Thirty

Reflections on the Eve of Thirty

"Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord" (Hebrews 12:12-13).

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.
- Martha Snell Nicholson

My pastor shared this poem with us today as he guided us through the text of Hebrews 12. Somehow the dialogue between the text and the poem and the nearly unconscious discourse of my heart, mind, and senses converged in a fleeting moment of tranquility, such as I have not known in a century of days.

“For the believer in Jesus Christ, time and truth are on our side,” writes C.J. Mahaney. I am keenly aware of each of these integers today, and I see that this text offers the sum. “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” Time, in its momentary discipline, and the truth of righteousness, are on my side. Thanks be to God.

Though numbers are bare facts, they still carry with them attributed (almost superstitious) meanings. Some people are emotional when they turn 22; some don’t blink at 50. Tomorrow is my thirtieth birthday.

I am fearful as 30 approaches. The twenties are a grace period, in many ways—a time in which allowances are made for spiritual, intellectual, moral, financial, or emotional flights of fancy. I made such allowances for myself, insisting that I would “one day” be different. I got in the habit of making excuses and pushing the boundaries of "one day" out a little farther. It’s been like feeling your way through a dark room and somehow finding that all the walls have been removed.

I shrink back from superlatives, realizing how often I have invoked them in relation to various trials and sins and circumstances over the years. I will say only that this has been a difficult year, as I’ve begun to realize the consequences of my growing spiritual inattention in the face of the sustained health challenges. It is now clear to me that those trials were expertly fashioned in order to disabuse me of some illusions and particular strains of self-righteousness. This is a strange and hurtful gift which Thou hast given me…

I’ve used the word “despair” to describe what I’m fighting with right now. I know no other word to express the crushing hopelessness that tempts me constantly. As Kierkegaard says in Sickness Unto Death:

I think I am in despair over something earthly and constantly talk about what I am in despair over, and yet I am in despair about the eternal; for the fact that I ascribe such great value to the earthly or, to carry the thought further, that I ascribe to something earthly such great value or that I first transform something earthly into everything earthly, and then ascribe to the earthly such great value, is precisely to despair about the eternal.

What is this thing to which I ascribe such value, which keeps me constantly on the threshold of despair? It has a face and a form, yet it is an essence. It is immanent, and yet it is really a question of eternal consequence. In a word, and simply—it is sin. And it provokes me to despair simply because it reminds me, moment by moment, that I did not and cannot save myself.

The onset of the sickness last year was a unique kind of suffering; it did test the genuineness of my faith and result in praise to God (thanks be to God!). And yet the root of bitterness set in, or sprang up, as I grew inattentive. I learned very quickly that I had sowed the seeds of my hope in several different fields—independence, physical appearance, self-discipline, and the respect and admiration of others, just to name a few (How obvious and yet insidious these things are as they stare back at me from the computer screen!).

After I got sick, many of the trees that had borne good fruit--now deprived of some furtive water source--began to languish. Were my roots this shallow; could an axe or a worm or a fire obliterate them? I felt an unearthly stillness setting into the corners where life and hope (however false) had been before. This new and unfamiliar deadness terrified me; I was not eager to sow new seed, but only to reclaim what was previously mine. I ran, almost blindly, back to the wasteland of my youth. Almost blindly.

The eating disorder first began to whisper in my ear about a dozen years ago, saying, “Thou shalt not surely die”. I came to acknowledge its lies in my twenties and had recently come to believe—in my pride and zeal—that I was no longer susceptible to it. How little did I regard the weakness of my flesh or the haunting beauty of the siren song. That song echoes in my mind all day long now, relentless and sickening and yet nearly irresistible. It haunts me into the night, every night, until the night chases the day. Food and people and circumstances and control seem so enmeshed; the film of panic around me is as thick as a parched tongue or the silence after an alarm. I am so tired.

I let myself fall back into counting calories and was quickly engulfed by the shining blackness. That was nearly a year ago. Oh, how I wish I'd heeded the exhortation of I Peter 5: "Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour."

That insatiable appetite, the human desire for control, consumed the neat lessons I’d learned and turned a ravenous and indiscriminate eye on my faith, hope, and love. I could see myself in an iron cage like the man in Pilgrim’s Progress who mourns, “I am now a man of Despair, and am shut up in it, as in this Iron Cage. I cannot get out; O now I cannot.”

But I am not there.

I’m training myself to be suspicious whenever the word “can” is followed by the word “not.” How often do we wrap up possibility and duty with this neat little phase, as if it had the last word—as if invoking the “can not” settled the matter definitively? How presumptuous are we to assume that we know the limits, either the end or the beginning, of our strength or our faith or our endurance? Are these not fixed by God, whose ways are higher than ours and often inscrutable to us? Has the Scripture not plainly said that we have been given all that we need for life and godliness?

To my disgrace and in my blind despair, I have charged God with unfaithfulness so many times in recent months. I’ve reminded him of my prayers, my study of his word, my faithfulness in seeking and submitting to accountability and in generally positioning myself to receive grace—in short, parading about in my filthy rags. I have believed in my heart that he has not been true to his word or, alternately, that I am not among those whom he has called. Oh, that swelling self-righteousness that distorts and obscures the truth that is brought to bear upon a situation; oh, the Gospel that restores reality and hope in the face of despair.

