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?

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).

Lie Down and Sleep

"In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety" (Psalm 4:8).

Lord, I have not done my part by lying down in peace, and yet you have preserved me--mind, body, and soul. You and you alone have made me to dwell in safety; you have kept my foot from stumbling even in my self-righteousness and anger. None of the things I fear as I lie awake on my bed--not one of them has overtaken me, though many have come upon me. You have raised me up to meet these challenges; my faith is increased according to your purpose. I praise you because you have not abandoned the work of your hands! I praise you because you are completing the good work that you began in me.

I know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself and that he hears when I call to him (Psalm 4:3). So for today, I will call and wait. "Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness! You have given me relief when I was in distress. Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!" (Psalm 4:1).

I will hope steadfastly as I walk through the trials of the day, and I will lie down and sleep tonight in gratitude and faith. I will wait upon the Lord the Almighty, for I know that he is safely within earshot...

No Water

It's been hard to write lately. My silence has not fundamentally been a scheduling issue or even a case of writers' block. The problem is that my heart has been reluctant to embrace the mission of this blog: to take every thought captive to obey Christ and to rejoice in the sufferings that are producing endurance, character, and hope in me. It has settled for a self-analysis that doesn't produce transformation and reaped a stagnant self-criticism and latent anger.

The shift from liturgy of faith to litany of complaints was slow, but I can hardly say that it's been subtle. Last week, I caught myself crying out to the Lord in frustration, "Have you brought me here just to abandon me?" I am not the first grumbling Israelite to speak these words:

Now there was no water for the congregation. And they assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron. And the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Would that we had perished when our brothers perished before the Lord! Why have you brought the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness, that we should die here, both we and our cattle? And why have you made us come up out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place? It is no place for grain or figs or vines or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink.” Numbers 20:1-5

No water. That's how my life feels right now. But the truth is that water for the Israelites was quite near--it just wasn't yet in a recognizable form. A rod and a rock; an act of faith and an act of God.

It is so easy to believe that I will be satisfied when X, Y, and Z are resolved, but when I believe that these things are necessary for my sustenance, then I begin to challenge God. It's no forty-year journey from the "I need" to the shaking fist. Can't you hear the chains rattling? I am enslaved to the things I see, not liberated by what I believe.

No Water. If God did not withhold from me his only Son, how will he not also along with him graciously give me all things? If I see no water, it is only because I do not recognize it. I remember another woman who stood before the Living Water and did not have eyes to see:

A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.” John 4:13-15

I will not be enslaved by my own circumscribed vision; I choose to believe today that what does not yet look like water is truly water. And, by the grace of God, I will settle for no water but the water from the rock.

Overwrought

Overwrought. Lonely but without comfort in the presence of loved ones. Wearied so by self that all other things grow wearisome beyond measure. Can't eat it away, can't sleep it away. Neither words nor silence still it. “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night.” Assuaged not by the presence of light, though no longer preferring shadows. "Be careful lest the light in you be darkness." Even the darkness is not dark to Him.

Once innocuous desires charge past cursory defenses. "She who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives." Unblinking fear, frail yet defiant; sinful yet self-righteous; broken, yet self-sufficient. Strengths and weaknesses inverted by a heart deceitful above all. "But I have come to give you life." Knitted, broken, hemmed, held. Even my wrestling against is now wrestling with, and Orual's complaint is uttered in my voice. "Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God."

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge--not in the courts of my mind, the chambers of my hearts, or the audience of man. Wait in faith, soul, and be not overwrought! For the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save.

It is good that I should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.

Negotiations

These have been tough days for blogging. Several areas of my life are being simultaneously renegotiated, and the process has demanded and is still demanding my full attention. While God's hand is visible in some of these areas, I am praying for faith to see His work in others. Therefore I will walk by faith and not by sight (II Cor. 5:7) as I work out my salvation with fear and trembling (Phil 2:12).

The layout of my days and my nights has changed significantly over the past few weeks. It feels as though I'm slowly transferring all of the pieces of a puzzle from one table to another. I know that they all fit, but I'm having trouble remembering how. Blogging is one of those pesky pieces that now refuses to fit.

It seems as though I am emerging, somewhat reluctantly, from what has been a rather solitary season of my life. My vocation and my church have both thrust me out of my introverted self in decisive ways, but I suspect that even bigger changes are ahead. Ministry, accountability, relationships, community--As I see these things on the horizon, I remind myself that "the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised" (II Cor 5:14-15). From now on, then, I must regard no one according to the flesh.

Since blogging has been, in part, my way of preserving solitude while reaching out in ministry, I'm not sure how it will fit into the new equation (in which solitude is dissolved into new opportunities for ministry). I trust the work that the Lord is doing in my life. Now, Lord, grant that I may say with Luke, "But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God."

Place is Always and Only Place

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love. For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise? I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief; it grows weak because of all my foes. Depart from me, all you workers of evil, for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled; they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment (Psalm 6).

I can't help but notice David's confidence as he concludes this Psalm. "The Lord has heard" and "the Lord accepts," he boasts—though he had opened the Psalm with the plaintive, "How long?"

