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).

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

The Death of the Addict

For years now I have warned people that I have an "addictive personality." It's not a flattering diagnosis, but I liked how it added a whiff of the clinical to the self-aware. I always felt a bit sagacious when labeled myself in this way.

It occurred to me today,though, that this diagnosis is anything but self-aware. What is an addictive personality? Is it not a personality that has been formed by yielding to the lusts of the flesh? Is it not a personality that so loves being in love with the flesh that it can transfer those behaviors from one lust to another to another in rapid and endless succession? As I say this, remember that I have already identified myself in this way. I am preaching to the choir here. But there is more than enough grace to cover even me.

When I say, "I have an addictive personality," I am actually confessing that I have no self-control. I am admitting that no matter what you give me, I will want more. Greed doesn't even get to the heart of this battle. Is it not an idolatry that tries to plead "God...and" when the choice is really "God...or"?

Ed Welch writes, "Consider the following proposition: cravings are best understood as spiritual problems. They are not unique to certain types of drugs. This is not to deny that cravings may involve physical features, because the 'one more' of sin is often experienced as a strong physical desire. Yet the primary problem is that addicts have given themselves over to sensuality, and such self-indulgence is always assocated with cravings for more" (Journal of Biblical Counseling, "Self Control: The Battle Against 'One More'").

I must remember that my old self is corrupt through deceitful desires. Or, to be even more direct, I must simply remember that my desires are deceitful. I will not want what I get; it will not deliver what it promised. As long as I seek my fulfillment outside of the story of redemption, I will be frustrated, furtive and empty even if I obtain the things that I pursue. "Wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin" (Romans 7:24-25).

We put the flesh to death because it tethers us to sin; the addict in all believers must die. But the old self was crucified with Christ in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. No matter what our personalities, no matter how long we have indulged our sin--there is hope for transformation because Christ has been crucified and we are crucified with Christ. The death of the addict is the life of the saint.

On Doctors and Diagnoses

Why am I still surprised when I dissolve into tears in the parking lot at the doctor's office? Although I feel like I wouldn't even dare to hope that this visit would produce any answers, it's obvious that I do. The woman who walks in and the woman who walks out inevitably wear different faces. Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I don't like being sick. And I don't like having needs.

I'm fighting to apply Titus 2:11-14 to these fresh wounds:

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age, waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for himself a people for his own possession who are zealous for good works.

I can never really get my mind around this passage. It speaks of salvation and sanctification; it promises self-control and the desire--even zeal--to do good works. It promises that I can live a godly life on this side of heaven.

How is this possible? It's only possible because grace trains us in what we should give up and in what we should pursue. And Titus 2 says that we are to do or to receive these things as we wait for the fulfillment of our ultimate hope. When I am overwhelmed by the not yets in my life, I find it helpful to consider again that God redeems all of our time--even the time spent waiting. I must believe that now, because I feel as though I am waiting for answers and waiting for healing in so many areas of my life.

The Lord has allowed me to begin ministering to a woman with an eating disorder as a result of this essay. This ministry has come at a time in my life when there are more questions than answers and in which I am tempted to doubt God's kindness to me. In the midst of the waiting and all of the not yets, here is a now. I am so grateful to serve in this way.

And yet anything that is brought into the light will be exposed. When we submit ourselves to God's word (even in counseling others), we will find out just how sinful we really are. Perhaps the most surprising, humbling, and (yes) frightening recognition for me is that I don't really have freedom in this area of my life. No, I don't live like a woman with an eating disorder anymore. But much of it is just behavioral modification; my sin is domesticated and kept at arm's length (but never beyond). So, I humbly confess that I am not recovered but recovering. We are never, in this life, beyond the reach of sin. I know that it is always waiting for me, whenever my emotions are a little too high or a little too low. I return to it daily if not hourly, at least in my thoughts.

Luke 11 says, "No one after lighting a lamp puts it in a cellar or under a basket, but on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light. Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light, but when it is bad, your body is full of darkness. Therefore be careful lest the light in you be darkness. If then your whole body is full of light, having no part dark, it will be wholly bright, as when a lamp with its rays gives you light." While significant areas of my relationship to food and eating have been exposed to the light, other areas have remained in darkness. I like to think that I can set this little sin apart and pursue growth in other areas, but I know that scripture sets forth no such selective sanctification.

"Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." Here is one area in which I do have a diagnosis, and a Physician who can heal. I know for certain that the treatment for this disease is successful. I am called to repent and, by the grace of God and the help of His Spirit, I do.

I'd write more, but I don't know what to say...

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets

Click over to Boundless or Between Two Worlds to see a bit more discussion about my testimony.

Slave to Food: My Story

Carolyn McCulley has posted my (verbose) testimony about eating disorders here.

"I have tried in my way to be free..."

For those of you who just recently became acquainted with me, you will probably be surprised to know that I enjoy Leonard Cohen's music. His music is certainly not Christian, and it's often quite irreverent. What I enjoy about his music is that it is often self-consciously focused on redemption (or the lack thereof). All great stories are written and songs are sung about this theme. It is, after all, the great quest of human existence.

I woke up with this line from Like a Bird on a Wire in my head: I have tried in my way to be free. I guess that my thoughts about freedom and independence (it is July 4, after all) led somehow to this.

Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.
Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

I perceive two driving themes in this song. 1) The singer feels compelled to seek freedom and 2) he knows that he has not attained it. Cohen’s songs are rife with futility—with the quest for the unattainable. This song, in fact, is almost apologetic; he feels his lack of freedom and the burden of the enslaved world so keenly that he must assert the truth that he has tried. As I listen, I wonder who he really wrote the song for. To whom do you apologize for your slavery? Was he looking in the mirror or staring into the sky? Oh, friend—“It is by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” (Acts 13:39).

In some ways, Americans are the most enslaved people on earth. Take a look around at the interplay between our consumerism and our self-help industry. We will squander almost all of our time and money getting enslaved (to debt, to drugs, etc) and then spend the rest of it trying to get free. We believe one liar after another, and we "save all our ribbons" to placate him. Where is our Isaiah, to ask us pointedly, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” No, the question is wrong. Isaiah is where he has always been. Where are those with ears to hear?

As an American, I am blessed to enjoy a freedom that most people around the world can only dream about. They write songs and poems and books and even theologies about things that I overlook every day. Their prayers, passion, and service condemn me when I don’t vote or when I turn an apathetic eye toward politics in a thousand subtle ways. And yet we, as Americans, hold political freedom in one hand and cultural slavery in another.

By the grace of God, though, I am what I am; and his grace to me was not without effect! Therefore, as a Christian, I know a few things about freedom. A few passages come to mind but, if I am to join my friends to watch the fireworks, I can only reflect on one of them tonight.

“So Jesus said 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.” They answered him, “We are offspring of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?” Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the house forever; the son remains forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:31-36).

As Americans, surely we cry out that we “have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?” But beneath our cries lies a recognition that, though we have tried in our way to be free, we are as free as a worm on a hook. All our glory is temporary; we will not remain in the house forever. I’m not making a political statement here about the end of empire or anything like it. I do believe that God will judge nations in time and that he will judge people in eternity, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. As I listen to Cohen's apology for the impotence of his efforts, I can only say that if the Son, the heir, sets us free, then we will be free.

So, Leonard and Karl and Gustavo and all of the thousands of others who speak about freedom in this life—yes, it is truly a gift and it is worth fighting for. But "it is by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” or by the laws of nations.

Suffering with Christ

It is natural to try and make sense of our suffering. We say with Job, “Cannot my palate discern the cause of my calamity?” (Job 6:30). For those of us who tend toward condemnation, we are likely to believe that we are being punished. It is truly a testament to God’s grace that I have not struggled in this way over the past few months.

By his spirit and through his word, God has enabled me instead to know that this suffering is about him, ultimately, and not about me. Why do I say that my suffering is about God? First, look at the connection between my suffering and the suffering of Christ. Romans 8 says that we are heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ “provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.”