This depression speaks with an authority that it does not righty possess, claiming to be both defining and determinate. But as Anne Shirley said in Anne of Green Gables, “The sun will go on rising and setting, whether I fail in geometry or not (how absurd and telling it is that this quotation has lived in my head since childhood!). Or, as C.S. Lewis wrote in his auto-biography, “Life is as habit-forming as cocaine.”

Many have spoken truth into my life during these days, offering me the "fig leaf of the Word with which to cover my nakedness." I thank God for this and for them; it reminds me again that he has not abandoned me to my own devices, that his Holy Spirit has sealed me for the day of redemption, that he will complete the work that he began in me. For if while I was an enemy, I was reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that I am reconciled, shall I be saved by his life (Rom 5:10).

In the face of this blessed security, I confess my loathsome and burdensome sin. I have so often shared my struggle with others, simultaneously admitting and denying it, creating a space in which they could make allowances and offer sympathies but never suspect the truth of my defiant fragility. I have confessed it, saying in my heart (Kierkegaard again):

I understand obscurely that it is required of me to let this torment go, that is, to humble myself under it in faith and to accept it as belonging to me—for I would hold it aloof from me, and thereby precisely I hold it fast, although I think that this must mean separating myself from it as far as possible, letting it go as far as is possible for man to do so. But to accept it in faith, that I cannot do, or rather in the last resort I will not do, or here is where my self ends in obscurity.

I want to accept the truth of my unworthiness in faith—not in resignation to my sin, but in simple faith that my sanctification will one day consume that which now consumes me. I am the greatest of sinners with the greatest of Saviors, in whom is found all the righteousness that I seek and more. I want to accept in my trials what Spurgeon learned to accept:

It would be a very sharp and trying experience to me to think that I have an affliction which God never sent me, that the bitter cup was never filled by his hand, that my trials were never measured out by him, nor sent to me by his arrangement of their weight and quantity.

How much time have I wasted in convincing myself—and others—that my sin struggles are somehow worse that what others face? One of the first things that our trials will tell us is that they are unique and disproportionate. They offer to us a million ways to deduce that I Corinthians 10:13 does not apply to the situation when it says, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” Or, if it admits that the temptation is measured, it will simply decry the means of escape as unacceptable.

I’m not certain what the means of escape is for me, so I’m leaning on the counsel of my brothers and sisters heavily during these days. Though I believe that the Lord could heal me instantaneously or remove the temptation from me entirely, I know that this is not usually the way he works. Perhaps a foreshortened trial would not have its full effect. Most likely, the means of escape for me will simply be the cumulative effects of deliberate and honest life in fellowship with God and in community with his people. It will involve keeping short accounts with God and others and resisting my flesh in ways I have not yet imagined. It probably looks more like the almost imperceptible movement that starts with rejoicing in suffering and ends in a hope that does not disappoint.

Proverbs 14:1 says, “The wisest of women builds her house, but folly with her own hands tears it down.” I have awakened recently to find myself engaged in the latter activities—distancing myself from the body of Christ, from the compassion of friends, and from my responsibilities to others. My guilt has been a sort of wild card that I could use either to deny myself the benefits of fellowship or to evade the duties of serving through love. You were called to freedom, Michele. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve others.

I want to, with all diligence, hasten to rebuild; the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do. That will be work enough for my thirtieth year; I will need daily—no, moment-by-moment—infusions of grace to do this. But time and truth and God Almighty through the sacrifice of his son, Jesus Christ, are on my side. This one thing I know: God is for me. And that changes everything else.

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy” (I Peter 1:13-15).

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire. For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ (II Peter 1:3-8).

Tagged and Tagging: Six Things

Thanks to Georgia for the tag! Let me see if I can come up with six things that you probably didn't know about me.

Number One: Parallel Parking
I failed to learn how to parallel park until I moved to Illinois. In small town West Tennessee, it just didn’t matter; I can only recall one place in a 30 mile radius of my home where the skill might have been useful.

I still remember the day, as I was fighting to line my car up against the curb on Main Street in downtown Wheaton, when a friend pointed out to me that I should not go in head first. What a tremendous, life-changing piece of advice (and not just in relation to cars)! From age 16 to age 27, I parallel parked like this Norwegian girl:



Number Two: Tomewhyit
My sister and I once made up our own language, called “Tomewhyit.” Yes, the name of the language is just an amalgam of four short, rather inconspicuous English words. And it’s a bit of an exaggeration to call it a language; it was more of a code that served to camouflage names when we wanted to talk about other people publicly. Darling, huh? Since most English first names are only one or two syllables in length, we could have just called it “Tome.” My name was Mitochelme Leeto Bentonetme.

Not terribly imaginative or helpful. In fact, Mitochelme noto longtoerme thinksto thisto isto funto atto allto.


Number Three:Pencil Problems
I hold my pencil incorrectly when I write. I honestly thought that I was the only person who did it like this. But if the Internet has taught us anything, it has taught us that we aren’t alone in any of our oddities. Reference the “Don’t Do This” section of the diagram at left for a visual aid. I enjoyed reading about how the author has carpal tonal at 35 as a result of holding her pencil this way. Guess I've got five more good years...

