The Foot-Washing Kind of Love

It's satisfying to pay the people who serve me. It maintains my equilibrium, you know? It perpetuates my illusions of control, and it even infuses me with a delicious sense of my own magnanimity.

It feels completely different to be served. I do not give and yet I receive; I am honored by admitting weakness. My needs are met by ceding control to another. This feeling cleanses me—feet, head, hands—with a humbled gratitude.

So many of you have been asking me regularly, "What can I do to help?" You have offered to assist with meals, shopping, transportation, housekeeping, and even finances. For the most part, though, I have "graciously" declined your help. I can do many of these things right now; I simply do them very slowly and with a great deal of pain. I mean, isn't it wrong for someone like me—who can do these things—to accept help? Doesn't God help those who help themselves? (As absurd as the words sound, the thoughts seemed much more plausible).

My small group, in particular, has been relentless. One of the women in the group cornered me again on Sunday. She asked if they could begin to provide regular meals for me and, anticipating my automatic answer, explained: "We know that you can take care of groceries and food yourself, but we're asking if it would bless you and serve you to have someone else help." When she put the question that way, I had to say yes.

Yesterday, I received an email from another member of my small group. She and her children wanted to clean my apartment for me and, within just a few hours, they were on my doorstep—buckets, rags, and smiles in tow. They might as well just have washed my feet at the same time…

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34

In John 13, Christ provides a commandment and an example. He commands us to love one another and exemplifies that love in his washing of the disciples' feet. Likewise, our service to one another is a way that we can manifest the love of Christ to "all people." My small group is, right now, living out a testimony to the transformative love of God in their service to me. I truly thank God each time I remember these dear brothers and sisters, and I hold them up to you as an example of the extravagent, foot-washing love that binds us together in Christ.

From Suffering to Hope

About three or four months back, I began to meet with my pastor and a couple from my small group to talk regularly about some persistent, indwelling sin in my life and the ensuing temptation to depression. In fact, I met with them just a couple of weeks before I went into the hospital. Without going into detail, I was battling specific issues related to control, self-gratification, and hopelessness.

What I was surprised to realize today is that these are the specific strongholds now under attack. Consider control and self-gratification. What can I control right now? I can hardly do my own grocery shopping! With what can I now gratify myself, when all of my ordinary pleasures—in work, food, exercise, AND in control itself—are suspended or so transformed as to be barely recognizable. All of the touchstones by which I would assess my own success or failure are moved; all of the rewards I would give myself are now altered.

The curse of my sin—of my controlling works and my hedonistic indulgences—had become a flight from grace and a temptation to despair. I knew that my system was defective, even if it remained intact, and I hated it. David Powlison explains, in Suffering and the Sovereignty of God:

"It is worth noting that Christians, as new creations in Christ, also live in an essentially different relationship to their own sinfulness. Your sin now afflicts you. The 'dross' no longer defines or delights you. Indwelling sin becomes a form of significant suffering. What you once instinctively loved now torments you. The essential change in your relationship with God radically changes your relationship to remaining sinfulness. In Christ, in order to sin, you must lapse into temporary insanity, into forgetfulness. It is your worst cancer, your most crippling disability, your most treacherous enemy, your deepest distress. It is the single most destructive force impacting your life. Like nothing else in all creation, this threatens your life and well-being."

Let’s examine again the three sins that I mentioned as the most pernicious and persistent for me: control, self-gratification, and hopelessness. These were sinful patterns of living that I had been unable to undo; with Paul I cried, "I do the things I hate." The first two sins are being ravaged by this physical suffering, and I know that the third one is under a similar (if more subtle) attack. Remember Romans 5, where we learn that "suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope"? This text makes a direct connection between suffering and hope. So, while I never would have anticipated my need to suffer, I knew well my desperate need for hope.

Though the Lord has not revealed to me all the means, I know and trust His purposes. This is why we are exhorted to rejoice in our sufferings! It is not some type of masochistic feat; it’s faith. It's faith that all the promises of God—including this one—are YES in Christ. Faith is how we move from suffering to hope, and our God is the (unmoved) mover who grants that faith.

Lord, increase my faith!

Love Not the World

Thomas Chalmers explains how we can love not the world:

"Nothing can exceed the magnitude of the required change in a man's character—when bidden, as he is in the New Testament, to love not the world; no, nor any of the things that are in the world—for this so comprehends all that is dear to him in existence as to be equivalent to a command of self-annihilation. But the same revelation which dictates so mighty an obedience places within our reach as mighty an instrument of obedience. It brings for admittance, to the very door of our heart, an affection which, once seated upon its throne, will either subordinate every previous inmate, or bid it away.

Beside the world it places before the eye of the mind Him who made the world, and with this peculiarity, which is all its own—that in the gospel do we so behold God as that we may love God. It is there, and there only, where God stands revealed as an object of confidence to sinners—and where our desire after Him is not chilled into apathy by that barrier of human guilt which intercepts every approach that is not made to Him through the appointed Mediator. It is the bringing in of this better hope, whereby we draw nigh unto God-to live without hope is to live without God, and if the heart be without God the world will then have all the ascendency. It is God apprehended by the believer as God in Christ who alone can dispost it from this ascendency.

It is when He stands dismantled of the terrors which belong to Him as an offended lawgiver, and when we are enabled by faith, which is His own gift, to see His glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and to hear His beseeching voice, as it protests good-will to men, and entreats the return of all who will to a full pardon, and a gracious acceptance—it is then that a love paramount to the love of the world, and at length expulsive of it, first arises in the regenerating bosom.

It is when released from the spirit of bondage, with which love can not dwell, and when admitted into the number of God's children, through the faith that is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is poured upon upon us—it is then that the heart, brought under the mastery of one great and predominant affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its former desires, and in the only way in which deliverance is possible."

From a (10 page, single-spaced sermon!) entitled The Expulsive Power of a New Affection

The Haves and the Have Nots

On my five-minute drive home from work today, I heard two lines of a sermon from Tony Evans. I remember only one of them. It went something like this:

"If you are busy thinking about what you don't have instead of what God is doing, then you are in enemy territory."

Though I had spent quite a bit of time over the last few days reflecting upon what I have lost, my heart was disguising this dialogue as a supplement and not a replacement. Surely I can think about what God is doing and still maintain a little energy for self-pity, right? I'm just being a realist here...no need to start talking about "enemy territory."