What does it mean to “suffer with him”? It cannot mean that I bear the weight of my sin, for Christ had none to bear himself. In fact, he bore my sin instead--draining the cup of God's wrath so that none was left for me. Condemnation dies here, if I am suffering with Christ. I Peter 3:18 says that he suffered once for sin, that He might bring us to God. His suffering was unique and uniquely effective, accomplishing the restoration of the children of God. My suffering, though it happens with Christ and can never separate me from him (Romans 8:35), cannot be like his suffering in this way.

But watch our Lord in the garden, sweating drops of blood. Hear him cry out, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” Read Philippians 2 and see how he was obedient unto death, "to the glory of God the Father." Christ's suffering was ultimately about God's glory; he suffered for the purposes of another. Then turn back to Isaiah 53 and read the prophecy about Christ, "Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied." Though he submitted his own desires and was obedient to death, Christ was satisfied. He was satisfied. He looked upon the earth and saw that it was good.

Though the Lord uses our suffering to do His work in us, we think too little of his global and eternal purposes and about our own salvation if we believe that the suffering is only about our own sanctification. I realize now that the hope of my sanctification cannot sustain me in suffering; I can hope in nothing less than God himself. Nothing that has its origin and its terminus in my life can bear the weight of my faith. I have tried to assign little errands to my suffering—fix this, mend that—and I walk away disappointed when that area of sanctification proves to still be "in progress."

How do I talk to myself in these times? I remind myself, first and foremost, that the gospel declares that God is now for me in Christ. Romans 8:28 leaves little room for doubt; the design of God, for those who love him and are called according to his purpose, is salvation. What does salvation mean? John Piper writes, in God is the Gospel: "This all-encompassing word, salvation, embraces all the gospel promises, such as the promise of healing, help for the poor, liberation for captives, peace, eternal life, global expanse, and the all-satisfying vision of the glory of God."

The all-satisfying vision of the glory of God. This is the second thing I must remind myself when I am tempted to disappointment. There were moments, in the darkest times of suffering, that the Lord revealed himself to me in new ways. And what can I report? Yes, I was satisfied. I was satisfied in the midst of my suffering, because God is great beyond all measure. Even in my sanctified, glorified body, I will never be great. "Michele! Hear this." God is great. May those who seek him rejoice and be glad in him. May those who love his salvation say forever, "God is great!” (Psalm 70:4).

I had circumscribed salvation in my own mind, believing it to be only or even mainly about the restraint of sin in my own life, and my suffering has brought this fallacy into the light. I was glorying in the gift of sanctification and not in God the giver. I had lost sight of the fact that my suffering brings glory to God, and I had forgotten that my salvation brings me into the presence of his glory. God's glory was not even on my radar, when it should be my hope and my satisfaction. My suffering has reminded me to “rejoice insofar as [I] share Christ's sufferings, that [I] may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (I Peter 4:13). I will count it a privilege to suffer with Christ, and I will rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

"The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Romans 8:16).

Methodology Meets Theology

I've been thinking lately about the way that I work. My often unhealthy motivations and my sometimes unhealthy practices have been exposed by my sickness. You can interpret my absence from the blogosphere, in part, as a failure to integrate those practices with the other necessary components of living. You can interpret my filthy apartment and car, my backlogged email, and my unanswered voice mails in much the same manner.

Now that I conduct life inefficiently (read: slowly), I have to think seriously about where I spend my time. Here is where my methodology meets my theology. For example, I rarely apply makeup in the mornings now; it's simply not where I want to spend my time. The good news is that my whole triage system is completely redesigned; the bad news is that my mind is not wholly renewed in this area. So I find myself feeling confused and despondent quite regularly. I'm not yet sure how to distinguish between and among frustration, lethargy, and conviction. You know you are in a new spiritual place when both sin and surrender feel so uncertain.

Scripturally, how do I think through these things? To which things do I apply myself, and at what level?

When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.” Then they said to him, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

This passage in Luke addresses these often contiguous issues of motivation and vocation. Most of us have seen the motivation question play itself out in our own lives. We pray because we have seen prayers answered and because we have needs. This is not wrong. But if we come to our prayers with only our hunger in mind, disinterested in the redemption that is signified in all of God's provision, then we seek him wrongly.

