All That Is Within Me

Bless the LORD, O my soul,
   and all that is within me,
   bless his holy name!

Psalm 103:1, ESV

All? Bless the Lord with all that is within me?

My time, my talents, and all my little quirks: with these you ask me to declare that you are, and that you are good.

You ask me to love you with heart, soul, mind, and strength.

With my body, with all the senses you gave me, you call me to bear witness to your presence in this world.

Let my words be pleasing to you and healing to others. Allow my laughter to reflect your joy. Call songs of joy and lament from my mouth, even if they’re not always on key. Make me glad for the gift of joining my voice with those of others in worship, in affirmation, in questioning, and in confession.

Awake my ears to hear the heavens pouring forth speech. Allow me to recognize the song of the night cricket and of the child crying for comfort. When I hear fingers coaxing music from piano keys, remind me of your voice singing stars into creation.

Open my eyes to see beauty everywhere, in your word and in the world you formed by it; in the bright blue autumn sky and in the sun filtering through yellow leaves, in the geese flying in formation and in the red fox slinking through the yard. Allow me to see the vast, intricate, and varied beauty you have woven throughout all of creation. May I recognize your image in those who create and offer their gifts to the world. And when I see ugliness, remind me that you are making all things new.

Make my heart glad when I step out my front door and breathe in the scent of autumn leaves and of wood smoke ascending. When I catch a whiff of baby powder or the scent of Jergen’s, allow me to revel in the landscape of memory and the gift of those who come to mind.

Allow me to taste your goodness in the bread and the wine, and in the steaming delight of warm apple pie and the comfort of my morning coffee.

Use my hands as instruments of healing, reaching for the shoulder of one who is weary. Allow me to tap out words on a keyboard and text messages that encourage. Whether gripping a steering wheel or immersed in dishwater, use my hands to build your kingdom.

But all, Lord? How can I offer all that is within me when dark and ugly still linger deep, down inside? Fears. Doubts. Insecurity. Anger. Resentment. The baggage of life. How can I bless you with these things?

Give them to me.

Give them to me, because they are of no use to you. You can’t fix them; you can’t heal yourself of them. They will keep you from me, from coming to me and knowing of my deep delight in you.

Give them to me, all of them. Believe that I am the one who crowns your life with compassion, who redeems your life from the pit and heals all your diseases.

Give them to me.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,
   and all that is within me,
   bless his holy name!

Reflection on a scripture reading from The Relevant Conference. Linking with Michelle:

And with Jen and the sisterhood:

A Harvest of Words

Yesterday I needed to vacuum my house and pack for an upcoming writer’s retreat in Texas. Instead, I engaged in a heroic effort toward avoiding responsibility by looking back over some old sermon notes. At least if I’m going to behave irresponsibly, I ought to do it in a responsible-looking manner, right?

I came across these words from my pastor, preached in the context of a sermon series on parables:

• When waiting on God’s promises, we need to think in agricultural terms, not technological ones.
• Seeds do not work quickly.
• We need to be patient, humble, and submissive to God’s powerful ways while always believing.
• Don’t judge the progress of the kingdom by appearance. Don’t conclude that it is pointless.

Several of my blog world friends have featured posts and pictures related to the season of harvest, here and here. In this season, so much of creation seems to echo and amplify those things God would have us see in the pages of his Holy Word.

At a time in my life, and perhaps in yours, while waiting for the fulfillment of God’s promises, I find great comfort seeing the world about me bearing witness to the words of the Promise maker.

As I mentioned, I will be away for a few days on a writing retreat. While I’m gone, please take the opportunity to introduce yourselves to several new voices I’ve discovered in blog world:

Patsy and Megan @ Sunday Women: Mother and daughter blogging about what it’s like to be married to the pastor

Sharon @ TheMoon is a Liar: Thoughts from a friend who is building her family and the kingdom through adopting, including many with special needs

Debbie @Faith, Art, and Farming: Beautiful art, Wendell Berry quotes, reflections on life with ADHD. What more could you want?

By the way, I did get around to vacuuming.  I can now leave for the retreat with clear conscience, knowing the beloved Swede will be surrounded by clean carpets.

Assuming I get my packing done.

(I'm not really sure what the rules are for citing works of others in a blog post, but thought I ought to at least link to my pastor's sermons so I can give him credit for his fine words above)

Arguing With God on the Banks of the Red Sea

 That’s it.  We’re doomed.

What do you mean?

I mean, we did what we thought we were supposed to do.  We packed up everything, just like you told us, and followed you.   You said you’d deliver us.  And here we are, trapped between the Egyptian army and the Red Sea.  There’s no way out.

You mean, you don’t see a way out.