Both Paul and Tony seem to disagree with me:

"For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God" (Romans 8).

Wow. I consider anew the losses that have plagued me, each bandying about its own fears and threats as though it was of ultimate importance. Loss of efficiency. Loss of beauty. Loss of self-sufficiency. Loss of physical comforts.

While it's not wrong to notice these things and even to be saddened by them, it is wrong to dwell on them. It is wrong not to take these thoughts captive by considering who the Lord is and what He is doing. Why? Because those who are in the flesh cannot please God.

Want more evidence? I wish you could have seen what a miserable few days I've had; that experience would illustrate the point better than I can do with my words. As my mind has been focused on fleshly matters, I have reaped a harvest of profound bitterness (to which several of my friends can attest). Should I have been suprised at the hostility that I felt toward God? Or in the disobedience that rapidly followed those first allowances of self-pity? At what price did I buy those trinkets for myself?

"Father, heal me from the nearsightedness that sees only my loss. Enable me, by your Spirit, to see the presence of your hand in my life and to look toward my future with faith. Because I trust in you, I will not feel sorry for myself. Because I have been raised with Christ, I will seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. I will set my mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For I have died, and my life is hidden with Christ in You (Oh! What security!). And when Christ who is my life appears, then I also will appear with him in glory." This is my hope and my comfort. Have or have not, I shall not want."

More Good Questions

I posted previously (May 15, "Speaking to Those in Pain") about good questions to ask a sufferer. David Powlison is much better equipped to make suggestions along these lines, so I'll let him speak through his helpful chapter in Suffering and the Sovereignty of God:

"Often the biggest problem for any sufferer is not 'the problem.' It is the spiritual challenge the problem presents: 'How are you doing in the midst of what you are going through? What are you learning? Where are you failing? Where do you need encouragement? Will you learn to live well and wisely within pain, limitation, weakness, and loss? Will suffering define you? Will faith and love grow, or will you shrivel up?' These are life-and-death issues--more important than 'the problem' in the final analysis. They take asking, thinking, listening, responding. They take time."

I like his questions very much, although I would recommend that either a close and honest relationship or an invitation to accountability should be the premise for the "will" questions. Coming from someone who stands at a distance, they could be construed as an accusation.

For the record, if you are reading this, you may ask me any of these questions. Accountability is such an important means of grace in this time (as in all others). I am committed, by the grace of God, to squelching the feeling of condemnation that hard questions can invoke. The process always gives life even as it humbles.

Plumb Lines and Worship

I have noticed that the preparation for a remarkable worship experience usually starts much earlier in the week—with a breaking of the will, a breaking of an idol, or some diligence in Spirit-led labor. That work started for me on Thursday, and I could sense the fruit of it almost as soon as I walked through the door of the church this morning. With the help of a dear friend on Thursday night, I held my heart up to the plumb line of Scripture and found it lacking in some very specific ways. With the help of the Spirit, I repented of that sin and turned from it. I turned from it again on Friday, on Saturday, today. No, I have not turned perfectly, but I continue turning. And God did not despise my broken and contrite heart.

When I have met the Lord in worship, my whole being is permeated with a sense of purpose. There were infusions of that to my heart this morning…and it was evident to me that my brothers and sisters were also worshipping in Spirit and in truth. I think of the friend a few rows ahead of me who was praising the Lord in diligent abandon, both choosing and chosen by joy. Her fervent worship in the Spirit spurred me on when I was feeling weary. I remember the countless ways that the Gospel was presented—in our songs, prayers, and recitations—long before we ever got to the sermon. I rejoiced at the realization that unbelievers were hearing this good news, even as I rejoiced at my own salvation. We prayed corporately through Psalm 51 and my heart was made hopeful and glad again:

“Have mercy on me,O God,according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight…For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Never, no never, despised.

My small group gathered around me after the service to pray for me and to learn how they could serve me. They honored the Lord, and even me, for the work that is being accomplished in my life right now. I was reminded again of the verse in I Corinthians 12, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” I couldn’t help but thinking that the Lord must be pleased with their obedience--an obedience that was truly the overflow of their hearts. The bond of unity in the spirit held us tightly together this morning; truly, we are members one of another!

For perhaps the first time since I got sick, I was able both physically and emotionally to sustain interaction with my brothers and sisters. In general, Sundays have been a good plumb line for me in assessing this type of improvement. I could see how much more endurance I demonstrated this morning in my ability to stand and converse with friends before the service, rise at appropriate intervals in worship, and pray with my small group after the service.

I thank the Lord for physically renewing me in these ways, that I might be spiritually strengthened by the body. I thank him that the members do not all have the same function, but that each is gifted for particular service. And, seeing today the proper functioning of the parts of the body, I eagerly anticipate the building up of the whole body in love.

Strangers and Exiles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the Valley

In the Valley by Bob Kauflin (as recorded on Valley of Vision)

When You lead me to the valley of vision
I can see You in the heights
And though my humbling wouldn’t be my decision
It’s here Your glory shines so bright
So let me learn that the cross precedes the crown
To be low is to be high
That the valley’s where You make me more like Christ

Let me find Your grace in the valley
Let me find Your life in my death
Let me find Your joy in my sorrow
Your wealth in my need
That You’re near with every breath
In the valley

In the daytime there are stars in the heavens
But they only shine at night
And the deeper that I go into darkness
The more I see their radiant light
So let me learn that my losses are my gain
To be broken is to heal
That the valley’s where Your power is revealed

© 2006 Sovereign Grace Praise (BMI).

Results

The results from my EMG today were completely normal. My protein factors are normal, which means that this is probably not a muscle disorder. We haven't yet seen anything to give a solid indication that something is wrong with my nerves (though my pain seems to act like nerve pain). The only abnormal numbers on my tests were my RH factor, which was 20.

The RH factor is a strong indicator of rheumatoid arthritis. I read somewhere online that, even with a factor of 20 (which is on the low side of the positive diagnostic spectrum), the patient has an 80% chance of having the disease. Yet there are a number of other autoimmune diseases, infections, and conditions that can cause false positives.

