He comforts by reminding that He is perfect in wisdom and merciful in His disciplines, and by thus reminding me He doesn't allow or ordain suffering arbitrarily. This is so especially needful when confronted with any of utmost depths of suffering and injustice abounding in all this fallen, broken world which yet cries out for redemption to be made full.

In knowing Him and remembering Him, I know that I don't have to know or understand specifics of why things are the way they are. I still yearn to understand why He would permit so much grief, when His will is that everyone would be saved. But as He gives me understanding of Himself, instead, I'm quieted and sustained and preserved--comforted. Though griefs remain, His love looms larger. And though pains persist, His provision is more apparent per its requirement and consistency even just to function...when I'm otherwise felled.

Until, of such things, everything hones by incapacitation to a single point of focus. Upon Him, in the midst of all else which rages and torments. A point of abject peace, though the maelstrom rages on. Without the strength even to look to Him He yet lifts my head. Again and again. So when the battle within and without is too severe for anything except absolute loss of sanity and even despair of life, He pulls me into His arms in the midst of the fire. And recovers me.

I cannot do the things He requires. I cannot even want to do the things. But I know what He requires, as He reveals each step. And of each step, foremost requirement is thus a submission to Himself. And yet He works out every bit of this. Though, still--each to each.

He will have to guide. There's nothing else.

Whatever comes or goes.

And as much as Joseph was so many times tried--and to such lengths and by such varied means--his story is preserved as a testament to God's goodness and kindness and faithfulness, no matter the depths and seeming hopelessness of injustice even per such horrors as abject abuse, malicious rejection, unfounded suspicion, and overt malfeasance. He did not sit idly, but walked humbly with His God all the while. So his defender and justifier was ultimately God, Himself--this, not just evident during Joseph's own life, but given for all time to the edification of the saints and unto revelation of the glory of the grace of God.

That doesn't say to me that I should expect God to likewise justify me or any one of us who are His during our own lifetimes. But it does give me certainty that He can do so and sometimes does, while being reminded that even if He chose not to do so He's no less good, no less gracious, no less merciful, no less just, and no less loving--no less who He is, as my God and my Father--whether He ordains such justification unto His good purposes in the here and now or in the hereafter.

It's not His justice nor His mercy nor His justification nor His provision in which I ultimately trust, it's in God, Himself--while hoping of all which He is, trusting His wisdom and providential will as unto whichsoever circumstances and effects He ordains as best suited to needs (which are beyond my any-present knowledge, actually--but He knows our needs and is intimately concerned with them).

Alternately, I've been sorely tempted to attempt to manufacture peace and wellness of my own designs, rather than to continue to wait on Him in the midst of particular griefs. Sorely tempted, in various circumstances. And I've given in to temptations to plead my cause with others, even, numerous times--somewhat seeking justification or recompense which can only come from Him, moreover. But pain is not lessened by being acknowledged, although somehow being acknowledged as valid can allay temptations toward bitterness, so may provide comfort of another sort. Or perhaps only by being brought to light, as unto prayerful discussion and redirection to Christ.

Regardless, being allowed to grieve is a comfort--it's not necessary that anyone understand. I don't even understand at present, quite frankly--just makes for all the more difficulty in submitting to the Lord's will, somehow. A deeper need for surrender, as though if it all just made sense, then perhaps I could otherwise dismiss the pain and the difficulty rather than enduring. But, really, nothing makes sense right now...apart from remembering Christ, that is:

Remembering Him and what He did for me and experiencing what He's doing now (though that, too, I don't understand except to be comforted and led to trust Him, whatever comes). That's all I have, ultimately. It's all any of us has, realistically. And whatever bits and pieces He affords us for moments at a time: Moments of blessed fellowship and love and service and hope and joy and His peace which runs deeper, still. These, He affords at times. His Presence is so steady a balm. And He is so kind to redirect to Himself, continually, as unto His peace and love...comforts, even as to grieve.