Christ recognizes here our tendency, even in the face of the eternal, to get bogged down in the temporal. We see this as we go about our daily tasks. Our calling, the outworking of the gifts that the Lord has given us to bless the body, gets submerged beneath the excesses of our day to day duties. Maybe that work happens at the office; maybe it happens at the gym. Maybe your answer, like mine, is C) both of the above or something entirely different.

Perceiving this weakness, the Lord warns them, "Do not labor for the food that perishes." Do not steward your time and energy to win the approval of man, a heftier paycheck, a better body. Receiving this warning, they then look to him and ask, "What must we do to be doing the works of God?" They did not know what this eternal bread looked like, and they didn't know what kind of work produced or secured it. And so they asked, and they asked wisely. What is Christ's response? Believe. Interesting.

This verse helps me to center my thoughts on the Gospel as I attempt to steward my time. For example, I contemplated going to the gym tonight—even though my legs and feet are aching. How do I evaluate this plan? I asked myself, "Am I believing in Christ?", and I have to confess that the question didn’t get much traction. So I got more specific. I asked myself this: "As I consider this plan, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?" My throbbing legs made this lie fairly easy to expose. Of course, this is slavery.

It's less obvious when I try to determine how many hours a day to work. First, I must heed the exhortation of Scripture, "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." This means that I work heartily "unto the Lord" no matter how many hours I work. But I am rarely tempted to indolence.

I tend, instead, to over-work to prove my adequacy to others or to silence that voice in my head that tells me I'm not enough. So as I look at the work that I do after hours I have to ask myself, "What is my motivation? Am I believing in Christ? As I consider this plan to work another hours’ worth of overtime, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?"

I've put some parameters on myself in light of these question and answer sessions. I can not go to the gym two days in a row (even if my "workout" is just riding the bike for a very few minutes); neither can I work more than one hour overtime per day. The regulations may sound legalistic, but I believe that the Lord will honor them. Here's why:

You may be surprised that the parable of the talents hasn't yet entered into my discussion of stewardship and work. But, as I think about my "spare" time, this is where it seems most applicable to me. There are passions in my heart that I believe are God-given, and yet I have made little investment with or use of them. In many ways, I have been like the evil servant who hid the talent since he perceived that any ventures involving it would be risky. He saw with earthly eyes, blinded by fear.

As I reflect upon these loves of mine—writing, counseling, family—I know that I am doing little to pursue either the cultivation or the use of these gifts right now. These other "good things" in my life, such as working overtime and going to the gym, prevent me from faithful stewardship in other areas. I want my theology to change the way that I conduct my life—on the clock, on the bike, and in every other place that the Lord leads me.

One Story

I had dinner last night with some friends who were formerly acquaintances. Until recently, we'd shared some common circumstances and bumped up against each other regularly, but we'd never really had a reason to push beyond niceties and polite self-sufficiencies. I’m OK, You’re OK.

This all changed when I got sick. I (re)discovered the fact that I need people and that the Lord's servants are blessed by serving. I discovered that the work of ministry happens when the body of Christ is built up and that all suffer when a part of the body suffers. People like these new friends have made this lesson palatable and even pleasant! No man is an island. I could not be if I tried; and yet what freedom I find when I give up that pursuit to live in grateful and gracious community.

As each of us spoke about our own journey last night, I was astonished to see how the Lord has used our own sin and the sins of others to accomplish his purposes. I recall Genesis 50:20, which reads, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” Joseph was sold into slavery by the evil intent of his brothers, and yet that very act was a part of the same story that would later have Joseph to serve as an agent of their physical salvation. I think of the slavery of sin in my own life and I remember how even this slavery has taught me new truths about grace and redemption. Even when I intended evil, God has wrought good in inconceivable ways. What a mighty and sovereign God we serve!