One of the primary treatments for rheumatoid arthritis is steroids which, as you know, I've been taking for nearly 4 weeks now. The fact that my condition has not responded to the steroids is of concern here, since it could mean the rheumatoid arthritis is a secondary condition or merely a symptom of something else.

I have already been on the phone with a number of rheumatologists, and the earliest I can get an appointment is for two weeks from today. As you can imagine, that is disheartening. But at least, for the first time in several weeks, there is a "next step." I, of course, use the word “step” quite gingerly…

Prayer Request

I almost forgot to mention that I go in for my next round of tests tomorrow morning at 8:30AM. Please pray that the doctor would have insight and skill as he conducts the tests.

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...

Spurgeon on Affliction

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

Darrel W. Amundsen, "The Anguish and Agonies of Charles Spurgeon," Christian History, Issue 29, Vol. X, No. 1, p. 25.

HT: EA

All Things Are Subservient

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Commutes, Steriods, and Bedtime Negotiations

I've waxed so philosophical with my last few updates that I have failed to give you any practical idea of how things are progressing for me.

On Friday, I started back to work full-time. On Monday, I actually returned to the office on a half-time basis. It is good to be on-site with my colleagues again, although it's alarming to discover how much even those familiar four walls have changed in the past month. The hallways, the parking lot—everything is so extensive and discrete now. The distance that I formerly spanned in less than a minute (3 inch heels notwithstanding) now takes 6. I laughed and told my boss that my commute from the parking lot to my desk takes 15 minutes. It's only funny because it's true!

I started my fourth and final week of steroids today. I cannot begin to describe how much I loathe those chalky white pills. For three weeks now, I have not been able either to fill my stomach or to taste my food, and the combination is decidedly unpleasant. My face and my body are suspiciously swollen now, and I avert my proportionally-shrinking eyes when I walk past the mirror in my bedroom. That mirror is not where my battles are now, but I'm so accustomed to fighting on that turf that I occasionally forget. The Lord is certainly teaching me new things about beauty in these days, so I try to pay as little attention as I can to those tattling pieces of glass. The lessons that the mirror can share are not important right now, even if they are true.

I will visit the doctor again on Friday for an EMG test, which will—at least—be less painful than a spinal tap! I won't venture to say exactly what we hope to learn from this test, but it seems as though it might evidence either a muscle or nerve conduction problem. The data could pinpoint a specific conduction problem, isolate a range of problems, or reveal nothing. Results should be available early next week.

My sleep is restless and fitful, but it does come now, and I am intensely grateful for that. But I guess that a few days’ worth of poor sleep is catching up with me, because I feel utterly exhausted tonight as I write. In fact, all the emails and phone calls that I’d hoped to complete will just have to wait. Neither my plans nor the belligerent assertions of my clock are going to dissuade me from believing that 7:30 PM is an appropriate bedtime.

I will leave you with a brief word of encouragement which the Lord brought to my mind tonight. As I was praying a few hours ago, I was reminded of the Lord’s kindness in the timing of my illness—kindness toward me and toward my beloved community. Though I noticed my “shin splints” less than a week after my best friend’s wedding, there was not one hint of physical pain to slow me down from my maid of honor duties or to mar anyone’s enjoyment of that precious event. This realization actually hadn’t occurred to me until now, and so I’m resting upon a fresh gratitude as I lay me down to sleep.

P.S.

For all my analysis of Romans 12 in the previous post, I didn't touch on the verse that says, "Never be wise in your own sight." As I'm studying back over the passage, I can't help but notice that glaring omission. Point taken.

Critical Mass?

So many of you, my dear friends, are writing or calling to tell me that I am being too severe with myself during this time--that I am demanding too much in the midst of the pain and uncertainty. In fact, if you'll pardon the pun, I began to feel today as though the sentiment was reaching critical mass.

There are ways in which I have been hard on myself all my life. I've been a perfectionist, an idealist, and a workaholic. In these overt and quantifiable ways, I have tended toward a works-based-righteousness and the inevitable condemnation that follows. Some of you have seen my long hours at work, my diligence at the gym, or the demands that I put upon myself in relationships and assumed that my deepest need is to show myself more grace.

But I have known my heart for a long time, dear friends. Where my emotional and spiritual condition is concerned, I have tended toward license and have used the disciplined lifestyle to hide the permissive soul. But, thanks be to God, that slavery to license was loosened in my heart about 1 1/2 years ago. Knowing the changes that God has worked in the intervening time, I can stand before you today and say with confidence that most of what you see in me now is the fruit of a changed desire—a desire for holiness. And the pursuit of holiness is no arbitrarily critical demand--like calories burned at the gym or hours worked overtime. This is categorically different from the condemnation under which I've lived most of my life. The standard is objective.

I don't want anyone to make excuses for me right now--I spend enough time combating the incessant, inadvertent excuses that I offer on my own behalf. I don't want you to justify my irritability or my selfishness, and I will--by the power of God's spirit--fight against the manifestation of these traits. Because we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another (Romans 12:5). My license is taken at your expense and it whispers to all who witness it that the cross is not adequate for this trial. No, I cannot give myself room for excuses when this is the message that might be conveyed. The standard is unchanged.

I'll back up a bit in Romans 12:

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.

I don't want to be a different person as a person in pain--unless the pain makes me a better person. During this time, I am tempted to think of myself more highly than I ought—as though my circumstances changed for me the requirements of a righteous life. But I will fight with the Word of God for the sober judgment mentioned above; I will not be conformed but will be transformed by the renewing of my mind; and the Lord will reveal to me what is good and acceptable and perfect. These truths are not changed by my circumstances.

I thank God that so many of you are invested in my life--so invested that you would take the time to challenge me and to share your concerns. May the Lord continue to reveal himself and his will to each of us, even as we "rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, and be constant in prayer."

Forsake Me Not

Psalm 71, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When My Strength is Spent

Psalm 71, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

Psalm 71: Forsake Me Not When My Strength is Spent

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

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

Mental Exertion and Spinal Tap

No extended reflection today, my friends, and we'll just have to chalk it up to mental exertion and spinal tap.

First, I worked an 8-hour day today-albeit from the comfort of my own bed. It felt good to exercise some mental muscle, even if those muscles were a bit...isolated.