That’s because there isn’t one.  There’s no bridge.  There’s nothing here we could use to build a bridge even if anyone had the foggiest idea about how to go about doing that.  No matter which way I look at this, no matter how many times I turn this thing over in my brain, I just can’t figure a way out of this mess.  And there’s no time.  The Egyptians are right here, right on top of us.  We can feel their hot, stinking breath on the backs of our necks.  It’s hopeless.  We’re doomed.

So you admit you’re helpless?  There’s nothing you can do to save yourself?

Isn’t that obvious?

Sometimes I need to make things just that obvious before you’ll hear what I’ve been trying to tell you all along:  Apart from me you can do nothing.

So then, what am I supposed to do?  It feels like I should be doing something.

Stand still and see my deliverance.

And just how’s that supposed to work?

Moses, my servant, will raise his arms and then I will send a strong wind to the divide the sea.  You will pass through the waters on dry ground.

Huh.  I would not have thought of that.

Only because it’s impossible.  At least for you.  And you keep insisting that the only solutions I have to offer are those you can see and imagine.  You don’t see the way out because you can’t imagine all that I am able to do.  With me, nothing is impossible.  I made the wind; I made the water.  I can tell them to do whatever I want.  They obey me.  And I am able to do abundantly more than you can ask, think, or imagine.   I didn’t bring you here expecting you to figure everything out on your own.

Then why did you bring me here?  What am I supposed to do now?

Follow me through the water.

But how do I know that when I get into the middle of the river bed, you won’t release the water and send it crashing over me to destroy me?

Why would I do that?

Because you can.  And because I know I deserve it.  I don’t deserve to have you reaching down into creation, disrupting the natural order of things just to protect me.  I’m not worthy.  I complain too much.  I lack faith.  I lie, cheat, and steal.  I am unloving, impatient, unkind.  I care more about the things of this world more than I do about you.  You have every reason to turn your back on me, to give up on me, to withdraw your love.  You would be perfectly justified in unleashing those waters and allowing them to consume me.

You think I’m doing this for you because you deserve it?  You don’t.  I’m doing this because I promised I would.  I said I would deliver you, and it is impossible for me to go back on my word.  I have sworn by myself and will carry on to completion everything I said I would do.  Has any one of my good promises ever failed?

And haven’t I told you, I love you?  My love for you has nothing to do with what you deserve; I love you because it pleases me to I love you.  I have loved you with an everlasting love.  My love for you can never end because it never began.  There was no time when my love for you didn’t exist.  It always has been; it always will be.  My love never fails.

So now what?

Trust.  Believe.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.  Follow me, one step at a time.

Desperately Seeking Joy

When I was in college, I had an acquaintance that used to jump over coffee tables.  A fellow member of a campus ministry team, this young man said that he leaped over pieces of furniture because he was filled with the joy of the Lord and of His salvation.

He bugged the living daylights out of me.

I knew another young woman, blond and perky, who was a participant in the first-ever backpacking trip I attempted.  Each morning she would awake, blond and perky and say (in her blond and perky voice), “Isn’t it a beautiful day?  The birds are singing!  The brook is babbling!”

I crawled out of my sleeping bag and attempted to rub feeling into my tired, blistered feet, toes numbed by days of hiking in boots-too-small, and overheard a friend pull this dear young woman aside and say,

You might want to rein in some of that perkiness first thing in the morning, around Nancy.  She’s large and scary and might actually hold your head under said babbling brook if you don’t knock it off.

Or something to that effect.

Joy, it seems, comes more easily to some of us than others.  Some of us are bouncy, pouncy Tiggers, while the rest of us seem to be eternally pessimistic Eeyores.  And I’ve never been very good at manufacturing joy that I don’t feel.  No matter how sound my theology is, or how well I grasp the reality of my redemption and identity in Christ, furniture leaping just isn’t in me.  I can’t will myself to feel joy.

A couple of years ago, before my daughter started her freshman year at college, my husband, son and I attended an orientation session designed for families of college-bound students.  There would be a change in our family dynamics, we were told.  Yes, we nodded.  Of course there would be, we agreed.

Little did I know the changes in store for us, and for me.  My daughter’s leaving happened to coincide perfectly with the height of my son’s battle to shed the dragon skin of adolescence.  With a healthy dose of middle-age hormones thrown in on my part, my happy Christian home was launched into a perfect storm of the complete opposite of joy.  I spent the better part of two years lying in bed awake at night and lying on the sofa crying during the day.

It’s a good thing I didn’t run into any perky blonds.

A friend, a spiritual director by vocation, came by and spent time with me.  I didn't really know what a spiritual director did.  My friend sat with me, prayed with me, bathed me in scripture, and handed me tissues.  She handed me a lot of tissues.  She asked me what it was that I wanted from God.

“Peace and joy,” I said.

Often, my friend read the same scripture to me over and over again.  She read,

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control…Galatians 5:23.