And I wonder what it's like for brothers and sisters in places where it's veritably a mortal crime to even speak His name with reverence.

My Utmost for His Highest: 7/13 & 7/14

The Price Of Vision

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw also the Lord. — Isaiah 6:1 Our soul’s history with God is frequently the history of the “passing of the hero.” Over and over again God has to remove our friends in order to bring Himself in their place, and that is where we faint and fail and get discouraged. Take it personally: In the year that the one who stood to me for all that God was, died — I gave up everything? I became ill? I got disheartened? or — I saw the Lord? My vision of God depends upon the state of my character. Character determines revelation. Before I can say “I saw also the Lord,” there must be something corresponding to God in my character. Until I am born again and begin to see the Kingdom of God, I see along the line of my prejudices only; I need the surgical operation of external events and an internal purification. It must be God first, God second, and God third, until the life is faced steadily with God and no one else is of any account whatever. “In all the world there is none but thee, my God, there is none but thee.” Keep paying the price. Let God see that you are willing to live up to the vision.

Donate The Account With Persecution

But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. — Matthew 5:39 These verses reveal the humiliation of being a Christian. Naturally, if a man does not hit back, it is because he is a coward; but spiritually if a man does not hit back, it is a manifestation of the Son of God in him. When you are insulted, you must not only not resent it, but make it an occasion to exhibit the Son of God. You cannot imitate the disposition of Jesus; it is either there or it is not. To the saint personal insult becomes the occasion of revealing the incredible sweetness of the Lord Jesus. The teaching of the Sermon on the Mount is not — Do your duty, but — Do what is not your duty. It is not your duty to go the second mile, to turn the other cheek, but Jesus says if we are His disciples we shall always do these things. There will be no spirit of — “Oh, well, I cannot do any more, I have been so misrepresented and misunderstood.” Every time I insist upon my rights, I hurt the Son of God; whereas I can prevent Jesus from being hurt if I take the blow myself. That is the meaning of filling up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ. The disciple realises that it is his Lord’s honour that is at stake in his life, not his own honour. Never look for right in the other man, but never cease to be right yourself. We are always looking for justice; the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount is — Never look for justice, but never cease to give it.

Sanctified Through Agony and Confession

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.

Honest Conversations

All so strange. The Lord was really gracious during conversation with someone seeking, earlier--regarding truth. I can’t rely on myself, on my own mind, on uniformity of logic to be present and consistently maintained in a way which signifies truth of what’s going on in the world and within us each, as relates to God's truth/s and nature/being, during conversation...and from conversation to conversation, especially. So I can, do, and must rely on Him to guide speech and thought.

And He does. I don’t perfectly heed Him, but when consciously longing after His guidance, longing after Him…He makes the way plain, even of speech. And although I’m regularly too distracted by so many worldly and selfish things to possess clarity for discerning His guidance...still, He leads. He’s the strong one in this relationship. Otherwise, I'd have been shipwrecked so many times over. 

Because if it were up to me to find my way and maintain a steadfast course, rather than up to Him to lead me and preserve me…I’d always be lost and would perpetually have remained astray.

He made something clear to me today, which had never been clear before, though--over course of particular conversation. The idea of us being good, but just making bad choices--it's inherently self-contradictory. And being inherently self-contradictory, that effectively signifies inherent knowledge that there's a condition of goodness from which we have departed. As unto making "bad choices"--unto doing evil, moreover. 

C.S. Lewis has a really well presented argument of this lattermost point in the beginnings of Mere Christianity, I think it was. About our intended nature (pre-fall) being implied per the human realization that there's a right way of doing things and a wrong way of doing them--especially implied per our continual recognition that we consistently fail to measure up. We're aware of what we should be, and that awareness is made evident when we lament or denounce or rationalize that "no one's perfect." And we condemn ourselves by acknowledging that we're aware we don't measure up to what we should be, even acknowledging our deviance. Lewis made the point that no other creature goes against its nature in the way we do. And I'm not sure I'm presenting this particularly well. Just...something of knowing what we should do, yet not doing it. 