Also, I will be the guest of honor tonight at a "Spinal Tap" party (actually, the party has been dubbed PALP-People Against Lumbar Puncture). No, this isn't normal. But neither are my friends. Though our ostensible purpose for gathering is to view the 1984 Rob Reiner film, This is Spinal Tap, I can promise you that there will be prayers and tears and the celebration of God's goodness in community.

Though I'm already a bit tired from the day, I can hardly wait to be physically present with so many of you this evening.

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."

"Be Strong and Courageous"

I sat down absently before my computer this evening, conscious of a more profound fear than any I'd yet experienced. Not even the veritable pronouncement of Multiple Sclerosis had engendered such a hold of fear in my heart. I think I know now what it means to be "sore afraid."

A colleague had appended these words onto a work-related email, which happened to be the first unopened item in my inbox:

I pray that today you are feeling strong and courageous.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you" (Deuteronomy 31:6).

"Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to do according to all the law that Moses my servant commanded you. Do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, that you may have good success wherever you go" (Joshua 1:7).

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

"Then you will prosper if you are careful to observe the statutes and the rules that the Lord commanded Moses for Israel. Be strong and courageous. Fear not; do not be dismayed" (1 Chronicles 22:13).

"Be strong and courageous and do it. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the Lord God, even my God, is with you. He will not leave you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the Lord is finished" (1 Chronicles 28:20).

I wish I could say that my fear immediately dissipated when I read these Scriptures, but it didn't. Yet the tears that streamed down my face in the presence of the Word were of a different composition than the ones that had gone before. These were not tears of pure fear, but were mingled now with faith and hope and relief. There is service in the house of the Lord for me to do! And the Lord himself will be with me as I carry out my part.

I will be strong and courageous. The Lord himself is fighting for me!

Danger Redefined

A couple of dear friends have come to me, concerned that I am “putting myself out there” in a way that this not healthy or not safe. I take the counsel of others seriously in most matters, and so I prayed about and considered this possibility before I made my blog public to you this week.

I have wanted to write for several years now, and yet I feared that I might not yet be ready to do it in a way that was truly redemptive and not just reflective. I’m not concerned about “putting myself out there” in one sense, but I am concerned about putting myself out there without pointing to Christ. While I desire to say, "Far be it from me that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me," I have to also admit that the temptation is close at hand.

So I considered the evidence. My closest friend are praying like they never have before. I can see the changes in them (it’s so, so beautiful!). And all of these people, whom I hardly even know, are encouraging me with stories of the changes in their own hearts that are happening as a result of exalting truth in community. Cancer, infertility, miscarriage, depression—these are a few of the struggles about which others have contacted me. And as I talk with these brothers and sisters, I’m amazed at how similar the struggles really are.

Hebrews 2:14-15 says that Christ came to "deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery." In one way or another, this type of pain threatens to put us in bondage to death. No, most of our physical struggles do not end in death. But they force us into death's presence in a way that changes everything. It redefines danger and victory.

Consider these words from John Piper in Future Grace:

"Have you ever asked yourself how much addiction and personality dysfunction and disordered lifestyle may originate in the repressed fear of death? Very few people live their daily lives with the conscious fear of death in their minds. Yet [Hebrews 2:14-15] says that Christ came to die for people who 'through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives.' There is something profound here. The point is not that people are enslaved to a constant, conscious fear of dying, but that they are enslaved to a thousand ways of avoiding this fear."

For those of you who wonder if it's safe for me to blog, remember that danger and victory are redefined for me now. The Lord has removed the shackles of physical comfort from my ankles. I am free from the comfort that whispers of immortality, and this is a precious freedom indeed. For when our mortality is in view, our concept of danger changes. Danger, for me, is found in trying to merely make myself comfortable instead of glorifying and magnifying God through the pain.

Nothing in my life feels safe or certain right now. Yet the Lord has a purpose for each and every trickle-down effect of this illness. So, as I think through what vocation and service and ministry mean now, I recall these words from 1 Chronicles 28:20: “Be strong and courageous and do it. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the Lord God, even my God, is with you. He will not leave you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the Lord is finished."

Learning Happiness from a Puritan

"O LORD,

Help me never to expect any happiness from the world but only in thee. Let me not think that I shall be more happy by living to myself, for I can only be happy if employed for thee, and if I desire to live in this world only to do and suffer what thou dost allot me.

Teach me that if I do not live a life that satisfies thee, I shall not live a life that will satisfy myself. Help me to desire the spirit and temper of angles who willingly come down to this lower world to perform thy will, though their desires are heavenly and not set in the least upon earthly things; then I shall be of that temper I ought to have.

Help me not to think of living to thee in my own strength, but always to look to and rely on thee for assistance. Teach me that there is no greater truth than this, that I can do nothing of myself.

Lord, this is the life that no unconverted man live, yet it is an end that every godly soul presses after; Let it be then my concern to devote myself and all to thee. Make me more fruitful and more spiritual, for barrenness is my daily affliction and load.

How precious is time, and how painful to see it fly with little done to good purpose! I need thy help; O may my soul sensibly depend upon thee for all sanctification, and for ever accomplishment of thy purposes for me, for the world, and for thy kingdom."

Arthur Bennett, The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions

Speaking to Those in Pain

One way in which we make ourselves available to those who suffer is with language--with our words spoken to or on behalf of that person. I've spent much time talking with you about the words spoken on behalf of--namely, about intercessory prayer.

I want to briefly touch upon this other sense in which our words make us available to one another's pain.

The most natural quesiton to ask someone in pain is, "Are you feeling better?" In my case as in many others, the answer is rarely "yes." My pain ebbs and flows, but it doesn't abate. And so, as I try to respond to this question--again and again--I find myself frustrated by my answers. The question is closed, and the one who is suffering may not be able (or willing) to broaden it alone. I often say "no" and feel disappointed--disappointed that my answer cannot reflect joy or hope and disappointed when I see the sadness in the eyes of my friend. You want my pain to be better; I want it to be better. But it is unchanged.

How can we talk about this redemptively?

Here are a few others ways that I can think of to ask the question:

1) How are you hurting today?
2) Where is God working in your pain today?
3) Is this a good or a bad day for you?
4) What did the Lord teach you through yesterday's pain? Have you been able to apply that today?
5) What Scriptures are you using to deal with your pain today?
6) How can I pray for your pain right now?
7) What encourages you in your struggle today?