The "how long" question is a consequence of looking around. It is a natural question to ask, particularly in the midst of a trial and is, in itself, morally neutral. It may be a prelude to faith or a prelude to doubt. If the question is fostering doubt or fear, though, then it is the wrong question to ask.

Over the past few days, I have been plagued by a sort of emotional tedium. “My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, ‘My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.’” All around me I have seen loss and lack; pain and emptiness; absence where presence once stood. All around me…

But David’s boasts, in Psalm 6, are not yet manifested in his present circumstance. He boasts in the fact that the Lord has heard his plea—maybe the same plea that he has uttered now for days, weeks, months—although he has seen no salvation. He looks ahead and predicts the shape of his victory—the degradation of his enemies—though they are still encamped about him.

In general, I think that we can extract a guideline from David's example that may serve us when we get mired in the "now." Like David, we may be better able to boast in the Lord if we look back and look ahead instead of always looking around.

Looking back is the easier of the two charges. This discipline has served me, even today, with reminders of God's faithfulness in the face of my faithlessness. When hope is in short supply and sin is threatening to fill the vacuum, the remembrance of God’s goodness to us in the past can steady our hearts.

Looking ahead is a bit more challenging, since it depends upon faith and not sight. Piper, in Future Grace, suggests that remembering can "incline our hearts to trust in future grace." This remembering is not an end in itself, but when combined with the living and active Word, it is a motivator to faith and obedience. Several of you directed my attention to one or the other of these affairs today, and the Lord brought them all together to strengthen my weak faith.

It’s hard for me to let go of my expectations for today—for what my life, at 28, should look like. But by remembering what the Lord has accomplished, I am encouraged just enough to be willing to look ahead with hope, nay—with faith.

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are…

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Strangers and Exiles

My approach to Scripture right now is to examine the prevailing emotion of the day and to submit it to the Word. I’m always a bit discomfited by my own surprise at Scripture’s ability to pierce and to discern (Hebrews 4:12). We think of ourselves as the exception and find ourselves to be the rule.

For today, I'm fighting a feeling akin to loneliness that is probably most accurately defined as a sense of exile. I am expelled from the native land of my heart and mind—desires, hopes, ambitions, pleasures, plans—and forced into a period of wandering and wondering. Hence I turn to Hebrews 11:

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city."

These men and women of faith who are being commended by the author of Hebrews acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles. They did not seek to disguise the fact or to remedy it in their own strength; in fact, the text seems to say that they could go back to their native lands. Yet they chose to remain in exile because they desired a new and better country. They chose exile because they trusted the one who was changing even their desires and the "home" that formed their identities.

When my old desires, hopes, ambitions and pleasures taunt me, it is helpful to me to remember that I am now seeking a homeland. Mine is a purposeful exile—though I did not choose it—and it is leading me to a heavenly country. Acknowledging that I am truly an exile is an important way that I can expose both the truth and the lie. The truth is that the Lord has sent me into this period of wandering; the lie, which is rehearsed in my mind almost hourly, is that I am “cut off from his sight.” In this way, I must talk to myself rather than listen (as Martin Lloyd Jones would say).

I also take this counsel from Hebrews 11: I must fight the temptation to think constantly of the country I left, lest I should turn back at the first opportunity. I must submit those old desires and dreams to the plans and promises of God—even if I only greet them from afar. He can be trusted to fulfill each and every one of his promises to me, and he is not confined by time or space in that fulfillment. In fact, of these exiles it is written, “Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”

A home. A homeland. A place where desires are pure and purely satisfied, where hope is seen, and where pleasures are eternal. You are an exile, Michele. Keep walking.

All Things Are Subservient

The Heidelberg Catechism gives me a fresh opportunity to reflect upon the profits of pain.

Question: What is thy only comfort in life and death?

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

My favorite phrase in this rich answer is "all things must be subservient to my salvation," because it shifts the onus of the activity from the pain itself to the purpose behind it. These momentary afflictions are achieving for me an eternal weight of glory!

So, it is in light of this truth that I ask myself, “What are my afflictions today?”

Yes, I am afflicted with physical pain. Yes, its tentacles have managed to invade almost every part of my life. But is this my deepest affliction?

The afflictions that I have felt almost as keenly as the pain today are these: despair, pride, self-pity, and anger. The pain with which I am currently dealing has this prescient manner of pinpointing those deep-rooted struggles in my life. It’s almost as though the pain is serving in this sanctification which is a part of my ultimate salvation. Do you hear the echo of the catechism? Or, more importantly, do you hear the reverberations of Scripture?

If you had asked me a month ago, I would have vigorously denied that I felt any pride in my physical appearance--in my body or the way I took care of it. I would have denied that I felt pride in my workaholism or in my tendency to “give, give, give” in relationships. I truly did not know that these things were my (false) righteousness; I did not know that I took comfort in them. But if you ask me these questions today, I will be forced to humbly give you a different account. For this fire is both revealing and refining. I am wounded that I may be healed.

A friend sent me this quotation today from Octavius Winslow's The Precious Things of God: "You will know more of Jesus in one sanctified trial than in wading through a library of volumes or in listening to a lifetime of sermons." Let it be, Lord! Let it be.

Trial, be sanctified. Soul, be comforted. All things are subservient to the salvation of those whom the Lord loves.