Number Four: Muffin the Tiger
I’ve had only one recurring dream in my lifetime. In this terrifying dream (which haunted me most during daytime hours)our family cat, Muffin, had a split personality. One minute she was our demure little kitty; the next she was a tiger. Problem is that you never knew when she’d…er…split. I would sit at our sliding glass door and gaze wistfully at her for hours.


Number Five: Instant Oatmeal
I think that Peaches & Cream Instant Oatmeal is the ultimate comfort food. If you know someone who works for Quaker foods, tell them that I’ll offer an endorsement anytime. They can use my real name and my picture and interview my family (I'm sure they wouldn't mind). I’d only require a lifetime supply of oatmeal.

Number Six: Rice Krispy Treats
I have ruined Rice Krispy Treats before. I don’t want to talk about it. Neither Erika nor Kellye want to talk about it either.

I tag Kellye, Andrea, Barbie, Katie, Jen, and Joni.
Yes, I tagged only women. Somehow, I think that the dynamic of the meme would change if we brought men along.

An Overdue Update

I remember my first big interview in DC. After months of first wooing and then being courted by the company, I flew in for a full day’s worth of interviews. This wasn’t just any company, though; this was the organization I’d been hoping to work with for four years. So I would have gladly filed my graduate degree to be a file clerk. But as my time on site drew to a close, an interviewer said something to me that I was too naive to appreciate at the time. Actually, it’s not terribly precise to say that I didn’t appreciate her statement; in truth, I was obstinate in my disagreement with it, as those with a freshly minted degree are apt to be.

“Michele, loving a company is not enough for the average person. Most people have to love the work they are doing in order to be really satisfied with the arrangement. I’m not sure you would love being an executive assistant.” I assured her that the job suited me perfectly and that I would thrive. But she knew better, and I didn’t get the job.

Many of you know that I am leaving Crossway soon. Some days, the reality is more bitter than sweet, since I love the company and support its mission with my whole heart. But I’ve come to appreciate the wisdom of the interviewer in DC; my love for Crossway has not, on a daily basis, translated into vocational satisfaction. After nearly a year of praying that the Lord would grant me contentment in my work, I finally began to consider that the stirrings in my heart might be promptings of the Spirit instead of sinful discontent.

The work of publicity has always been a tenuous fit for my personality, which is naturally introverted. I thought I could make it work because I love people and content and am generally adept with each. I tried to use those strengths as a springboard to somehow get me past my weaknesses. But I continued to fall short of my own expectations and to carry with me the uneasy sense that my day-to-day tasks should come more naturally to me than they did.

So when it came time for employee reviews this year, I shared my own observations about my weaknesses in relation to the role and made some recommendations—including internal relocation for me. Publishing is a good place for one who loves to write and is generally gifted in the area of interpersonal communication, so I was initially hopeful that I could remain at Crossway. But the growth area for the company is really in sales and marketing at present, so we came to realize that I would have to look elsewhere.



For the past four months, all of my so-called free time has been consumed with job searching. I’ve been applying and interviewing broadly, and I have been deeply encouraged by the responses and even job offers from business associates. But as my time here draws to a close, the next step is not yet apparent. In light of the uncertainty, I find it calming and quieting for my soul to remember the good purposes of the Lord in bringing me to Wheaton.

Personally and professionally, my work at Crossway has put me in contact with remarkable, godly individuals who have shaped me in critical ways. In fact, I found and joined a church full of such folks through my Crossway connections. I have discovered at Sovereign Grace Church a community that is unlike any other I’ve known. In the past three years, I have learned more about who God is than I did in the previous 27 combined; I have truly tasted and seen that the Lord is good. He has used this job at Crossway to get me where he wanted me, and remembering this fills my heart with gratitude and hope.

God’s hand has been so evident in this process that even when I blackly refuse to trust, I cannot wholly doubt. I know that he is in this—not just that he is infusing what is happening with meaning and purpose—but that he is moving the events himself. In light of my own weakness and confusion, what else but this truth can put my fears to rest? I look to verses like Psalm 4:8, which says, “In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” I read and remember my responsibility to lie down in faith and God’s promise to provide sleep for me, his beloved. Likewise, I do the hard work of researching, pursuing, and interviewing, and I trust that God provides the job. For he knows what I need, and he delights to give good gifts to his children.

Many of you have been writing and asking for updates, and I often issue a hurried and vague response, thinking that I’ll respond more gracefully when I have news to convey. But God’s work is accomplished both in the granting and in the temporary withholding. I’ve been thinking of Hebrews 11 and how the saints mentioned were commended for their faith in spite of the fact that they did not receive what was promised to them. I’m not saying that God has promised me a lucrative job that suits me perfectly, but I am remembering that he has promised to meet all my needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. And this prompts me to testify to God’s faithfulness and my confidence in him now, before I receive what I’ve asked from his hand. For without faith it is impossible to please God.

So I just want to let you know that I am still working and resting and waiting and believing. That may not sound like big news, but it is the work that the Lord has given me for today, and I plan to do it with all of my heart. SDG!