We all feel a new sense of pressure, and often a sense of dread, when we approach someone who is suffering. It is my theory, at least, that asking questions such as these would relieve some of the pressure on both sides. Why?

I think that it works because it focuses our collective attention on what we can control instead of what we cannot. We have very little control over our pain, but there is much diligence due in our reaction to and interpretation of it. These questions focus upon taking thoughts captive and making deliberate choices to apply what we know about God to what we feel in our pain.

Let me reiterate: I value each instance on which I have been asked, "How are you feeling?" It is right and good that you should ask! Yet I know that the desire of each person who asks, "How are you feeling?" is to edify, encourage, and learn how to better pray for me.

Asking good questions can be one way that you enable the person who is suffering to "lift their drooping hands and strengthen their weak knees."

Where Jesus is Present, There is Joy

“Even before heaven, joy abounds along the hard road that leads through death to resurrection. Nothing can compare with the joy of walking in the light with Jesus as opposed to walking in the darkness without him. Jesus said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life’ (John 8:12). Following Jesus does indeed lead through suffering and death. But the path is luminous with life and truth. Jesus promised, ‘I am with you always, to the end of the age’ (Matt. 28:20). And where Jesus is present there is joy—joy in sorrow for now, but joy nevertheless. ‘These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full’ (John 15:11)."

-From John Piper's What Jesus Demands from the World

Entering Blogdom (with Fear and Trembling)

So now faith, hope and love abide.

The statement would almost fit a Hallmark card. It sounds so...nice. But the sentiments are much too weighty for a postage stamp. As Christians, we must "fight the fight of faith." We learn that hope is produced in us through suffering. And we are told that love, "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." This language should give us pause when we are tempted to think that faith, hope and love are easy or automatic weapons for believers. I've learned a lot about fighting--and about the glorious "abiding"--over the past few days.

I enter blogdom, both literally and figuratively, with fear and trembling. I named my blog The Fig Leaf, after the quotation from Kierkegaard that you can read in the header. I love the way that this quotation identifies the Word as the remedy for all of our nakedness and how it situates that remedy in community. The Word and the body--these have been all my comfort during the past few weeks.

This blog is one way that I can attempt at least three things:

1. To take every thought captive to obey Christ,
2. To rejoice in the sufferings that are producing endurance, character and hope in me,
3. To make a defense to anyone who asks the reason for the hope that I have.

But I do not take this role lightly and, as I try my hand a as blogger, I offer this prayer from Psalm 71: “But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge. With the mighty deeds of the Lord God I will come; I will remind them of your righteousness, yours alone.”

I invite you, as you read, to hold me accountable if I should begin to speak more of myself than I do of the Lord’s righteous works. The Lord’s purpose will stand, and my story matters only in that it is one of his numberless deeds of salvation.

Sabbath

I went to church today.

Showering and getting dressed this morning was both physically and emotionally hard. It was strange to try and pull the same old clothes over a different body. Having always been muscular, I’m used to feeling swollen in certain parts of my body and slim in others. That’s all in reverse now—with the swelling in my cheeks, stomach, and ankles—and the slimness in my muscles. I turned out the lights to finish getting dressed.

It was hard to be in worship and yet to be so consumed with my physical comfort—the hardness of the folding chair, the chill or heat that I was experiencing at the moment, the stiffness of the arc in my knees as I tried to force my limp legs under the seat in front of me. It was frustrating not to be able to follow the sermon, presumably because of the medicines. Yet there were moments in which I worshipped—in the music, the sacrament, and the exposition of Romans 7. And all the hugs and tears were precious to me.

In truth, I feel utterly alone today and loathsome even to myself. This is not something that you guys can remedy with your presence, because I know that I have only to ask. In my heart and mind, some huge cavern has opened up between me and the people around me with ‘normal’ lives and I am stubbornly refusing to the let the cross bridge it. I don’t know what living or loving or serving looks like right now. And sometimes, I quite frankly don’t care. I'm there right now.

I received this prayer from a friend this morning: “Teach us, her friends and family, how to pray and care for her. Show us the way to where You are waiting with healing. Give us the tools to fight through the crowds, break down the roof and carry her to Your side. We are coming with her Lord! Keep our arms and our hearts strong. Grant Michele and each of us perseverance.”

I am sobbing as I read this prayer again. I am not alone, and I will fight against the lies that tell me that my circumstances have isolated me from anything that I need.

“For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven; inasmuch as we, having put it on, shall not be found naked. For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed, but to be clothed, in order that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” I have always groaned in this physical body--the groaning now is different in degree and not kind--yet my inner man is being renewed day by day.

Another friend sent me this excerpt from her own journal, several years ago, as she was being diagnosed with a serious illness: “Teach me to live, move me, break up the unplowed land, the entire land of my heart, and show me You again.”

This is my prayer today. What does it mean to live? To move? To persevere in the work of holiness? Lord, show me and move in me both to will and to do your good pleasure.

Old Story, New Hope

I remember back to one of the truly dark periods of my life. Battling hard against depression and searching for any purpose to live, I prayed a prayer to the Lord. I asked him to use my pain in the lives of others and told him that I would be satisfied to live if I could see only that fruit.

God knows I had forgotten that prayer.

My old roommate reminded me of it tonight and recounted to me the most beautiful evidences of the way that God is using my suffering to bolster both the faith and the faithfulness of other believers. No sweeter words have been spoken to me and none could have encouraged me the way that these did.

While my ultimate hopes for this suffering are to see the Lord extend salvation to several friends and family members, I am resting tonight in the awesome power of the Lord’s call on his body—the calling that has given us one hope. Your hope is tied up in the same salvation as mine—as we await our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies! For in this hope were we saved. I am humbled again at your involvement and at the grace of God which binds us together in love.

Receiving and Demanding

I truly do not know how I would have survived these last 10 days without you. I am grateful to the Lord that he has not called us to bear our burdens alone but has, instead, provided both His body and His spirit to sustain us here on this earth.

The next few weeks, I suspect, are going to be a time of intense battles between flesh and spirit. The Lord himself is going to be working in me all of the benefits of suffering—endurance, character, and hope. Please pray that I will not waste these days.Writing to you has been an important way in which the Lord has enabled me to take my thoughts captive during this difficult time. For this reason, I am going to continue to journal a bit about my experiences, but I am going to discontinue the mass email format.