I knew, I told her.  I knew those things were supposed to be present in the life of a faithful Christian.  But they were missing in mine, and I didn’t know how to get them.  I couldn’t manufacture them; I couldn’t will them to appear.  I didn’t know what to do.

She read me those same words, over and over again:

…the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace…

It took me forever, it seemed, to get what she—what God was trying to get me to see and understand:

Joy and peace are fruits of the Spirit.  They are God’s work, not mine.

The same Holy Spirit who first breathed life into me, giving me the ability to believe, is the One who continues to work in me.  He is the One who changes me and gives me both the desire and ability to shed my own dragon skin.  He is the One who shows me when joy and peace are missing in my life and then brings me to the point where I know I need to ask for them.  And when I am brought to the point of recognizing that I can’t possibly manufacture these things on my own, He breathes them back into my life as gift.

And I don’t even have to jump over any furniture.

Joining Faith Barista at her Thursday Jam, answering the question, Is Joy Easy or Hard For You?

And with emily who welcomes us all, even those of us with dragon skin:

Believe.

Since childhood, I have been a student of the Bible.  I grew up in a church where I was often told, “You wouldn’t try baking a cake without a cookbook.  Why would you come to church without your Bible?”  I was schooled in sword drills, Bible trivia competitions, and scripture memorization programs, having won trophies for the number of verses I knew by heart.

                              

As an adult, I’ve attended theological conferences and taught women’s Bible studies and Sunday school classes.  Can I just say, I have pretty decent theological chops?  I can hold my own and explain things like predestination and covenant theology, justification, adoption, sanctification, and perseverance of the saints.  I can explain them in King James, NIV, and ESV.  I know my stuff.  I know what the Bible says.

My challenge is to believe.

It’s not as though I doubt the words on the pages or question the historical accuracy of the accounts.  I trust in God’s character—his goodness, power, omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence.  I have no problem believing six impossible things before breakfast—creation spoken into existence, Red Sea parted, Elijah taken up into a whirlwind, a little boy’s lunch feeding five thousand, the blind and the lame healed, resurrection from death unto life.

It’s just that sometimes I have a hard time believing these things as they pertain to me.

Because when I lie awake in the middle of the night surrounded by worry and fear, I know that my faith doesn’t match my words.  My actions betray my heart, exposing my unbelief.

In a fairly forgettable little movie about a father, (portrayed by country singer Tim McGraw) a daughter, and a horse, there is a line which says, “Anger is just fear working itself out.”  All too often, this gray-haired old woman who knows her Bible inside and out responds to life’s circumstances, not with faith, but with frustration, irritation, and anger.  At the root of the anger is fear.  At the root of the fear is unbelief.  Doubt.  Questioning whether or not God really is good and can be trusted.

And unbelief is something God takes seriously.  He says,

Therefore, when the Lord heard, He was full of wrath, a fire was kindled against Jacob, his anger rose against Israel because they did not believe in God and did not trust in His saving power.  Psalm 78:21, 22.

Last year, I read about Ann Voskamp’s exercise in naming each year and found my name for the year 2010:  See.  My challenge throughout last year was to look for and see the ways in which God was present in my circumstances.  It was a year of practicing the discipline of praying for eyes to see my heavenly Father and to hear him say, “I’m in this.  You are not alone.  Never will I leave you or forsake you.”

Ann challenged her readers again this year to find a name for the months ahead, but I kept coming up empty.  When Bonnie at Faith Barista offered a similar challenge, and offered me a second chance, I found my word:

This is the year for me to ask myself, “How might my life look differently if my actions actually matched my words?  What if I lived as though I believe what I say I do?”

This is my year, not only to see that God is present in this day-to-day life, but to trust Him when He says, “I’ve got this.  Trust me.”

This is the year to believe.

To believe that God loves my children and knows, even better than I do, what is best for them.

To believe that I didn’t cause them irrevocable psychological damage during the years I home schooled them.

To believe that God has a purpose and a plan for my son’s life, that He is controlling the timing, and that He will be present with my son and sustain him throughout the waiting process.

To believe that the same God who has been faithful to my husband and me in our marriage, and to our parents and grandparents in theirs, will also be faithful to my daughter and her new husband as they begin their lives together.

To believe that no matter how much ugly, embarrassing junk I need to confess to my husband, he will continue to love and forgive me, demonstrating Christ-likeness again and again and again.

To believe that I am forgiven, that God is not angry with me, that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

To believe that God has purpose for my life and has meaningful work He intends for me to do in building His kingdom; to believe that He who calls, equips.

To believe that God is present with and superintending the details of the lives of friends who are battling cancer or whose family members are deployed and serving in Afghanistan.

These are things I believe.  Lord, help my unbelief.

Linking with Bonnie and others at the Faith Barista Jam:

And with my sweet friend emily at imperfect prose because I found out I had something to say after all,  however imperfectly.