There's a duplicity to us, as such. We see what we ought to be, but at the same time, we see that we aren't that. But instead of seeking to be reconciled to what we should be, we tend instead to further rationalize what we are instead.

Like as, I have wanted to believe we’re good. I’ve spent a good deal of my life attempting to convince myself of humanity’s innate, inherent goodness...as it presently exists. But our fallen nature isn’t good. We aren’t good. If we were good, we wouldn’t do evil–the greatest of which is to turn away from God, though anything which is against or departed from conformity to His nature is still...become evil, for having departed from goodness. He is perfect in His goodness, love, and kindness, is the thing. So turning away from Him and turning away from conformity to His nature is turning away from these modes of being, effectively--regardless what our self-given rationalizations are, regardless our "intentions," we err ever per attempt to convince ourselves it's reasonable or trivial to turn away from Him and attempt our own course, our own plans, our own designs. Departing from Him is departing from goodness, except that He may restrain despite us (again--He's the strong one in this relationship: Creator>creation). Even more deeply lamenting the crimes we commit against one another, versus lamenting to greater extent the crimes we commit against Him by turning from Him?--further exemplification of how grievously we’ve turned against Him, evidencing clearly that we regard ourselves and even one another much more highly than we regard Him. But there are so many ways to justify that sort of approach to life--but…no, no matter how "rational," it's still a lie to esteem ourselves rather than God.

So, just no.

We lie to ourselves in so many ways, is all. All of us do. To be capable of turning away from God, we’ve chosen a lie over the truth: We’ve chosen to rationalize anything being superior and more desirable than remaining in right relationship with Him, which constitutes lying to ourselves. And He lets us have these delusions which we choose. He allows us freedom to choose what we would prefer to have, and we all choose evil--we all choose to depart from doing good, loving Him and loving others more than ourselves. 

Except that He restrains so much, still--as a mercy to everyone--we’d be utterly destroyed by the outworking of such wickedness: We’d destroy ourselves and one another even more rapidly and violently than is the case, already. Only by His grace unto us is any one of us restrained from going to utmost depths of darkness and malice and wretchedness as we're capable--this is not a result of inherent goodness, self-maintained. But ordained by Him. That none of us could boast in ourselves. Because if we were the originators of our "goodness," on any front--we would boast in ourselves and would have somewhat cause to do so. But we have no right to boast in our works or our goodness. Whatever we have, we have by grace. And the whole of it is too vast for brief consideration. 

All the ways He has ordered and designed and maintained and decreed things is beyond human reckoning. Nonetheless, He invites us all to strive to understand Him and know Him, regardless our inherent limitations: Accepting, all along the while--He is beyond our reckoning. We cannot question Him as judging Him: He allows and bids us to ask Him about Himself and about His ways, but we aren’t in position to look askance at His ways, nor at what He allows or allots. Although He again and again wants open discussion and bids us be honest with Him of how we feel--and He does respond--still, ultimately, He reminds us of truth.

He bids us come to the conversation, reason with Him, though: Even despairing, even lamenting, even–as Jonah did–resenting His ways, even–as Job did–grieving His ways…then, still we are to come to Him, reason with Him. He is the heart-changer. He is the one who has overcome.

He is God and He is Master….Lord of all.

Whether we like it or not.

And He bids us come. 

Basic Training: Fires of Affliction

 I got nothing. All the things are just...too much.

Even to speak would be...too much. But I trust the Lord. He has borne and He will carry. He said so. He doesn't birthe us to new life to abandon us to the lions and wolves. Though it sure seems that way, sometimes.

He brought up Elisha, tonight. Of being surrounded entirely by the enemy, seeming utterly lost and overwhelmed. But the truth was revealed. Greater are those who were with them than those against them.