I have been grieved over the last two days to see my heart, time and again, demanding instead of graciously receiving the support of those around me. I find myself in that strange place of both wanting the world to stop for me and fearing that it will. Truly, the condition of our hearts determines how we receive any gift from the Lord’s hand. My response reveals the sin in my heat, and I will not treat it lightly.

It is likely that there will be no medical news before May 25, at which time I return to the neurologist for another round of testing. I will reconnect with you after that testing is complete.I do plead with you to continue your powerful and effective prayers on my behalf—prayers for my body and for my spirit. I had never known the intimate comforts of Christ, the efficiency of the Body, or the clean and enduring fear of the Lord in the ways that they have been revealed to me in these last few days. So I will calm and quiet my soul again and wait upon the Lord.

Battling Insomnia Like a King

I simply cannot tell how much of my insomnia is a result of the steroids and how much is stubborn faithlessness, though I am quite certain that each factor is playing a role here.

A prayer from Psalm 131:

O LORD, my heart is not lifted up
(I will not succumb to the worship of self; I will not believe the lie that I or my needs are ultimate. I have been and still am tempted. But I will cast my heart down).
My eyes are not raised too high
(I will not scorn those who don’t know you or are not suffering, as though I were a martyr--as though any righteousness in me were not given to me by you).
I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me
(I will not lie awake wondering, “What does tomorrow hold?”)
But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother like a weaned child is my soul within me.
(I am taking action now, within my soul, to desire what I am given and no more. I will seek to be obedient in faith, which is my duty, though not my natural inclination).
O Israel, hope in the LORD from this time forth and forevermore.
(This is a hope that produces the fruit of righteousness instead of the fruit of anxiety).

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up.

Homecoming

For the first time in 9 days, I write to you from my own apartment. I’m sobbing with exhaustion and pain and gratitude. Tears and praise free-flowing, it is good to abandon myself before the Lord. It is good to be home!

My parents helped me move back into my apartment tonight—stockpiling food and other supplies in such a way that I, theoretically, could be self-sustaining for a couple of weeks. Any need, any want; truly they have been here to serve me. Though I have often found it difficult to accept, their care for me has been exemplary. May the Lord continue to break in me the strongholds of pride and self-sufficiency that have caused me to respond accordingly.

As I consider the past week, I realize that I have no idea what my family and closest friends are thinking or feeling about my illness; I suspect that they are similarly unaware as to what my sleepless nights have held. I believe that the Lord will use my suffering in the lives of others, so I spent some time tonight considering Colossians 1. Starting with verse 24, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church, of which I became a minister according to the stewardship from God that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, the mystery hidden for ages and generations but now revealed to his saints. To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me.”

I had always found that passage perplexing until I read a sermon from John Piper a few months ago on it. Piper writes, “Paul's sufferings fill up Christ's not by adding anything to their worth, but by extending them to the people they were meant to bless. What is lacking in the afflictions of Christ is not that they are deficient in worth or merit, as though they could not sufficiently cover the sins of all who believe. What is lacking is that the infinite value of Christ's afflictions are not known in the world. They are still a mystery (hidden) to most peoples. And God's intention is that the mystery be revealed, extended to all the Gentiles. So the afflictions are lacking in the sense that they are not seen and known among the nations. They must be carried by ministers of the word. And those ministers of the word fill up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ by extending them to others.”

What if this suffering is intended not only to purify me but also to reveal the mystery of Christ to people around me? Would the Lord be pleased to reveal this mystery to some of my non-believing friends and family, even through this?

I have always been a planner, and yet I cannot tell you even what tomorrow will hold. Instead, I ought to say, “If the Lord wills, I will do this or that.” For tonight, I’m in a lot of pain. If this cup of suffering can pass from me, pray that the Lord would be pleased to remove it. Yet if Christ is most glorified by its perseverance, then pray that I would receive strength commensurate to the pain. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

"D" is not for Diagnosis

My heart is both heavy and light as I come before you this afternoon. I have concrete news that is good, and I’ll give a little bit of detail since I have several medical professionals anxiously awaiting the news. I do not have Multiple Sclerosis, as evidenced by the fact that the oligoclonal bands on my CSR (spinal fluid test) were negative, my myelin bands were normal and my thoracic spine lesions were only inconclusive. The fact that my symptoms have not diminished with aggressive steroid treatments only substantiates this diagnosis, or lack thereof.

The neurologist suggested, to my chagrin, that we continue with the next three weeks of steroid treatments on the off-chance that it could begin to affect my symptoms. His instinct, though, is that we need to begin to look at disorders of the muscle. As a result, we are going to go ahead and schedule an EMG (nerve and muscle test) to check nerve conduction. He finds the consistent swelling that I’m experiencing to be curious for a neurological disorder, so he mentioned that we might investigate rheumatologic or autoimmune possibilities next.

I believe that my pain has been more intense today that at any point since this started. I slept no more than one hour last night, and I confess that I gave way to the fear and anxiety deep in the recesses of the night. I have been weaker emotionally and less faithful to the cross on the very day when I wanted to display the sufficiency of Christ most clearly. I have snubbed the perpetual comforts that my parents have offered to me, as well as the overtures of several kind nurses at the hospital. I refused to partake in the comfort that was offered to me by the body, and I simply want to confess this to you and to God and to humbly repent.

I take solace in the fact that my sleepless night, my painful day and each temptation that came to me was allowed by God. No action that I took, word that I spoke, or opportunity that I missed—none of these things thwarted the Lord’s plans for this day. I can still rest secure in the fact that the Lord condemned sin in the flesh in order that the righteous requirements of the law might actually be met in me; there is no condemnation—not today nor in eternity.

A friend called me this morning and pointed me toward II Corinthians 1. I’ll jump ahead to verse 9, which reflects both my honest fears and my greater hope.“Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many.” I began the day expressing my hope in the Lord’s deliverance, and I return to that hope now—in spite of my own weakness. For his deliverance was never contingent upon my performance! The Lord has delivered me from the guilt of my sin, he has delivered me from a diagnosis of MS, and he will deliver me again.

