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).

OPEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Excuse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul writes to the Corinthians:

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

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

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

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

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

Flesh Versus ... Service?

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

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

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

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

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

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 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

Pillar of Cloud, Cloud of Chenille

I had planned to spend some time with the Lord last night, but those good intentions were first deflected by a rubbery bagel and then totally obliterated by a cloud of chenille.

There has been little time this week to tend to my soul, so I thought that my few free minutes would be best spent reading. I set aside an hour with my Puritan Paperback (The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs) and a cup of coffee. Burroughs writes, "So far as your heart sinks and you are discouraged under affliction, so much you need to learn this lesson of contentment." This seemed like an unreasonable contention, and I resisted in my heart. "Of course I'm discouraged under affliction," I thought. "Any sensible and honest person would be. That doesn't mean that I can't still please God."

I went to the counter to pick up the bagel that I'd ordered to-go. "Sliced but not toasted," I requested mechanically. I hate toasted bagels. They taste crispy and warm for about 90 seconds and then they turn to rubber. The cashier was a bit absent-minded, and I had a premonition that he might botch the simple request. But I held my tongue and thought sanctimoniously, "Just be content, Michele. It's not a big deal." Take that Jeremiah. I can be content without your little directive.

Then I fumed about it--a bagel!--the whole way home. It was no longer a matter of being sensible or honest. This was about something much closer to the heart. And since I've really been trying to avoid my heart lately, I decided that it was time to get busy. That would give me some time to think about my sin before carrying it to God.

There's been a chenille throw on my loveseat for two years. I applied an ugly mascara stain to the fabric about a year ago in a crying fit. It's bothered me ever since, but it took an avoidance strategy to make me actually do something about it. So, instead of going before the Lord with my confession, I did laundry. My plan was just to do the laundry first, but I should have known that my priorities would establish my plans.

My perceptive readers may already suspect what transpired. I did, in fact, put the chenille throw in the washing machine--along with an assortment of clothing that included my favorite blue jeans.

Thirty minutes later, salmon colored floss had erupted from the machine and was fast overtaking the laudry room. After running through two more cycles and throwing away a couple of expendible items, I was right back where I started. My circuitous journey through a roll of quarters left me with dirty laundry and a discontented heart. The evening seemed to me such a perfect picture of futility, and I chose that futility over the pursuit of God.

Truly, a discontented heart cannot please God. For discontent reveals a lack of faith in the Lord, his justice, his steadfast love, his provision, and any of the food he provides "in due season." Hebrews 11:6 says, "Without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him." My anxious and demanding heart believed that its reward would come by my own industrious hands, the work of which came to naught.

I remember how the Lord guided the Israelites through the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day; it seemed like I got a cloud of chenille by night. Truly, the Spirit came as the light that reveals. But revelation alone will not transform us; we also need empowerment. Would you pray that the Lord would grant me repentance in and for my hard heart and that he would teach me and enable me to learn contentment in all things?

The Amazing Grace of Self-Knowledge

Please, please read this post from Paul Tripp. I hope to have time to comment later on his reflections from Psalm 51.

In the meantime, here's a taste:

So, since sin is by its very nature deceitful, we need help in order to see ourselves with accuracy. Another way to say this is that personal spiritual insight is the result of community. We don't get it all by ourselves. We need ministry of two communities in order to see ourselves with the kind of surgical clarity with which David speaks in this Psalm. First, we need community with God. He's the ultimate opener of blind eyes. Through the convicting ministry of the Holy Spirit we begin to see ourselves with accuracy and become willing to own up to what we see. But the Spirit uses instruments and this is where the second community comes in. God employs people in the task of giving sight to other people. For David, that was the prophet Nathan. With the skill of a seasoned pastor, he got inside of David's defenses and told him a story designed to engage his heart and stimulate his conscience. Through the words of this wise man and through the lens of this simple story, David's heart broke as he saw who he was and what he'd done.

Anger: A Question of Right and Wrong? (Part II)

Anger can be right or wrong. When anger is levied because my personal rights have been violated, though, it is almost always if not always wrong. It is my way of saying that I don’t trust God to judge correctly or in my favor. Sometimes it reveals a heart that desires the fruit of anger—that desires to remain in bitterness, cynicism, and depression. You might think that no one in his right mind could crave these things. But I’ve even found myself desiring to quarrel lately. Desiring it! James 4 asks:

What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions.

Why do I want to pick a fight? I want to pick a fight because I believe that my needs (really, my desires or what I think that I deserve) are not being met, and I want to tear down others who have what I want. I covet and cannot obtain. The last verse in the passage cuts to the core: you don’t have these things because you will spend them on your passions. Oh Lord, you know.