And of Jehoshaphat's battle...where the Lord said it was His own battle, not theirs. That they were to just watch Him fight and watch Him overcome. And the king and his people conferred and appointed singers to precede the army, and when they began to praise the Lord and sing in worship, the Lord acted by overcoming the enemy.

There's no methodology, though. It's not a "if you do this, that's going to happen"-sort of thing. Trying to "invoke" these instances as though the Lord can be manipulated to move in likewise fashion if we entreat Him similarly...isn't a thing. We are to wait on Him, to trust Him utterly...blind to everything going on, deaf to everything we're told...except to see His faithfulness and goodness and truthfulness and to hear His promises and His voice, which is the still, small voice, the one which is just behind us telling us "this is the way, walk in it," and telling us to go to the right or the left.

He says that He will make our darkness as light for us. And something about making straight the path, flattening the mountains, making our steps secure, bringing us into a wide place (one of security and provision), guiding and guarding our steps. And renewing our hearts and transforming our minds.

It's impossible for me, at least, not to be completely overcome and overwhelmed by confusions and fears and griefs and all the many pains there are. I just can't not be overwhelmed. It took extended periods of fasting, which requires a level of dependence on Him that I just can't drum up without His help, not to utterly despair and completely fall prey to all the many temptations to despair, to hurt myself, to completely forsake hope...when things were actively chaotic with my family in 2014 and 2015. And it's not as though there's not still a battle. But I remember who He is more quickly now, in the midst of all-out warfare. By His grace, alone. And by grace, He leads me to a more quick and full surrender in the midst of horrors, now, too. Not as though it's immediate, but He leads to that...and the more horribly things have gone, the greater the terrors, the more deeply He drives home the call and the means of turning to Him wholeheartedly in surrender and dependence and...just waiting, even while pleading with Him.

Someone was talking to me about military training, recently. About the requirement to be able to rapidly assemble and disassemble and reassemble, something of 200 times, one's rifle in the dark...prior to leaving training, entering battle. And same of all the other maneuvers and attacks and defenses that are taught and drilled and honed to a point of unconscious ease.

Because in the midst of terrors and horrors unimaginable, in the midst of trauma beyond comprehension, in the midst of active assault and warfare on every front, from every side, in every way possible...being able to do those things which are necessary to life and to survival must be automatic--both an automatic response and an automatic process unto completion. In the midst of sheer and abject assault, we will have nothing else but those things which are so much a part of us that they arise of their own volition, in response.

Turning to God, as such, is of Him. Our sin-wrecked impulses are ever to turn away from God, from what I read. But He draws, nonetheless. And some do turn. The exact measure of each to each, drawing and response...is a mystery to me. But I know that we love Him because He first loved us. Responsive relationship. Creator unto created.

But turning to Him in the midst of dire assaults...even lamenting...then, still, is of Him. He called His people to reason with Him, to engage in dialogue, to discuss circumstances and have it out in conversation. He basically pleaded with them to at least come and enter such a dialogue with Him, to have it out and unto truth. Truth is what He wants.

He knows our frame. We can't bear up under the pressures, strains, and horrors of life. He knows this. He's walked this world. He's not apart from it, even now. But we weren't meant to walk alone. He bids us come to Him. Whatever the burden. All of them. His yoke is easy, His burden is light.

Our salvation is found in rest. It is written.

The alternative is to strain and struggle in our own paltry strength, to attempt to line things out in ways which make sense to us according to what we know, are aware of, see, and can conceive of possibly occurring. To attempt to plot a course which accounts for the potential pitfalls and challenges, so to maneuver around them in a way which makes sense to us...and as to be better situated to maneuver well through whatever our predicament happens to be.