I read a bit from John Piper last night called “Don’t Waste Your Cancer.” I was challenged and exhorted by his perspective. The following quote is pulled from that piece, except that I have substituted “pain” for “cancer” in order that it will be more generally applicable:

You will waste your pain if you treat sin as casually as before. Are your besetting sins as attractive as they were before you had pain? If so you are wasting your pain. Pain is designed to destroy the appetite for sin. Pride, greed, lust, hatred, unforgiveness, impatience, laziness, procrastination—all these are the adversaries that pain is meant to attack. Don’t just think of battling against pain. Also think of battling with pain. All these things are worse enemies than pain. Don’t waste the power of pain to crush these foes. Let the presence of eternity make the sins of time look as futile as they really are. What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?” (Luke 9:25).

I was reminded today that pain is not my ultimate enemy. Let me reiterate: I am not a victim of pain or disease. My ultimate enemy is sin, and this pain is a weapon with which I can fight. “Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation. We put no obstacle in anyone's way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: by great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, genuine love; by truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; through honor and dishonor, through slander and praise. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything” (II Cor 6:2-10).

Arms and Legs

All things considered, today has been a full day. I had my very last IV steroid drip (day 7), which means that I was finally able to wrench my right arm back from the clutches of that horrible stint. I will begin the three weeks of tapered oral steroids tomorrow. Though the nurse gave me a laundry list of side effects to expect from the new drugs, I was too busy flailing my free arm around to be too disturbed by what she was saying. (I believe that she reiterated weight gain, acne, and lethargy while kindly adding “insomnia” and “mood swings” to the list).

I ventured today, with my parents, to the grocery store and to a friend’s house. It felt good to attain even those little bits of normality, but I am utterly exhausted from them. I think of the poster that used to hang in my friend Georgia’s cubicle at work, “Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting,” and I have to laugh.The pain and inflammation in my legs today is worse than it has been in a couple of days, so I feel a little discouraged about the physical progress. And yet I continue to feel intensely blessed by this time of unmitigated focus on ultimate things. Pain certainly forces us to re-evaluate our priorities. So let me share a couple of insights with you as we look ahead to D-Day (“diagnosis” day) tomorrow.

On accepting God’s will (from Valley of Vision):

“O God whose will conquers all, there is no comfort in anything apart from enjoying thee and being engaged in thy service; Thou art all in all and all enjoyments are what to me thou makest them, and no more. I am well pleased with thy will, whatever it is, or should be in all respects, and if thou bidst me decide for myself in any affair I would choose to refer all to thee, for thou art infinitely wise and cannot do amiss as I am in danger of doing. I rejoice to think that all things are at thy disposal, and it delights me to leave them there. Then prayer turns wholly into praise, and all I can do is to adore and bless thee.” I do choose, even this night, to refer my body and soul to the Lord’s care. As its creator and redeemer, He alone is both worthy and wise enough to make decisions about my life. I often make these decisions badly, and I know so little about what actually makes for health and happiness even in my own body. I am in no danger of peril—in this life or in the next—so long as God is working out his will. So I will rest my physical body and my future hope in his loving hands.

On pleading for and expecting mercy (from Psalm 57):

“Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by. I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. He will send from heaven and save me; he will put to shame him who tramples on me. God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness!”I do feel as though a storm of destruction is passing over me right now, and yet I know the master of the wind and the waves. He is the one whom my soul loves. He is the one who has rescued from the greatest danger I have ever known through the redemption of his son, Jesus. He will not forsake the work of his hands, and he will fulfill his purpose for me. I trust! I believe! Lord, help me unbelief!

I thank the Lord each time you cross my mind.

Numbering My Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spinal Tap Blues

Perhaps the toughest day yet (pray that this will not be a trend!), and yet the Lord’s sustaining hand has been obvious. My sleepless night last night gave me ample opportunity to research the “spinal tap headache” which occurs in 20% of spinal tap cases, so I knew a little bit about what the day would hold when I awoke. Spinal tap headaches are said to be the most painful headaches to have, and they cause nausea, imbalance and photosensitivity worse than severe migraines. As a result, I had to go back to the ER today and have a “blood patch”—which means that they basically repeated the spinal tap except that, this time, they added blood to my spine rather than removing spinal fluid. For the record, it was just as painful as it was the first time they started poking around my spinal cord. I cannot remember feeling so physically and emotionally terrified in my life, and yet the headache has eased.

I had just a moment, when my parents left me to run errands, to praise God for this specific relief. I played Amazing Grace (Chris Tomlin version) on my laptop, thought about my former chains, and accepted this lighter burden again from the Lord’s hand. I will return to the hospital for another steroid treatment tomorrow. Please pray for favor in several arenas when we go--we have to set up appointments with the neurologist and my general practitioner, and we also have some hope that my spinal tap results may be available tomorrow. In theory, at least, we could be forced to wait (up to two weeks) for an appointment with the neurologist to get those results. Pray that all of this would work out quickly and smoothly.

Several of you have prayed with me tonight. I can only say that this is the thing I need. I cannot talk with all of you, but I would love for you to write out your prayers and let me read them and offer them again as my own. I would love that more than anything!

Trusting our good father to reveal his faithfulness even in this…

Afraid

I am so afraid tonight that I can’t even tell where the paralysis is coming from. Is it in my feet and legs? Running along my spinal cord? Or is it only in my head? The debilitating pain has been with me all day, and it’s keeping me up tonight—Vicodin notwithstanding. Morphine notwithstanding. None of it has helped.

I always knew that my mind was an enemy, but I never suspected my body. Will I be able to run again? To live alone? To work a 40-hour week? Will I get to have sex (and enjoy it?), to have kids (and enjoy them?). Will a man find me attractive after a few years with a disability? What will “beautiful” even mean at that point? How will I cope with the pain? What about the depression? What, how, why, why, why?

Lord Jesus, save me from myself. Let me see myself as your blessed child instead of feeling myself to be condemned.I’m lying here and remembering the doctor’s questions, “Did you plan to get married? Have kids? What were your plans before now?” I offered only tears in response. He looked at me directly and said, “Your life is going to change, but your plans don’t have to.” Though I get the point, it’s not so easy in the dark night to differentiate between the two. The land of the living looks pretty dreary through these shades.

Oh God, “be to me a rock of refuge to which I may continually come. You have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress." Save me now, my God, not from this diseased body but from this faithless heart. “You, who have made me to see many troubles and calamities, will revive me again.” I will wait for you, I will trust in you, and I will hope in you, my God. Whom have I in heaven or on earth, but you?