P.S. After I posted this, I spent a large part of my day transferring digital pictures from one computer to another. Sad but true! I found these photos and couldn't resist posting them. The first one, in the black suit, was taken just before I flew to DC for the interview I recounted above. Don't I look all nice and shiny and...green...in my very first suit? The second photo was taken recently as I prepared to fly to California for an interview. Don't the pictures say it all?

Testimony

Growing up in one of the only admittedly non-Christian homes in my area, I quickly learned to associate Christianity with the order and security that my home lacked. Though my heart was, as yet, unresponsive to the Gospel, I affiliated myself with believers and mimicked their external actions. Yet I silently struggled to practice any sort of obedience, since I was fighting my flesh in the flesh, and I felt myself slipping farther and farther into sin—particularly into the sins of anorexia and bulimia. At this point, I had not experienced any heart change and, in fact, had no concept of it.

I spent most of the next ten years walking through and working through various theories of change and philosophies of hope. Each one left me emptier and emptier. I acquired two degrees—a BS in Christian Ethics and an MA in Church-State studies—but I walked away with little that I could use. I was still too consumed by my internal struggle to look outward, even at that which interested me. I was a slave in every way.

Though I professed Christ with my mouth, I did not believe in my heart that God had raised him from the dead or that the power of his Spirit was now available to me. In his mercy, the Lord began to take from me the things that I valued most. First, it was a relationship; then it was my health. In his kindness, he took no more than was necessary. In his astonishing love, he replaced these things with himself. Little by little, my heart softened to the “offense of the cross,” until one day I found that it was offensive no more. It was my only hope. It is my only hope.

For the first time since high school, I began to attend church regularly and to practice the most basic spiritual disciplines—bits of prayer, regular Bible study, tithing. Within a few months of this change in practice, the Lord began to reveal to me that I needed to pursue a fellowship of like-minded believers rather than staying, for the sake of comfort, in a church whose theology differed from mine in significant ways.

The Lord led me, quickly and clearly, to a new fellowship of believers at Sovereign Grace Church. Sovereign Grace Church is affiliated with Sovereign Grace Ministries and can be most easily characterized as charismatic and reformed. I am intimately involved in a small group ministry and participate fully and with great joy in the life of my church. I currently meet with my pastor about once a month and am accountable to several women from my small group and church. It is my desire to live my life increasingly before men that God may receive glory for the work He has done and is doing in me.

The Clause

“When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?” (C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces).

"You were wearied with the length of your way, but you did not say, 'It is hopeless'; you found new life for your strength, and so you were not faint" (Isaiah 57:10).

Dear God,

Quite some time ago, a legal transaction took place between us. You adopted me as your daughter, and I confess that I’m still a bit perplexed as to why you did it. But you and I are both well-aware of what happened on that day. There’s no need for me to rehearse it. Let me move on to what has transpired since that time.

I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this to you, but I drafted up a little legal document of my own not too long after the adoption. It’s not even a separate document; it’s really a minor clause, just enough to allow me to set up some healthy boundaries (you remember how my psychiatrist encouraged me to establish these). And in light of what has happened this year, it is glaringly obvious that I need to let you know about the clause.

The clause clearly states that if you remove/withhold 2 or more of the following self-evident needs from me—health, beauty, marriage, or children—then I have the right to full control over my physical body and its care. Since the necessary preconditions have all been established (really, I was even willing to give you some latitude here!), I write to notify you that I will be invoking the terms of the clause. Thus far, I have implemented the following:

#1. In order to most efficiently regain control of my physical body, I’ve re-engaged my eating disorder. Now that my more carnal incentives for “getting better”—like feeling attractive and healthy, having energy, etc—have been removed and my body is in constant pain anyway, I figure that I might as well get some payback. This familiar misery and obsession is much more comfortable to me than the self-denial to which you have called me. I don’t really understand all the talk about walking by the spirit and fighting the flesh, so I’ll just feed the flesh and keep walking.

#2. I’m rethinking this whole “Gospel only” mentality. The truth is that, throughout this past year, I have only gotten sicker—physically and emotionally. So it would seem pretty obvious that this approach is inadequate. I’m quite certain that the time for healing is now, so I’m investigating a few “Gospel-and” strategies. I’ll let you know what I come up with in case you need some help with the next case.

#3. Your Word defines shame as that which fails to bring honor to you. But I would submit to you that shame is much broader than that. Since you have called me, repeatedly, to things that make me look weak, foolish, and inadequate, I have learned that shame has more dimensions than I realized. I mean, what does biblical shame have to say to the critical glances of the females around me when I’m dressed wrong or when my body doesn’t look like it used to or even should at my age? What does it say to the strangers who shift their eyes pityingly when I’m limping and in obvious pain? Believing that these changes are ways that you can be glorified has not made any of them go away. So I’m thinking that perhaps if I use this shame as a prod, it might motivate me to push harder and somehow overcome. Again, I just want to try out some options. I’ll let you know how it goes.

#4. In light of all the work I have to do (see items 1-3), it probably goes without saying that I will have to drop out of a few things. I know that you have called me to love and serve at my church and through some specific relationships, but clearly I need to rethink these things during this time. As you know, I can hardly be expected to care for others if I’m not first caring for myself. I'm sure you appreciate my focus here! Really, it's just good stewardship.