But we don't know enough about what's going on to be able to adequately plan for potential eventualities. He might permit us that delusion, for howsoever long. But it's a delusion to believe we can plot and plan according to our own understanding of circumstances and even our own understanding of Scripture. There's a vast difference between attempting to apply Scripture to life according to what we think is necessary, versus trusting God to lead in what is good and right and necessary unto our conformity to His image and our obedience in this world. Eisegesis vs. exegesis. And it seems as though there's a lot of confusion on that distinction, regarding where the work of Christ's Holy Spirit is involved.

But then, what do I know. We all have to answer for ourselves before the Lord, ultimately. And knowing that, sharing these things with others is not trivial--then, still it's trusting Him to guide and lead and give discernment all the while. Because I certainly am not perfected. Christ alone is perfect. We all have to heed Him, when it comes to reading and heeding anything shared with us--no matter how highly we value the other person, no matter how closely they walk with the Lord, no matter how many instances counsel has been utterly confirmed by the Spirit of the Lord as being in accord with His self-revelation as Scripture. No matter what, everything has to be weighed before the Lord. By Him. We all err, as it were. We all sin. And sometimes even the most sanctified of us may give way to another spirit, unawares. We don't know what could happen. All we know is what the Lord has told us, and what He teaches us moment by moment, now.

But if we're not accustomed to resting in Him, abiding in His love, being led by His Spirit...the process of being conformed to such point of unconscious yet blatant dependence is going to be honed by Him--perhaps painfully--perhaps especially when trials come. Which they do. And will.

I got caught up last summer (or perhaps the spring) in fear over drawing nearer to the Lord, knowing that to do so would be unto further trial, unto further mortification of self, unto further tribulations. But I asked Him to help with that fear. And He did, He has. He is doing so, still. I don't get to keep parts of my heart in reserve, out of fear of pain, attempting to preserve myself. It's all or none, with Jesus. And I knew that when He revealed Himself to me, and wholly capitulated in that moment. Yet still, He continues working that out.

But after two years of being continually grieved and bereft and despised and rejected and mocked and isolated (by turning toward the Lord thus away from others, some, and by being ostracized for various reasons, other)...of losing everything dear to me, again and again even so briefly...I was afraid, knowing I hadn't the strength to endure, knowing I couldn't bear any more loss, any more grief. And that was in the midst of ongoing health trials, too--nearly unto death as far as I am aware. In midst of becoming as no one to anyone, even isolated unto death...except that God was with me, alone. He, alone, was my companion. And I turned my back to Him sometimes, even. Grievously so, seeking help and solace elsewhere. Finding none, but finding only further pains...and eventually being so broken again as to collapse and find myself in His presence, embraced. Grieving, then, to have grieved Him. As again, recently.

But I'd gotten to a point last summer (or was it the spring?) where I was afraid to long for Him, because of a fear of what would come next: What fresh torment, what wound more deeply cast. What loss and rejection, next. I sincerely expected homelessness would be a thing forthcoming, and also expected homelessness the year before, when things were likewise at their worst (after accidentally poisoning myself, perhaps--sometime around that point...). And I asked Him for help in casting myself fully upon Him, again, come what may. Because He is worth anything, just to know Him.

There's still something of me that is timidly wavering away from the thought of continued griefs and torments and deaths. But I'm too far gone right now to pay much mind to it, by grace.

But still, it is so painful to watch people I care about being tossed and torn and shredded, pleading with the Lord for mercy, for deliverance, for help. Just...help.

Yet I know there's no other help except Christ, Himself. And I just hope and pray for His continued keeping of myself. And hope and pray for His continued preservation and direction of others who are dear, who are His, too. Directing every step. Guarding hearts. Giving peace in the midst of utter chaos. There's nowhere else to turn. He may use many means by which to help, but in truth, any help comes from Him.

So, trusting Him, waiting upon Him...there's nothing else.

Ultimately, then, we shall overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimonies, and that we do not and will not love our lives as to shy away from death. Jesus has let us know that death has no sting for us, now.