But this recent quarrelsomeness did not spontaneously materialize. It, instead, developed as an extension and expansion of a form of anger that I've been entertaining for some time now—namely, complaining. Ed Welch writes:

Grumbling or complaining fits within the larger category of anger because it is a judgment. The grumbler has declared something to be wrong, be it a person, the weather, or the expensive car repair…but grumbling is more about us than it is about other people or our circumstances.

I had never considered complaining as a form of anger until I read Welch’s argument. His words force me to take stock of what is truly happening when I complain, even if the things I say are true. What do those things say or suggest about God and his provision? Do they evidence a heart of faith or fear?

Ephesians 4 instructs us to put off the old self that has been corrupted by deceitful desires, to be renewed in our minds, and to put on the new self. I think that part of what we put away here are things like complaining, sarcasm, and gossip. Verse 25 says, “Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.” These things may not always be falsehood, but they are certainly types of speech that deny that we are members one of another. A couple of verses later, Paul exhorts the Ephesians to “let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” Here we have the fuller guideline, which includes an exhortation to speak in a way that evidences and imparts grace.

You know, if I could practice this command for just a week--to speak only words that edify and give grace--I suspect that this anger would be largely quieted within me. By the power of God, who works in me both to will and to do his good pleasure, I will fight to obey in this area.

Anger: A Question of Right and Wrong? (Part I)

After 28 years of living with this heart in this body, I am still astonished by my own anger. Standard-equipped with southern gentility and sweetness, I act like a girl who can’t get mad. I've always felt affirmed when people say, “I just can’t imagine you getting angry!” Actually, I don’t just feel affirmed; that sounds too innocent. What I really feel is righteous. Self-righteous.

Unfortunately, my anger is of the depressive type—the type that is colder and more subtle and usually manifests itself as jealousy, sarcasm, whining, gossip, self-pity. Anger has always been a stealth sin for me. I saw bitterness and depression and cynicism—but these things didn’t even suggest anger to me. What I did see, over time, was that I was constantly perceiving myself to be sinned against and responding accordingly. I admitted to being “judgmental,” even, but not to being angry. But the demand for compensation was killing me (Job 5:2). Was the problem with other people? With my analysis? Or with my response?

Ed Welch contends that anger is the most common co-conspirator with depression. He offers the following advice:

Anger is frequently revealed by depression. The wisest way to approach this subject is to assume that you are angry. Anger is as basic to our condition as bipedal locomotion and opposable thumbs. If you are a person with a mind and emotions, you will find anger.

He suggests several questions to consider when searching for your anger. The most helpful one for me is “What do I think I deserve that I haven’t received?” Be it a talent, a spouse or child, a job, or reciprocity in a relationship—there is typically some lurking thing that I believe has been withheld from me. And someone always has to pay. We can only respond to being wronged with anger or mercy, and it's usually clear which one we have chosen. It sounds like, at the very least, I have a response problem.

The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. Anger is a work of the flesh (Gal 5:20) and a characteristic of fools in proverbs. At its core, it is a judgment about right and wrong—and judgment is a tricky thing. There are times when anger is objectively the right emotion to experience; we should feel angry in the face of real injustice. What we must learn to distrust, though, is our assessments about justice and injustice. It is the nature of anger to believe that the judgments it makes are right. Welch writes:

Look at yourself earlier, longer, and harder than you do other people. This is hard at any time, but anger makes it even more difficult because there really may have been an injustice. With anger, finger-pointing is natural. We are absolutely persuaded that what happened was wrong and we are right. But think about the nature of anger. Anger always thinks it is right, but it is almost always wrong.

It's probably also fair to assume, then, that I have an assessment problem in addition to the response one. So, while anger is typically about a question of right or wrong, its judgments and responses must themselves be challenged by biblical standards.

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.

Reluctantly Finite

Some great insights here about using and refusing to use our gifts:

“Our resentment [toward God] often masquerades as modesty. What appears to be humility is often actually risk-aversion rooted in shame. I won’t take the risk of using my gifts because I am ashamed of the ‘real’ me—with all of my God-given limits—and there is a strong likelihood that those limits will be revealed if I go public. But to be ashamed of the real me is to be angry at God for the way he made me.”

. . .