Now, I’ll admit that I never got your signature on the clause. But I’m certain that you will acquiesce when you consider the merits of my case. For you are a kind and compassionate God, and you would never give me more than I could bear! Remember? You promised. While I believe that you will ultimately work things out for my good, it seems as though I need to set an interim plan in place until you get things back on track. I'll keep close watch, though, and render the clause void just as soon as you do.

Respectfully,

Michele

Oh God, help me to look at all the provisions that I make for my flesh and to cry out, "It is hopeless." Help me not to just regroup and plot more evil; oh, bring me to the end of myself. Let me live not in my unbelief but in my faith! God, I write this ridiculous letter to "dig out the word"--to expose the pernicious lies. Let me see my face as it is and not as I imagine it to be. Help me, by your powerful spirit, to cast myself on the cross of Christ; to dwell in my adoption as a son; to hold fast to my sure hope; to have faith that you will not forsake the work of your hands. Help me to rehearse the Gospel when I am tempted and not to move beyond it; help me to see your kindness there and to be moved by it to repentance. Preserve me, oh God of my salvation. I trust in you.

"For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite" (Isaiah 57:15).

Getting Back to "Real Life"

The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's "own" or "real" life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life (C.S. Lewis).

It has now been almost a year since I was hospitalized. These months of doctors, testing, and sustained physical pain have done little to provide answers. I am grateful to God for the prayers of those who have pleaded on my behalf that my faith would not fail in the face of this pain and uncertainty. By the grace of God and only by the grace of God, it has not. But as I await a new battery of test results and the corresponding array of potential diagnoses, I want to take stock of the past year. I testify to God's steadfast love and good purposes in this way in order that my own faith—and the faith of all who read—might be strengthened for what lies ahead.

Tragedy of any type has a clarifying effect on the mind. Instead of the many, there is the one. Instead of the functional beliefs and assumed priorities are the real ones. I learned so much about myself throughout the last year. Here are a few examples:

I learned that I believe in the Gospel, I cherish it, and I desire to see my life increasingly conformed to it. I was almost shocked to discover this, since I had not been faithfully living in accordance with it—not unless it was convenient (and when is the Gospel really convenient?). My faith felt like a veneer at times, hiding the real me from even my own eyes. Oh, thanks be to God! It is not. It is "by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain" (I Cor. 15:10).

In the face of the consuming uncertainty of the past year, I have tasted what it means to "walk by faith." And though I quickly revert to living by sight—every chance I get—the Lord has mercifully sustained me through the protracted trial. Would I have understood the Psalmist's cry—"Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Psalm 73:25)—had the trial abated six months ago? God knows. But I believe with all of my heart that as long as this trial endures, it is serving a necessary purpose in my sanctification.

Living daily with circumstances that provoke this natural man to despair, I am learning to challenge him. I've learned to ask him what's he thinking, and why he's thinking something so absurd! I've learned to—on occasion—laugh at him and to more regularly counter his arguments with Scripture. With greater frequency, I am aware when my thoughts are in opposition to the gospel. And while I don't always turn from those lies immediately, the Spirit is helping me to repent of my unbelief.

The laborious process of leaning into and living through physical pain has revealed to me my own beliefs about comfort. I believed that the world—that God—owed me comfort and health in this life. Being forced to live beyond that assumption in the physical realm, though, I began to see applications in the spiritual. Repenting of my own spiritual laziness, I am learning how to practice spiritual disciplines even without seeing fruit. Recognizing that even my powers of self-assessment are tainted by sin, I'm clinging to the truth that whatever God has commanded is for my good. "You are good and do good; teach me your statutes" (Psalm 119:68).

I don't document these things to say in any sense that I have "arrived" in these areas. But I, instead, offer them as evidence of God's faithfulness. Each area of growth corresponds with an increased awareness of sin and a fresh infusion of grace to turn from it. As Kris Lundgaard wrote in The Enemy Within, "The grace of God in Christ and the law of sin are the two fountains of all your holiness and sin, joy and trouble, refreshment and sorrow. If you are to walk with God and glorify him in this world, you need to master both."

No, my circumstances haven't changed much in the past year, but I have. His grace to me was not in vain, but is instead producing the peaceful fruit of righteousness in me! So when I'm tempted to think of my illness as an interruption in my "real life" I remember these words of comfort and exhortation from Colossians, which radically redefine the idea of "real life":

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (3:1-4).

Forgiveness, Not Understanding (Part 2)

When "I forgive you" waits for “I understand you.”

If you look at the parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18, you'll notice something interesting about the plea offered by the servant in one case and rejected by him in another.

Be patient with me and I will pay back everything.

The words are exactly the same; in one case, forgiveness is granted; in the other it is refused. We aren’t given details about the circumstances of the two debtors or about their efforts to repay those debts. All we know are the words used with which to cry out for mercy and the responses that those words received. What might this reveal to us about the nature of forgiveness?

I would suggest that, at a minimum, we can see here that forgiveness between men is not extended or withheld simply on the basis of the words exchanged. I say that in spite of the fact that I have suggested very specific ways in which apologies should be proferred! We offer our apologies humbly and thoroughly in order that we might put no stumbling block in another man's path, not in order that we might merit forgiveness.