He has rebuked me numerous times, though gently as is His way, with the following passage...when I've begun to be afraid of what others may do to me or say of me or how others may treat me. Fearing even to speak. Or to be present. But, I will trust Him. And will testify of the many things He has done and is yet doing. Testifying of the truth of who He is and of His goodness, to all the earth. I will speak of His goodness while I dwell in the land of the living. Even offering the sacrifice of thanksgiving when my heart is otherwise given to griefs and lamentation. No matter how I feel, still He's worthy of praise. He, alone, is worthy. And He is faithful.

If He allows griefs, He will work good through them. Even though Joseph's captivity and imprisonment were for years of darkness and shame...torment and mockery and rejection, even...then, still, the Lord lifted him up to a place of beneficence unto all. Through many dangers, toils, and snares he went. Kept safe by God's grace, though there were instances which could easily have been unto His death. His life held in God's own hand, precious. God's own. Reminders that He can be trusted. If He otherwise allowed all the evils free reign, death would have grasped and not released.

But the Lord has a plan. I have absolutely no idea what it is. I have absolutely no idea whether I will ever see it come to pass while I still walk on this earth. But I know He is good. And I know He hears our prayers and answers according to His will. And I know His will is good. And I trust Him. Even if I never see my family again, which is difficult to even think, let alone to admit publicly. Even if I never get to see them, for all however many reasons there are, but especially as not having peace, and refusing to step out ahead of the Lord...for knowing how dreadful that is, especially when "good intentioned." Then, still, I trust Him with them. He loves them far more than I do or ever could. He fashioned them lovingly. He knows their every thoughts and gives them breath. I trust Him.

And same of whatever else. There still is the immediate grief which the enemy makes much of, unto temptations on all fronts...but the Lord draws me back to Himself, to remembrance of who He is. And I will trust Him. Moment by moment. Because I love Him. Because He's trustworthy. And because there's no alternative which is conscionable. So, I will continue drawing nearer. Trusting that whatever comes or goes, He will likewise give me strength to endure...being my strength, moreover. Carrying me. Because I can't. But He's willing. And if He allows griefs, pains, turmoils, and losses...then it's to a good end. No matter the pain. Knowing Him, I know these things to be true. That's everything.

Isaiah 51:7-16

7 Listen to Me, you who know rightness and justice and right standing with God, the people in whose heart is My law and My instruction: fear not the reproach of men, neither be afraid nor dismayed at their revilings.

8 For [in comparison with the Lord they are so weak that things as insignificant as] the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and the worm shall eat them like wool. But My rightness and justice [and faithfully fulfilled promise] shall be forever, and My salvation to all generations.

9 [Zion now cries to the Lord, the God of Israel] Awake, awake, put on strength andmight, O arm of the Lord; awake, as in the ancient days, as in the generations of long ago. Was it not You Who cut Rahab [Egypt] in pieces, Who pierced the dragon [symbol of Egypt]?

10 Was it not You Who dried up the Red Sea, the waters of the great deep, Who made the depths of the sea a way for the redeemed to pass over? [Why then are we left so long in captivity?]

11 [The Lord God says] And the redeemed of the Lord shall return and come with singing to Zion; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads. They shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

12 I, even I, am He Who comforts you. Who are you, that you should be afraid of man, who shall die, and of a son of man, who shall be made [as destructible] as grass,

13 That you should forget the Lord your Maker, Who stretched forth the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, and fear continually every day because of the fury of the oppressor, when he makes ready to destroy or even though he did so? And where is the fury of the oppressor?

14 The captive exile and he who is bent down by chains shall speedily be released; and he shall not die and go down to the pit of destruction, nor shall his food fail.

15 For I am the Lord your God, Who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar andWho by rebuke restrains it—the Lord of hosts is His name.

16 And I have put My words in your mouth and have covered you with the shadow of My hand, that I may fix the [new] heavens as a tabernacle and lay the foundations of a [new] earth and say to Zion, You are My people.