Will He Not Graciously Give Us All Things?

I’ll give you a bit more of an update today than I offered yesterday. First, let me say that I’ve finally been able to sleep, so thank you for the prayers offered specifically for that purpose.

You know that I was discharged yesterday and that I’m staying in a hotel with my parents. Although the doctors told me yesterday that it could be up to two weeks until I know something, I cannot explain to you how calm I feel. They told me that I will gain weight, develop acne, and feel lethargic on the steroids—almost a bad a prognosis as MS in my mind! And yet I can only say that feel blessed. I’m not faking or being strong—it’s honestly how I feel. I think back to the verse in Romans 15 that says, “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” It’s not a giddy or a heady hope, but it’s a sober and steady one that just spills out through the pages of the Bible and runs all through my life now. I’ve never felt so physically tired and weak in my life, and yet I’ve never been stronger.

Today has been the hardest day thus far, both physically and emotionally. Physically, I’m struggling with nausea and perpetual headaches in addition to the muscle pain and weakness. Emotionally, I don’t have to tell you guys that it’s tough to go from running 15-20 mi/week and managing a busy life solo to being unable to drive or even to get from Point A to Point B without excruciating pain and utter exhaustion. It is scary not to know how much of the pain and weakness is the temporary result of trauma and adjustment and how much may be a “new normal.” I am just fighting to remember—as I struggle not to demand what I don’t have—that “He 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?”

Your prayers are more comfort to me than you will ever know. I feel much too weak today to fight for myself, so I will let you intercede.Attached is a picture that my friend Paul took tonight. It’s no glamour shot, but perhaps it will give you guys some comfort. Oh, and for my friends at GNP, these are the flowers that you sent! My hotel room looks like a garden!

Released

I am officially released from the hospital and have taken up temporary residence with my parents at the Holiday Inn in Carol Stream (630-681-7309 room 134). I’m too tired (so, so tired!) to offer any reflections, but I’ll give you a brief report.

Basically, I met with the third of the three neurologists; this doctor, without ever confirming that I have MS, assumed it for the entirety of our discussion. He even suggested that I locate a support group. He shifted my IV steroid regimen from 5 days to 7 days (followed by three weeks of oral steroids). He warned me that it could even be Wednesday before my results (aka the actual diagnosis) are available.

A friend offered these verses to me from Psalm 71, and I am clinging to them tonight—“Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come;you have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.”

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, through your prayers, is sustaining me right now.

Encouraged and Prepared

It is 11:30PM now, and I am totally alone for the first time today. I wanted to take this opportunity to write a note to you, notwithstanding the 11:00 PM dose of morphine. I don’t have a lot of news to give, since today was mostly just a day of waiting (with no new tests).

Yesterday’s brain MRI apparently revealed some lesions, but the doctor didn’t feel as though these were significant enough for us to move forward with a diagnosis. I began the Prednisone (steroid) treatments today to deal with the inflammation. These will continue for a minimum of four days, at which time we will reassess the symptoms. More importantly, we will also have received the final round of tests on the spinal fluid at that point. I will get an interim report on the spinal fluid tomorrow but, again, this one will just provide supporting evidence. It looks like, at this point, we can’t expect any real answers until Monday.

Let me just take a moment to tell you guys how encouraged I am right now—not just about life in a theoretical sense but especially about my life in a practical sense. The Lord really has prepared me for this time. As I’ve struggled with the pain over the last few weeks, I’ve continually fought bitterness and anger toward God. On Sunday, though, it became evident to me that the Lord was changing my heart (as I had prayed that he would). I found myself asking him, “What can I do to redeem this time—since it’s becoming obvious that I can’t fight against you?” Naturally, I had a list of very practical tasks that I thought might serve as answers to that question. But as I was getting ready for work, slowly and painfully, on Monday morning, I realized that the only way for me to redeem this time is to simply be obedient.

And what does that mean? It means that I must faithfully fight anger, bitterness, or any lie that stands in opposition to the Gospel. And if I can accomplish just those three things, then these days in bed—however long they may last—are being redeemed. Several of you, in one way or another, pointed me to Romans 8 today. You probably didn’t know that it is my favorite chapter in the Bible; and you certainly didn’t know that I spent most of last week in the early part of that chapter, meditating on the hostility toward God that was in my heart and on the fact that such hostility evidences a mind set on the flesh (Rom 8:7). Yet the Lord has worked in my heart in such a way that, in less than a week’s time, I’m struck instead by the simple fact that God is for me. Do you know how quickly bitterness and anger flee when I can believe that truth?

You guys have played an important role in this process, too. All of the calls, visits, flowers, emails, and prayers—do you know how the Lord has used these things to sustain and encourage me? Even though you may have seen or heard me in tears today—do you know that many of these have been tears of joy, thanksgiving, faith and release? I feel as though I laid my burden down today, and I suspect that a few of my favorite idols may have been damaged in the process. May none of them survive this time of trial—to the praise of His glory!

From Shin Splints to the ER

I'm not going to write much, since I'm sore from head to toe. Here's a quick update for those of you who have just gotten pieces of information. In general, all of the testing right now is basically being conducted to either confirm or reject the possibility of MS. They say that it's 50-60% likely that I have it.

1. Ultrasound says no blood clots
2. Gen MRI is inconclusive--possible spinal issues
3. Spinal tap shows no infection but must be further analyzed for MS
4. Results not back from Brain MRI

They have started me on steriods tonight. There is a small possibilty (best-case scenario) that I might just have some type of vicious virus that the steroids would destroy. If this were to happen, the whole thing might be over in five days. But that's probably a long shot right now.If the tests come back negative for MS, then I think that we just have to start all over. Honestly, nobody has been able to tell me what any other possibilities might be.I have felt the Lord's presence powerfully today--in the presence, the tears, the arms, and the prayers of my friends.

The Lord guided me to Psalm 16 as I prepared to go in for the MRI (I'm a little claustrophobic), and I just recited these words to myself for the whole 45 mins, "I have set the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken." I could almost feel him there with me.For the most part, it's best for me to just connect with folks through email. I've not been able to keep up with the phone calls today.

My parents will be driving in from West TN tomorrow morning. Please keep them in your prayers.