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...

Apparently Irrelevant Decisions

I talked with a friend last night about that critical moment of decision that precedes every sin. Sin always tells us that this one is insignificant. If it can't obscure our long-term goals, then it will work to convince us that this choice has no impact on them. The window of time between analysis and action is often narrow, and the role of deception cannot be overstated. My flesh will try to deceive me and, if it succeeds, I will sin. In The Enemy Within, Kris Lundgaard writes:

This is the art of deception: to make someone believe that things are other than they are, so that he will do something he would never otherwise do. This is the way your flesh makes you into the willing servant of sin.

The willing servant of sin. Surely those little choices do not aim at slavery? Or do they? Another friend, a counselor, mentioned today that recovering addicts are sometimes challenged to analyze their "apparently irrelevant decisions." I think that most of us would benefit from reflecting upon our own decisions in this way. Where are my sin patterns, and which "inconsequential" choices are reinforcing those behaviors? The ladies at Beauty from the Heart offer some solid insights into the consequences of these apparently insignificant choices that we make:

Choices—even seemingly insignificant thoughts concealed deep in the heart--can have a more profound affect than we realize. James wrote that sin starts small as a dormant desire, then grows. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.” (James 1:15) My soul, take note: “Insignificant” desires can grow to big sin. Little choices matter.

I had the opportunity to watch this process unfold in my own life this weekend. I watched how one seemingly insignificant choice based on one unholy desire left me spiralling downward into depression and hopelessness. (Just for fun, try telling that to the next person who asks what you did this weekend!)

And then, to add insult to injury, I took this sin upon myself. I wanted to bear it, to purge it, to do anything within my power to keep it within my power. I was even willing to admit my sin if I could be the savior. What I didn't want to do was to fall upon the cross, hate my sin and repent. Here's a picture (drawn from one of my favorite books, C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces) of what earning grace really looks like:

In Till We Have Faces, Istra, a beautiful, patient and loving girl, is ordered to be executed. As the best the land has to offer, Istra must die as a human sacrifice on behalf of her people. Her sister, Orual, of course, cannot bear the thought of Istra’s death, and implores the King to intervene. In desperation, Orual pleads: “You are right. It is fit that one should die for the people. Give me…instead of Istra.” The King then grabs poor Orual by the wrist and drags her until they both stand before a massive mirror. There, Orual sees the full extent of her own ugliness. The offering called for “the best in the land,” the King says, “And you’d give her that.”

In my own darkened and prideful way, I tried to offer myself for my sins. But, by God's sweet mercy, the light of the Gospel broke through! I remembered, with the Psalmist, that "my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me" (38:4). And I believed again that Christ has borne my grief and carried my sorrow and that in His hand the will of God will prosper (Isaiah 53). I took hold of the fears and failings that were controlling me, and I recalled that no action of mine will prevent the work of the Lord from being accomplished in my life or in the lives of those around me. Though I cling fervently to God's sovereignty in this, I remain gravely aware that there are no irrelevant decisions.

"Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil" (Eph. 5:15-16).

HT: Pure Church

Old Desires and a New Prayer

These verses struck me today as I was reading, and I am making them my new prayer:

“O Lord, my Lord, the strength of my salvation, you have covered my head in the day of battle. Grant not, O Lord, the desires of the wicked; do not further their evil plot, or they will be exalted!” (Psalm 140:7-8).

Today is a day of battle, and my own sinful cravings are the desires of the wicked. As I go forth to fight the enemy within, my head is covered. The Lord is the strength of my salvation and my strength for sanctification. If he frustrates the plans of the wicked--even the desires of my flesh--then they will be frustrated. May it be so today. O Lord, my Lord--rescue me for your name's sake.

In His Loving Law, Our Lasting Legacy , Jani Ortlund challenges me to get to the root of these inappropriate desires--this covetousness. She notes, "When I am tempted toward covetousness, I need to ask myself, 'What is it about God that I don’t understand in this situation? Why isn’t God enough for me here?'"

This question puts my desires in the context of God's provision, which is right where they belong. It forces me to admit that God is working in this situation, even when my heart cries out, "My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God” (Isaiah 40:27b)! It forces me to see that my fears and accusations are ultimately directed toward God and God alone.

Anytime my desires are out of control, then I am evidencing a heart that is not satisfied in God. This is a significant confession, even if the desires are sinful only in degree. Have I remembered that "all of my longing is before the Lord, and my sighing is not hidden from his sight" (Psalm 38:9)? Have I remembered that "the eyes of all look to [Him], and [He gives] them their food in due season" (Psalm 145:15)? My needs are known and they are met. For the God who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? (Romans 8:32).

So, as I pray for the Lord's covering and protection in the areas where I struggle with sinful desire, I remember that this is a spiritual battle. It may feel like a fight with a friend, a grudge against a coworker, or a schizophrenic argument with myself--but it is a spiritual battle. And my head is covered as I enter in.

The Enemy in the Psalm, the Victory in the Battle

Most of David’s psalms feature “the enemy” prominently, and the psalmist quite brazenly asks for victory over him and devastation for him. Who could blame the guy? He was maliciously pursued by men intending to take his life.

But I tend to skip over those portions of each psalm. I've never really had men seeking to put me to shame, much less to take my life. The literalist in me wants to neglect those portions and focus, instead, on the declarations of faith and confessions of fear. Those elements can often be cleanly applied to my life and my situation; just cut and paste. But that spurious "enemy" always seemed to get in the way of any grand proclamations that I tried to make.

I am not certain why this disconnect between my enemy and David’s enemy has remained in place as long as it has. But I've tried, over the past few days, to force myself to consider my own indwelling sin to be this enemy--the enemy within. It is this force of which Paul writes, "So it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." Truly, this relentless enemy seeks to take my life.

Here's an example of how this type of interpretation/application has been helpful to me. Consider this verse from Psalm 13, "How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?"

Reading this verse with an eye to indwelling sin seems particularly poignant to me. It paints a picture of one who is aware of and grieving over her sin and yet still finds herself in submission to this enemy; it's very Romans 7. I consider how my sinful desires or wayward plans, in their very realization, have proven to be an enemy exalting over me. I remember the self [centered] talk and the sorrow that abide so long as the enemy is victorious.

But it is God to whom I look when my enemy is exalted; it is God to whom I direct my cry. It is he who enlivens the counsel of my soul and infuses joy into my heart; it is he who changes both heart and soul to bring the enemy low, for his glory. So I cry, “ How long?” and I give my enemy and my battle to the Lord.

In thinking through how I may apply all of Scripture to my life, I do not want to minimize the importance or verity of the specific situations about which the Psalms were written. David often addressed the danger of being sinful and of being sinned against even in the same psalm. These are not one and the same thing, and yet they both emperil us and force us to look to God. We can recognize and we can strategize against the enemies in all of our psalms, but it is the Lord who gives us the victory in battle.

"I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies" (Psalm 18:1-3).

Forsake Me Not

Psalm 71, Part II

“God has forsaken him; pursue and seize him, for there is none to deliver him” / "You who have made me to see trouble and calamities will revive me again."

Many people are watching me right now and, while they may not be uttering the words of the Psalmist's enemies, some of them probably believe that I am forsaken by the Lord or that I have no deliverer. There are those who fear that I have, somehow, either set myself or been set by God (or fate) upon a path of sure destruction. The Psalmist anticipates these attacks--both on his physical body and on God's character--and cries out to the only one who can save.

He asks the Lord to be his defense and then conceptualizes and affirms his own appropriate response, namely to hope, praise, and tell. This response is instructive to me when I feel my heart vascillating under the weight of others' beliefs about my condition--medical, emotional, or spiritual--or their resulting actions toward me. "And my tongue will talk of your righteous help all the day long, for they have been put to shame and disappointed who sought to do me hurt." I cry out to the Lord in faith and express that faith to others through hope-filled words that point beyond my condition and my pain to the God who has allowed it for my good.

Yet the danger posed by the opinions or actions of men is not the crucible in which the most arduous testing occurs. The same Psalmist who pleads for help against his external enemies makes an astounding statement when he exclaims, "You who have made me to see trouble and calamities will revive me again." The Psalmist indicates that my hardships are ultimately coming not from the hands of my enemies but from the hand of my God.

You who have made me to see trouble-this truth changes everything. It changes both the way that I cry and also the way that I cry out. My pastor used a medical metaphor this morning to explain how the law functions in the life of a Christian. I won't quote him perfectly, but I believe that he described the law as a "sharp scalpel in the hand of a skillful surgeon". Though it inflicts pain, it does so only to expose and cure sickness. I see my illness as functioning in a similar way. It is, first, revealing and then parsimoniously extracting deep-seated areas of unbelief in my heart.

This fact changes the nature of the danger that I face entirely (as I blogged about earlier this week). Danger, for me, is not located in a physical condition but in a faithless heart. Peril is not the absence of a vindicator but the presence of the wrong one. "Forsake me not when my strength is spent" is the cry of one in danger who knows his own need and does not rush to meet it in his own strength. This is my model.

What, then, is an appropriate response to such a severe mercy from the Lord? Lord willing, my response should be one of faith, characterized by confidence and hope. He will revive me again. Will my life look exactly like it did before? Will my body look like it did before? These questions are not answered for me by the Psalm, but they are rendered penultimate by the knowledge that the Lord will bring me up again, even from the depths of the earth. The one who created my life and my body is welcome to recreate it; in fact, he has already promised to do so in the image of His Son, Jesus Christ!

Remember Christ upon the cross and burdens upon believing shoulders, and know that the Lord does not forsake His own.

When My Strength is Spent

Psalm 71, Part I

"Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother's womb" (Psalm 71:6).

Born almost six weeks early and weighing less than 4 pounds, I was not created as a physically strong person. While I don't think of strength as being among my chief concerns (beauty, knowledge, and acceptance) come immediately to mind in that regard), I suspect that I have spent more time that I realize in trying to prove that I am not weak or needy. Even as a five-foot-tall southern belle, I was loath to let men or anybody else do things for me because I couldn't do them. Open my door? "Certainly! Because we're all clear that I can do that myself but am simply allowing you to do it instead." Carry a ridiculously large box across the office at work? "No, thank you. I'll just take care of that myself." While I've matured through the overt arm wrestling games, I find in this time of utter dependence that the old strongholds still stand.

As usual, the most significant and sobering applications of this tendency are spiritual in nature. I recently discussed with a friend the debt of love among believers as expressed in Romans 8:13 ("Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law"). I've always envisioned myself as the one who is zealously fulfilling the law in this. This exhortation to "owe no one anything" has been such a natural part of my philosophy that I almost mechanically consider how to “one-up” a gift or a gesture from a friend. That creeping legalism, always demanding proof to legitimize its righteousness, has played out in so many of my relationships. I think that I forced myself to prove that I was a better friend simply to alleviate the fear that I was a worse one.

I cannot remember a time in my life in which I been indebted to as many people as I am right now, and the debt forces me to reevaluate my true condition. If I don't see myself as a debtor, I will not be grateful for the provisions that are made. Until I embrace my need for mercy—both from God and from others—then I won't ask for it with humility. So long as I believe in my own autonomy, I will stubbornly enslave myself to that freedom until my impotence condemns me.

Now that my life is not functioning, my humility is—which drives me back to the mercy of God where it unites my heart with the psalmist. I will only cry out “forsake me not” when I believe that my strength is spent. And the strength-spent child is perfectly situated to receive the promises of the psalm.

Psalm 71: Forsake Me Not When My Strength is Spent

Over the past few weeks, the Psalm to which I have most regularly returned is Psalm 71. Lines from this meditation have served as a salve for specific wounds, and I have extracted and rehearsed those lines regularly. Today I want to look at the whole Psalm in order to make broader applications—the type of application that serves long-term soul healing instead of immediate pain relief. I am posting the text first and separately, since you will gain infinitely more from reading the Psalm than you will from my reflections upon it.

In you, O Lord, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame! In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me, and save me! Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come; you have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress. Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel man. For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth. Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you. I have been as a portent to many, but you are my strong refuge. My mouth is filled with your praise, and with your glory all the day. Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent. For my enemies speak concerning me; those who watch for my life consult together and say, “God has forsaken him; pursue and seize him, for there is none to deliver him.” O God, be not far from me; O my God, make haste to help me! May my accusers be put to shame and consumed; with scorn and disgrace may they be covered who seek my hurt. But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge. With the mighty deeds of the Lord God I will come; I will remind them of your righteousness, yours alone. O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. Your righteousness, O God, reaches the high heavens. You who have done great things, O God, who is like you? You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again. I will also praise you with the harp for your faithfulness, O my God; I will sing praises to you with the lyre, O Holy One of Israel. My lips will shout for joy, when I sing praises to you; my soul also, which you have redeemed. And my tongue will talk of your righteous help all the day long, for they have been put to shame and disappointed who sought to do me hurt.

Numbering My Days

Just a couple of months ago, I recited a portion of Psalm 90 as my toast at my best friend’s wedding. “Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” The words are coming back to me today, as I fail to esteem the moments that make up my life—wishing them to feel somehow differently than they, in fact, do. As if I knew, for a moment, the things that make for happiness!

The Psalm resumes immediately with this cry, “Return, O Lord! How long? Have pity on your servants! Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, and for as many years as we have seen evil. Let your work be shown to your servants, and your glorious power to their children. Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!”How many times in Scripture do we read that our mourning will be turned to gladness? That the Lord will restore the years that the locusts have eaten? There are so many ways that the Bible expresses this idea that our suffering is purposeful both in this life and in the next. So I am resting in that hope.

Practically, the headache has not returned at all and my spine is a bit less sore. My feet and legs are more swollen than they have been, though, so you might not notice that I’m walking with any more ease than I was yesterday. But I am! I have no real news today, other than the word of my neurologist appointment on Wednesday at 10:30AM. It is very likely that I will receive an actual diagnosis at this time, so you can imagine that I have mixed feelings as I look ahead. You may pray with me this Psalm tonight (102: 18-28)—

MEDITATION: Let this be recorded for a generation to come, so that a people yet to be created may praise the Lord: that he looked down from his holy height; from heaven the Lord looked at the earth, to hear the groans of the prisoners, to set free those who were doomed to die (such was I!)…

APPLICATION: that they may declare in Zion the name of the Lord, and in Jerusalem his praise, when peoples gather together, and kingdoms, to worship the Lord. He has broken my strength in midcourse; he has shortened my days…

SUPPLICATION: “O my God,” I say, “Take me not away in the midst of my days—you whose years endure throughout all generations!” Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you.It is a privilege to me to be on both the giving and the receiving end of this comfort in affliction (II Cor. 1:4).

May the Lord continue to build us into a body willing to share in his comforts and in his afflictions. I love you dearly.