Liberty Through Fear of God and Loving Truth

There's a freedom found in fearing the Lord which eclipses everything. Being awe-struck with terror at the realization of His complete awareness and power, of His absolute knowledge and intimate awareness of every aspect of our being, and His total control over our continued existence and that of all else--realizing everything is subject to Him and sustained by Him, realizing His power to such extent as experiencing the truth of our absolute vulnerability in context of His absolute sovereignty...

...frees from self-regard, eclipses all temptations, and drives darkness back. He does this. Pursuing knowledge of Him as to fear Him more than anything else...releases us from fear and being prey to other things. Releases us from the powers of temptations which attempt to get us to doubt, to become bitter, to question, to chart our own course, and all else of temptation, too--all is silenced by remembrance of who He is: Who God is. Who Christ is, in truth.

See our Lord in John's Revelation--in a robe stained with blood. Enacting vengeance, which is His to do. And giving warning. Warning us to return to our first love. Warning us to ask Him for our sustenance, to ask Him to refine our faith, to ask Him to give us true wealth--knowledge of Him, dependence upon Him. Warning that otherwise we will be lost and will suffer the consequences.

He loves us too much to be dishonest with us about the consequences we entreat and face unless we repent. He loves us enough to continually remind us of the truth of who He is. All of us are reminded, though--no one has an excuse, it's written: Creation displays the truth. The gospel is proclaimed night by night, written in the stars. The truth is here and everywhere else, too: He loves us enough to have ensured we are confronted with the truth of who He is and what He's done, regardless our attempts to deny reality, reject Him, and suppress truth.

He doesn't force us to accept truth, but He doesn't cease presenting the truth despite that we prefer the lie. Because He loves His creation, His creatures.

His love is an all-consuming fire, though.

Nothing remains unchanged, when entering His love. Just as fire transforms--transmutes, even--wherever and however He finds us, He does meet us there, but we are changed if indeed we have entered into loving relationship with Him.

We are altered, rather. Bit by bit. But significantly.

Truth changes us. And I still am asking for clarity regarding the way (ways) He works through His Scriptures--I've heard of people who read and are further confirmed in their denial of Him, and it was a brief pursuit which also turned me further away from Him in youth...but even that, I guess, constitutes change: Just clearly evidencing what was already present. Not as though there was no conviction of truth, but just that the preference for delusion was more steadfastly grasped and proclaimed thereafter.

He does use His Word. It's not as though there's an instance where reading His Word won't have some effect--even if it's not apparent, is all. The changes effected are not under our control. But effected just per course that's how He is and what He's intended, what He promises to do...His work.

I do tend to become wrapped up in lamentation of our (mankind's) tendency to see God's work and consider ourselves effecting it, where it comes to His Scripture, especially. And I tend to respond against the proclamation of man's ability and control by going too far unto denouncing the effective workings of God through His Scriptures: It does not sit well that so many view His Word as existing somehow apart from Him, as independently knowable--likewise viewing creation and each of us as apart from Him, distinctly able to act and think without requiring Him for each and every bit: "Doing our part,"-sort of thing, as though somehow anything we do is apart from Him. It's a duplicitousness that's partially blind, is all. But none of us see entirely clearly.

So it's His place to clarify and to open our eyes to truth. We haven't the words. But He does. And I trust Him to use them. Because of the depth of His love and goodwill toward those who are His, especial.

Knowing Him for who He is, though. That puts things in perspective. Casts down every imagination. Submitting to Him, as such...temptation does vanish. Submitting to Him, as resisting the devil...the devil flees from Him.

Just, as go those imaginations which exalt themselves against Him--without having a clear and solid hold on truth, imaginations and doubts and fears begin to take on a power all their own. Without being solidly and firmly positioned in the truth of God, rooted and grounded in Him, everything begins to seem relative to perspective. Good will begin to seem equally weighted to evil. And vice versa. Things begin to seem as though they could easily be argued reasonably from all sides when truth isn't solidly and firmly grasped.