No, the particular nature of the words spoken was not the determining factor here. What was different in the two cases was the heart of the one of whom forgiveness was asked. Forgiveness, for the Christian, is not so much about understanding the wherefore and why of another person's heart; it's not about assessing his or her motivation or standing before the Lord or even the rectitude of his case. Forgiveness offered is about the work and the words of Christ.

Forgiveness is about the work of Christ in that it is a response of gratitude for the forgiveness received at the cross. And it is about His words, for it takes seriously his statement in Matthew 6, "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."

It's honestly not that hard to understand the motivation of the wicked servant; which of us hasn't reacted to the "offense of the cross"? Which of us hasn't thrown up his hands in disgust and said, "I want to do this myself." Who hasn't sought an independent righteousness in spite of the free gift of grace? Like the wicked servant, we despise the cross when we withhold the grace of forgiveness.

Oh, but I want to glory in the cross. I want to boast in the forgiveness that it bought me, and I want to allow that forgiveness to overflow into the lives of those around me. I do not have to wait to understand another man's heart; I know that mine was changed once and for all by forgiveness, so I freely give.

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony" (Col 3:12-14).

"Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit" (Psalm 32:1-2).

Forgiveness, Not Understanding (Part 1)

We normally think of "understanding" as a cornerstone of human communication. After all, if we do not understand one another, it may reasonably be asserted that we have not actually communicated. So I’ll grant that understanding is a goal worth pursuing in most interactions. Yet there are circumstances in which understanding—or the pursuit thereof—can interfere with our duties to God and to each other. I’ll suggest two cases in which this is true, subordinating "understanding" to "forgiveness" in each. Here's the first:

When "Please forgive me" means, "Please understand me."

We've all made these types of apologies.

I knew better than to yell at you, I really did. But it was such a long day at work, and by the time I got home I felt like I was going to explode. When you said what you did, it was all over.

Now, this may pass as an apology simply because it recognizes the offense as an offense. But it is, in fact, no sort of apology. An apology starts with naming the sin, but it quickly moves into accepting responsibility and asking forgiveness. The following passage from John Ensor’s The Great Work of the Gospel radically changed the way that I think about forgiveness and apologies. Since reading this, I’ve seen similar formulations in other places, but I always go back to this one. Ensor is speaking here about the way that we ask God for forgiveness, but I think that many of the same principles apply in our horizontal relationships:

Even when we own up to our actual guilt, we usually attempt to shift attention to our woundedness and away from our waywardness…This is a clever way of admitting to guilt while justifying it at the same time. Another way we put the best spin on guilt is to say, “God, forgive me. I didn’t really mean it.” In other words, we meant well. Our hearts were good. This prayer for forgiveness is based on our really not needing it. It’s really a cry to be understood, not forgiven.

Our fundamental need as humans is not to be understood. The Psalmist cries out, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!” But his cry is not a cry for an understanding that forestalls forgiveness or renders it obsolete. His cry for understanding is for the understanding that leads to repentance. He continues, “See if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Psalm 139:23-24).

For those of us who have sinned and fallen short of the image of God—namely, all of us—forgiveness is our fundamental need. Every one of us could cry out with the Psalmist, "For your name's sake, O LORD, pardon my guilt, for it is great"(25:11). So when we are tempted to regard ourselves or our behavior in a self-righteous way, we should remember these words from I John 1:

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

Rather than offering to one another our extravagant explanations and excuses, let us offer up simple confession and repentance. Such honest work betrays a heart in which is "no deceit"--and such a heart is "blessed" (Psalm 32:2).

I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

I rehearse reality in my morning prayers,
And live in unreality through out the day.
With my mouth I confess,
But with my heart I retreat.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

There is no patience in my well-doing,
And I submit myself again to that terrible yoke.
It is for freedom that I was set free,
But I content myself with slavery.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

But God’s righteousness has come
Not as a law but as a Son—
Though I don’t yet see him on his throne,
I trust his power alone.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

Let me see your wounds my Savior, for in them lies my healing.
Cover me in your blood, to stay my feeble bleeding.
By your grace alone I believe; complete this work in me.

“Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain” (I Cor 15:1-2).

OPEN

Most of the time, people ask very little of me. They want a few minutes for a phone call or a lunch; they want some advice or maybe a small favor; they just want me to listen. Very reasonable requests, really.

Often, my internal responses to these encounters reveal that I consider myself to be the owner of my time. This is a sole proprietorship--this carefully managed Tuesday of mine. And the sign in the window really says closed, although I painted over it with the word OPEN.

As the Lord reveals to me more and more of my selfishness, I cry aloud to Him and ask that he would unfurl me. I return often to these words in Isaiah 58:

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.

In this passage, so much of what I have sought furiously and independently--guidance, healing, righteousness, satisfaction--is offered to me through a self-forgetful service.

I think also of the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr on this, the 40th anniversary of his assassination. In spite of his moral frailty (he, too, struggled with indwelling sin), he refused to live among the privileged and educated African-Americans, choosing rather to be mistreated with his people than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of what was--according to his conscience--sinful. I echo the language of Hebrews 11 intentionally, for his vision was motivated and sustained by faith. His example of self-forgetful service also challenges me to see the panoramic view--a view of a kingdom bigger than myself.