"It has taken me a long time to understand that behind my dread-saturated ‘modesty’ was something deeper than a tenth-grade trauma. It was a form of self-serving protectionism, which was itself an expression of an ungrateful heart. Speaking was not, for me, the occasion to love people to the best of my God-given ability; nor was it the occasion to offer up gratefully to my Creator and Redeemer the fullest expression of the talents he had given to me. Speaking, rather, was simply (or largely) about me—about me either looking good or avoiding embarrassment. If I was reasonably sure I could get by without looking like an idiot, then I would take the gig. Otherwise I often would not. I had to be the best, and if I could not be the best—or at least look like the best—then I would keep my gifts to myself."

A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World by Charles Drew

Nine to Five, Part I

“I know, but that’s just how I am.”

I can’t tell you how many times I made this statement last week as concerned coworkers converged upon my office. "Shouldn't you be going home now?" "How long are you staying today?" I went from working half days on-site to working 9-10 hour days overnight. I tested the waters and discovered that I could swim. So I spent the whole week swimming.

As the week drew to a close, though, I noticed that bitterness and frustration were edging out my gratitude for these restored abilities. It seemed to me that it was time to examine the "that" in "that's just how I am.” Nine times out of ten, I find myself using that statement to excuse some pattern of sin in my life by an appeal to genetics, environment, or tradition. Could that be true here?

I’ve always been a workaholic. I learned in high school that the difference between a 99 and a 100 on an exam might be as much as three hours of preparation, and I decided then that it was worth it. Yes, I was the valedictorian. (No one else in my class was as crazy as I was, although a number of them were smarter).

Oh, for those report card days--when I knew where I stood among my peers! Success is not easily quantified in my current field, and so I have to seek out mechanisms by which to gauge achievement. One easy way that I can affirm myself is by working overtime. I suspect that this is the primary reason that I do it; it silences my fear that I'm not doing enough, that I'm not measuring up.

I could have gone on indefinitely working in this manner, but my sickness has forced me to think through what happens on autopilot. I guess that I absorbed a bit of my coworkers' concern last week, so I took two days to work only the requisite 7.5 hours. By the third day, though, I was a disaster (as was my desk). So this is what my workload would look like if I didn’t work after hours?

A little frustration or anxiety might be normal responses to this scenario, but there was nothing little about my frustration and anxiety. I was so traumatized by the experiment that I had to evaluate it seriously. Some unconscious thing that I was "needing”, wanting, or fearing had been jeopardized by my new plan.

I demand a lot of myself at work, and I also demand a lot of my work. I give so much to my job that I expect some reciprocity. The satisfaction of knowing that I have "conquered" a certain amount of work or approval from my boss are typically adequate for my purposes. But there are days that I walk away and wonder what I really used 75% of my waking hours to accomplish. Often these are days on which my greedy heart needed more than I got, and bitterness grew up in the absence of reward. In A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World, Charles Drew writes, "The simple joy of working hard at something eludes us. Whether we are at school, on the playing field, on stage, in the boardroom, or on the net, the desperate need to ‘win’ in some sense—to get ahead by our efforts, to define ourselves over against the competition, or just to keep up—strangles our souls." Always the need to win, even if I am the only witness to the victory.

But if it provokes me to bitterness and resentment, then why do I work so hard? It is perfectly obvious to me that I am working to meet self-esteem needs, to quiet fears of inadequacy and to satisfy desires for power. It is equally obvious that this food cannot satiate the appetites toward which it is applied. There is never enough approval to satisfy one obsessed with self. So I cannot work for that purpose.

Colossians 3 instructs, "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."

Could "serving the Lord," then, be a better purpose for my work. Colossians 3 does not assure me that I will receive any temporal reward for my hard work. And it's interesting that this statement about working as for the Lord is nestled into a chapter about putting on the new self. Our attitude toward work can be a very important way that we fight our flesh. The flesh will find some purpose in work; the spirit must work to redeem that purpose.

Obviously, there is nothing wrong with working hard at my job, so long as the work is "unto the Lord". But I wonder, sometimes, if I work doggedly in that context so that I can ignore other arenas of service. No matter how hard it is to gauge success at work, it is easier to gauge there than in most types of ministry. Drew writes, "'Pursuing my vocation' does not, rightly, mean 'working hard at my job.' It rather means 'enjoying God and loving people as I seek faithfully to use my gifts and opportunities to his glory.'" By working 50-60 hours per week at the office, am I able to love and serve the people whom God has called me to love and serve?

My vocation is bigger than my job, and the former should never suffer at the hands of the latter. Nine to five is good; seven to five may not be. Lord, reveal to me how I may faithfully glorify you with the work of my hands. Release me from the bondage of my need for approval and achievement, that I may serve you with a pure heart all my days.

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).

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.