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.