If the Lord's will for our lives was merely based on a destination, it would seem as though he picked some obscure "scenic" route to get us there. But the truth is that the story of today is just a part of the same story that involves where we came from and where we are going. There are, of course, pieces of the story that don't yet make sense and others that still hurt too much to tell, that haven't yet been redeemed in an obvious sense. Still, this one story is the practical outworking of the redemption narrative in each of our lives. Redemption is both already and not yet in our lives; redemption is our destination and the inevitable conclusion of the story, for those who love the Lord. Our one story is part of the one story. Thus, "my mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge."

Sovereign God, I thank you that “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." I thank you that your hand is always guiding the resolution of each conflict in my life; that you know the end from the beginning and have shaped both character and plot. I thank you that your purposes will succeed, among those who love your name and even among those who hate it. I thank you that you have removed my heart of stone and made me one who loves your name. Help me to walk worthy of this calling.

Raiding the Inarticulate

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets

The quote from Eliot expresses something of the way I feel about "The Fig Leaf." Though I can never say precisely what I want to say, I am content to be Moses instead of Aaron.

Writing has been a part of my life for years now, and I've tried on styles and philosophies like bad pen names. I'm amazed at how much of a chameleon I can be. I recall words spoken for effect—more style with less substance; I even recall words intended to turn black to white and vice versa. Surely the things that Scripture says about the tongue apply also to the pen or the laptop.

I am "shabby equipment," and yet I must remember that the Lord made me as I am to show that the surpassing power belongs to him and not to me. He chose what is foolish to shame the wise, what is weak to shame the strong. I once thought that my significance—no, my glory—would be exposed in dark and profound words and the distinctive thoughts behind them. But the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

The Michele that now writes will never "get the better" of her subject. This thing that I am learning (being taught) to say is eternal; the words that go forth, Lord willing, are used to magnify the Word. This is a new beginning, the investment of just a little talent. May the Master be pleased when he returns.

Lord, in the words that I speak, help me to always lift up "Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”

"And so each venture is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate..."

God Saves Sinners

“The biggest obstacle to our spiritual progress is that we feel healthy.” Ray Ortlund, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners

Throughout the past month, my reading of Scripture has been self-consciously topical. The needs of each day have been so insistent that I have required immediate and obvious application from my reading. Over the past few days, though, I have been sensing the need to immerse myself into a more settled book study. I’ve decided to add Isaiah to my readings in the Psalms and in Colossians.

I'm fortunate to have a copy of Ray Ortlund's commentary, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, to use as a reference in this study. Here's a little tidbit from the introduction. You'll notice immediately how my recent reflections situate me right in the middle of the "we" of whom Ortlund speaks:

"[Isaiah's] Hebrew name means, 'The Lord saves.' This man's very identity announces grace from beyond ourselves. We don't like that. We want to retain control, save face, set our own terms, pay our own way. Every day we treat God as incidental to what really matters to us, and we live by our own strategies of self-salvation. We don't think of our choices that way, but Isaiah can see that our lives are infested with fraudulent idols. Any hope that isn't from God is an idol of our own making.”

These strategies of self-salvation are what is under attack in my life right now. I recognize in myself both the search for salvation and the resistance to receive it; I know that I have positively located that salvation in Christ and yet that I continue to search for it in other places. And I know the slavery of those “other places.”

Isaiah describes Judah’s spiritual crisis in chapter 1:

The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but bruises and sores and raw wounds; they are not pressed out or bound up or softened with oil.

He uses imagery of physical sickness to speak about the spiritual malady of Judah; in a similar fashion, I look at my physical condition and draw conclusions about my spiritual health. I don’t draw these conclusions to suggest that this sickness has befallen me because of my spiritual condition. Instead, I look at it as a manifestation of the overwhelming tendencies of the human heart to self-destruct and to rebel. I think of my portable altars and am saddened. But I do not hope in my heart or its rightness or righteousness; I hope in the fact that God saves sinners.

Father, you have made known to us through your Son and in your word that you save sinners. Your spirit has opened my eyes to the truth that I am such a sinner and that your salvation is my only hope. I confess that I could not pay my own way, save face, or set my own terms. It was on your terms that I came to you, in order that you might receive all the glory for my salvation.