But we don't conquer the flesh in the flesh. I can't just download "I Have a Dream", put it on repeat, and stir myself up to seek justice and serve others. I must, all the while, be fighting the war that wages against any service that I can offer--the sin within me. A pursuit of justice starts with capturing those small moments--those little opportunities to mortify the flesh, to hold the tongue or to loose it, to dispense mercy and not judgment, to choose kindness and act in faith. In these ways and more, we pour ourselves out on behalf of others--in humility, considering them better than ourselves.

I have repented in my heart, though my honest desires are not yet changed. The Lord is at work; I'd stake my hope on it (Col 1:27). I changed the sign in the window a few days ago. The OPEN is no longer just a whitewashed CLOSED. I pray that the Lord would grant to me a legacy of servanthood for the sake of His Name.

No Excuse.

“Therefore you have no excuse, O man, every one of you who judges. For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things. We know that the judgment of God rightly falls on those who do such things. Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God? Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance? But because of your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment will be revealed” (Romans 2:1-5).

I read through this passage a few weeks ago and was taken aback by these words: “Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God?” The audience here has already been identified—anyone who judges. Sadly, I march beneath that banner of self-righteousness regularly. So I dug in my heels with this text, determined to let it show me the truth about myself.

I know myself to be judgmental in two discrete areas; I tend to judge others who struggle with weight or with laziness. Gluttony or sloth, to use the biblical terminology. While my eating-disordered past makes me peculiarly aware of my own weaknesses in this area, I caught myself thinking--almost consciously--that this text really doesn't apply with the laziness issue. Because I'm a hard worker, right? But in passing judgment on lazy people, I condemn myself, because I too am lazy, or at least that’s what a rough application of Romans 2 would seem to say.

This all fluttered across my mind several weeks ago, and I prayed about it a few times—not even with great diligence. Can I just tell you how the Lord has completely undone my understanding of myself and my own sin patterns through this verse? Suddenly, I see how my life is just fraught with thinly-veiled laziness. And I am shocked.

The revelation might seem burdensome or depressing, as you read it here. But I am deeply comforted and encouraged by it, for it shows me several things:

1. The Word is living an active, sharper than any two-edged sword. It still discerns the thoughts and intentions of my heart.

2. The Lord is at work in me in revealing my sin. He is sanctifying me and preparing me to bear the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

3. There is now hope for change, which starts with repentence.

Paul writes to the Corinthians:

"As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. For you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, but also what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what fear, what longing, what zeal, what punishment! At every point you have proved yourselves innocent in the matter. So although I wrote to you, it was not for the sake of the one who did the wrong, nor for the sake of the one who suffered the wrong, but in order that your earnestness for us might be revealed to you in the sight of God."

I know that this is godly grief, because it has produced in me repentance and an earnest desire to change. I don't want to indulge my flesh and judge others for doing so. But what is the alternative? In part, it is service. For, as I mentioned in my recent post on Galatians 5, if we are not serving others, then we are actively indulging our flesh. I really want to get to the other side of that equation! I am praying now that the Lord would show me where and how to serve those around me.

This is what my life would look like if I made no excuses for my sin:

"For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing" (II Tim 4:6-8).

Oh Lord, continue your good work in me that I might not hide behind my judgment of others and the sin that it both masks and reveals. Expose my excuses, and let me hide myself only in Thee.

Flesh Versus ... Service?

Disobedience yesterday breeds self-centeredness today without a gospel reorientation. Disobedience breeds contempt, hatred, and apathy with such virility that I find it almost impossible to serve others when I am living in any type of perpetual sin. This verse in I Timothy helps to explain it, “But she who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives.” Though it’s written about widows in particular, I think that it points to the grave temptation to self-indulgence that those of us who live alone (or who tend to be introverts) will face. I find this to be one of the primary ways that I am rendered useless in serving the body. Galatians 5:13-14 says, "For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Paul Tripp writes, "The passage is particularly helpful because it tells us that the opposite of serving in love is not a lack of love and a lack of service, but an active indulging of the sinful nature! Either I am living as a servant of the Lord and accepting His call to serve those around me or I am living to gratify the cravings of the sinful nature and expecting others to satisfy those cravings as well" (“Speaking Redemptively” The Journal of Biblical Counseling, Vol. 16:3).

I am spending some time praying through where I am indulging the flesh, though some of these areas require little illumination. I don't just want victory over my sin so that my life will run more smoothly. I want a victory that enables me to live and to serve as a testimony to Christ's power over sin and death. I don't want a victory that improves me; I want a victory that transforms me.

But this means that I must be...transformed (which sounds painful). Father, enable me to recieve with meekness the implanted word which is able to save my soul" (James 1:21). Teach me what it means to look not only to my own interests but also to the interests of others. I don't do it naturally, even with the people I love the most, and I can't do it on my own. Help me to walk tomorrow in obedience and service--all to your glory. Amen.

Hi, My Name is Michele.

Over the past year, I've found it hard to meet people. Though I've never considered myself an extrovert, I always enjoyed those initial interactions. It was a chance to make a careful and controlled presentation of myself—the Michele that is gilded with southern charm. That simple, "My name is Michele" has always been a confident assertion for me.

In my heart, I stopped extending my hand to strangers about a year ago. Sure, I’ve met dozens if not hundreds of people since then. The smile, the handshake, the pleasantries were all in place, but the self—the heart—went into hiding. Though it was never a conscious decision, I seem to have embargoed all new relationships until the return of the old health and confidence.

I look around my office, my church, and my life, and I see swarms of people who intrigue or inspire me—people to whom I would have reached out a year ago. But I slink away from them now, dragging a heart full of fear behind me. They don't know why I limp down the hallway and wear these ridiculous shoes; they likely wouldn't guess the path that these feet are walking. I don't want to just unload my story on them, but my pride cannot bear the thought that they would assume that this is just how I am.

I liked to think of my three-inch heels as an extension of myself, as a part of what made me “Michele.” But I now see that I was sowing lies. I was training myself to believe that my value—both real and perceived—lay in a pleasing presentation of myself. It seemed harmless, but lies never are. Have I, as a human being, changed fundamentally over the past year? Of course not! Why, then, this sudden reticence to love, to serve, to move boldly away from myself and into the lives of others? Let's call it what it is--it's just plain, old-fashioned pride. And that's just plain, old-fashioned sin.

If I suddenly find myself to be boast-less, then it is fair to ask what I was boasting in to begin with. Jeremiah 9:24 says, “Let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me.” The truth is that, over the course of the past year, I have come to know and to love the Lord more. Should I not therefore enter into his world with more confidence and humility instead of less confidence and humiliation? Yes, I should. But I am confessing to you that I have not.

In John 8:32-33, Jesus says to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” If I abide in God’s word, I am not a slave to the deceitfulness of sin. If, on the other hand, I abide in my "harmless" lies, then I will never be free—free to love, to serve, to live in the freedom of the glory of the children of God. And that is what I am! I am a child of God, and I have not "received the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear" but have instead "received the Spirit of adoption" (Rom 8:15-17). When I extend my hand, then, I can "kick off my shoes" and do so in the name of my Father--confident in him as my unfaltering righteousness and my immutable worth.

How People Change

I requested several books for Christmas, and I spent part of my lazy New Year's Day exploring How People Change, by Tim Lane and Paul Tripp. Though I’ve perused only three chapters, I’d like to quote at length from the third one. Reading this on New Years' Day, pinned between the cultural phenomenon of resolution-making and the solicitous advice of well-meaning friends, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I believe, come what may; this is what I believe, in spite of myself. I do not want to live with merely the appearance of wisdom or to structure sin out of my life. I want to walk in holiness and, for this purpose, Scripture is my plumb-line and light.

“We all live on the continuum between slavery and freedom. The Bible warns about the deceitfulness of sin and its bondage. It is full of promises of the freedom we have in Christ. But our culture has its own warnings and promises of freedom, false solutions promised in various theories of change. These alternative theories seem appealing. They promise us that we can avoid chaos, live in freedom, and keep our own agenda and pride in tact.

Christians have always faced these problems. We have always had to sift through false promises and theories of change. Even in the first century, Paul had these words for fellow believers:

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits (or elementary principles) of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col 2:6-8).

Lane and Tripp go on to outline some of the deceptive philosophies that our culture proffers:

Changing the circumstance
Changing my behavior
Changing my thought process
Changing my self-concept
Trusting Jesus more

None of these solutions is entirely bad, but each is sadly incomplete. If I identify a circumstance, a behavior, or a thought as my problem and fight accordingly, I will quickly be defeated (think New Year’s resolutions). Change must happen by the Spirit in the heart of the believer, and it will flow out into behaviors and thoughts. As I look at the changes that are needed in my life right now, I’m reminded not to attack the behavior but to expose my heart before the surgeon.

The last two philosophies outlined must be addressed separately, starting with self-esteem theory. I've always been astounded by the fact that I could forget everything that learned in elementary school science--things like the number of planets in our solar system or the function of the lymph nodes--but could recount in detail the intricacies of Maslow's theory of self-actualization. Perhaps I shouldn't say "intricacies"--this was elementary school! But that theory took hold of me as a child; it purported to be vitally important, and it explained some critical things about myself, or so I thought. Self-esteem theory in one of its many instantiations has a monopoly on our (pop) psychology market. We have lapped up the poison, believing that we are essentially good and must learn only to love ourselves as such. We don’t want to hear that we feel guilty because we are guilty.

The last philosophy seems incongruous and even irreverent. How can it be inadequate to "just trust Jesus”? The strategy itself is right--we should trust Jesus, but we have to be clear about who this Jesus is and what we are trusting him to do. Lane and Tripp write, “In some approaches to change, Jesus is the therapist who meets all my needs…If he is my therapist, then he meets my needs as I define them. If he is my Redeemer, he defines my true needs and addresses them in ways far more glorious than I could have anticipated.”

Herein lies the common core to each of these false solutions. If we change only our behavior or our circumstances, we have not changed our hearts. We have not displaced the idol of self; in fact, we have likely propped it up with our short-term successes. We cannot live in freedom if our self-love-driven-agendas remain in tact. Our self must acquire new loves if we are to truly change, because man will ultimately follow after what he loves. People only change from the heart outward.