God Himself is the point of determination. Apart from relying on Him, wholly, the truthfulness of all else can't be well gauged. Everything does seem equal apart from solid reference to truth, is all. And the truth is in Him. Departing from reliance upon Him, knowledge of Him, we can just as easily fall prey to calling good evil and evil good as did the nation of Israel. Even having His Scriptures and paying heed to the offerings required.

A matter of heart, though. We're either actively being hardened or renewed--which is it, then?

Part of being so concerned with these things has been concentric about a longing for truth in interaction. With sincere concern, with respect. Compassionate of the pain engendered.

Just...it seems so often that truth is avoided, for fear: Fearing harsh response. Fearing rejection. Fearing humiliation. Fearing vulnerability. Fearing consequences. Just...fearing. Where's the love, in that? If we can't bring ourselves to love one another enough to be honest with one another, then what sort of love do we have? And it's also heart-wrenching to have truth only be partially implied and not spoken forthrightly. Because, then, there's still uncertainty which gives place to suspicion and confusion.

That "sort" of truth provides room for all sorts of footholds for the enemy to use. So I have a difficult time considering it arisen out of love or per the Lord.

The Lord doesn't shy away from painful truths. He doesn't shy away from ones which humiliate us. Not because He doesn't care about the pain and humiliation we endure. But because He does care about our well-being. He endured humiliation, shame, public torment and mockery and rejection and shame, and the punishment due us, bearing our sins in order to make a way to bring us into truth. And He is able to sympathize with our public mortification and humiliation and shame and griefs, having endured them Himself...enduring them for us, moreover. And He's now able to sympathize with us in these matters when we're confronted with all manner of circumstances and even hard truths which inspire shame, grief, humiliation, or anything else painful to bear. He's there with us, in the midst, to guard and guide us to bear through to freedom--to bear through in submissive, loving obedience to Him which isn't ultimately swayed by circumstances. Loving truth rather than our own lives.

And it's not a trivial matter, to speak truth, either. These are some heavily emotional, grievous experiences wrought, per truth. Even suffering--but unto rejoicing, being freed from delusions. Just...because there's such potential for invoking pains, griefs, shames...we need all the more to trust Him to guide in speech. We need all the more to require Him to guide, even longing for truth. Longing to know and to speak truth, yet awaiting His guidance as to walk in love enough to be able to speak bluntly the hardest truths which no one else possesses love enough as to voice with compassion.

Fear and self-interest leave all sorts of room for dissimulation and for avoidance. But if we love one another, we'll entreat one another forthrightly and respectfully and compassionately, so not to increase shame, increase humiliation, increase the pains of being confronted with truths that are hard.

One of the teachers I used to sometimes listen to spoke of the love required to be equipped to speak truth--as with a parent who is grieved the entire time they discipline their child, grieving over the pain they know their child is enduring while driven by love of the child to discipline them, knowing it must be done in order to approach a greater purpose. Then same of being honest with one another: Driven by love. Motivated by love. Grieving the process, per love. Loving, all the while. And if imperfectly, then taking moments of faltering unto the Lord, crying out for forgiveness and for help. Because of love.

Love of Him and of others.

It grieves not to be given the gift of honesty, then. Just as it grieves not to give the gift of honesty. Not perfectly done by any of us, anyway. But to continually only have others hint at truth but never speak it, to only have what seems like attempt to insinuate truths--left entirely in the realm of plausible deniability--is a very worldly thing. And we all do it. We all do. Usually under guise of being kind to others or kind to ourselves.

Good intentions don't make something right, though.

But fear of God is the beginning of wisdom. And such wisdom will guide us in how to act rightly. Ever so much as being actively in submission to God--of fear and love--though. Waiting upon His guidance, still...is wisdom.