I thank you that you continue to awaken in me a fresh sense of my own sinfulness through conviction. Help me, Father, always to turn from that sin and focus upon Christ. Help me to see that he has borne those sins and put them to death at the cross. Help me to live in Spirit-empowered freedom instead of fleshly idolatry. I give you thanks, even now, for the physical suffering that reminds me of my spiritual need. I thank you for the helplessness that points to hope; for the emptiness that points to satiation; for the pain that points to joy. I trust you that what is mortal will be swallowed up in what is eternal, and I long for that day. Sustain me until I see you face to face, in the strong name of Jesus. Amen.

Afflicted in Every Way, But...

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:7-12).

I feel afflicted in every way tonight. The coordinating conjunction that appears in the title to this post is added as an act of discipline and an assent to a truth that I don't feel. I have to ask myself, what does it mean that I am "not crushed." I feel utterly crushed. Where is my Christ? I must see him tonight.

[I could have ended the post here. I felt so desperate and forsaken even as I typed. What you can't see between these two brackets is just a period of sobbing before God-making anemic confessions to him about how I feel, even indulging in self-pity, and yet pleading that he reveal Christ's presence to me. He is faithful to meet us in our weakness.]

I'm reminded in the silence that Scripture uses the word "crushed" in both II Corinthians 4 and in Isaiah 53. Therefore, as I contemplate this truth that I am "not crushed," I remember one who was. "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed."

What does it mean that I am not crushed? It means that Christ was. I spent some time in the Servant Songs at Easter, and I read this commentary from John Piper on Isaiah 53:5-

"Now we start to get to the heart of the heart of God: it was the will of the Lord to crush him, NOT because of his own sins, but because of our sins. What God desired was that we not bear our own sins. Seven hundred years before Good Friday God announced why his Son was being put to death: to bear the sins of many—to take our place. Sins are not borne twice. God does not sentence his Servant and us to death for the same sins. If he bears them, we don't. And that is the glorious gospel of Jesus. He bore our sins."

God's heart desired that I not bear my own sins, and he willingly afflicted his own son in order that I might not be crushed. Even as I lie here tonight, sobbing in pain and fighting despair, I am not crushed. My sins are separated from me that I might not be separated from God. Because Christ was crushed, I am not--no matter what my affliction.

My heart is steadfast, O God. My heart is steadfast...

Plentiful Redemption and Steadfast Love

The days here are getting harder instead of easier, my friends. Little has changed physically, and yet I have to move forward with my life and my work. Rebuild, reevaluate, reclaim, revive, rethink--everything demands a fresh investment at a time in which I have neither the physical nor the emotional capital to balance my checkbook. I am reminding myself, again and again, that the redememption of the Lord is plentiful and his love is steadfast (Psalm 130).

But how do I practically respond to these things when redemption and love feel like gratuitous violence? My friend Elyse Fitzpatrick sent me a copy of one of her books, called A Steadfast Heart, which I received today. The book is grounded in the reality of suffering and endurance that is presented in Psalm 57--when David is literally running for his life. Elyse reflects:

The trials we endure are meant to get at the idolatry, self-love, and independent unbelief that God desires to purge from our life. They're also meant to cause us to love Jesus Christ more and more, and sometimes they're not discipline at all but rather part of God's mysterious plan to glorify himself. So, please, as you read through this book, don't compare my suffering with yours or wonder how you could endure what I've gone through or vice versa. Just recognize that God brings to each of us what will best glorify himself.

These words were deeply comforting to me, and they move me to cry out, "For great is your steadfast love toward me; you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol" (Psalm 86:13). I know the soul that was delivered, even if I don't know the depths of the hell from which it was saved. I know the heart that has deceived me from birth, and its lies of autonomy are obvious now that my life is no longer "functioning" for me. I will know the truth, and the truth will set me free.

Idolatry, self-love, and independent unbelief have been an integral part of my life and my heart; these have been a part of the burden under which I have continually groaned. It comforts and strengthens me to consider that our good God has taken those ugly parts of my heart firmly in hand with this trial. I remain steadfast; he loves and redeems to his glory.

So I return to the words of the Psalmist--who cried, hoped and waited:

"Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy! If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption. And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities."