How People Change

I requested several books for Christmas, and I spent part of my lazy New Year's Day exploring How People Change, by Tim Lane and Paul Tripp. Though I’ve perused only three chapters, I’d like to quote at length from the third one. Reading this on New Years' Day, pinned between the cultural phenomenon of resolution-making and the solicitous advice of well-meaning friends, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I believe, come what may; this is what I believe, in spite of myself. I do not want to live with merely the appearance of wisdom or to structure sin out of my life. I want to walk in holiness and, for this purpose, Scripture is my plumb-line and light.

“We all live on the continuum between slavery and freedom. The Bible warns about the deceitfulness of sin and its bondage. It is full of promises of the freedom we have in Christ. But our culture has its own warnings and promises of freedom, false solutions promised in various theories of change. These alternative theories seem appealing. They promise us that we can avoid chaos, live in freedom, and keep our own agenda and pride in tact.

Christians have always faced these problems. We have always had to sift through false promises and theories of change. Even in the first century, Paul had these words for fellow believers:

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits (or elementary principles) of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col 2:6-8).

Lane and Tripp go on to outline some of the deceptive philosophies that our culture proffers:

Changing the circumstance
Changing my behavior
Changing my thought process
Changing my self-concept
Trusting Jesus more

None of these solutions is entirely bad, but each is sadly incomplete. If I identify a circumstance, a behavior, or a thought as my problem and fight accordingly, I will quickly be defeated (think New Year’s resolutions). Change must happen by the Spirit in the heart of the believer, and it will flow out into behaviors and thoughts. As I look at the changes that are needed in my life right now, I’m reminded not to attack the behavior but to expose my heart before the surgeon.

The last two philosophies outlined must be addressed separately, starting with self-esteem theory. I've always been astounded by the fact that I could forget everything that learned in elementary school science--things like the number of planets in our solar system or the function of the lymph nodes--but could recount in detail the intricacies of Maslow's theory of self-actualization. Perhaps I shouldn't say "intricacies"--this was elementary school! But that theory took hold of me as a child; it purported to be vitally important, and it explained some critical things about myself, or so I thought. Self-esteem theory in one of its many instantiations has a monopoly on our (pop) psychology market. We have lapped up the poison, believing that we are essentially good and must learn only to love ourselves as such. We don’t want to hear that we feel guilty because we are guilty.

The last philosophy seems incongruous and even irreverent. How can it be inadequate to "just trust Jesus”? The strategy itself is right--we should trust Jesus, but we have to be clear about who this Jesus is and what we are trusting him to do. Lane and Tripp write, “In some approaches to change, Jesus is the therapist who meets all my needs…If he is my therapist, then he meets my needs as I define them. If he is my Redeemer, he defines my true needs and addresses them in ways far more glorious than I could have anticipated.”

Herein lies the common core to each of these false solutions. If we change only our behavior or our circumstances, we have not changed our hearts. We have not displaced the idol of self; in fact, we have likely propped it up with our short-term successes. We cannot live in freedom if our self-love-driven-agendas remain in tact. Our self must acquire new loves if we are to truly change, because man will ultimately follow after what he loves. People only change from the heart outward.

The Light Shines in the Darkness

2007 has been the most difficult and most rewarding year in memory. I have known joy and pain on a deeper level than ever, and I have gained “strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.” And I must recount that this has happened together with all the saints, for I cannot tell the story of this year without talking about the people I love—about the babies born, the sicknesses fought, the weddings, the funerals—and the myriad ways that God has worked and is working in each of these things “for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.” The fellowship of the trinity truly does overflow into the life of the church.

And yet, as the year draws to a close, I feel as though I am quietly suffocating. Fear and sin have been regaining strength in strategic areas of my heart, and I’ve stood mutely by—-allowing myself to believe that my hands are somehow tied. I’ve watched the process unfold for months as I give in to this or that sin, excusing my own indolence and indulgence. And now I find that all the things I don’t want to do are strengthened in me, while the things I want to do are conversely weakened. We do reap what we sow.

As I look ahead to 2008, I’m tempted to make all sorts of resolutions—-some inane and some sensible. But I realize, even as I contemplate these resolutions, that the establishment of such goals can be a Babel-esque enterprise. I cannot do any of these things on my own. So what does it mean to go forward in the power of His might?

Jesus came into this world that those who do not see may see (John 9). This is my hope as I walk blindly on; the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. The darkness has not overcome it. I have steeped myself in my own sin and believed-—almost unconsciously—-that I was rebaptized into a gospel of self-reliance. False gospels always leave us flailing and alone. But the gospel of Jesus Christ says that I am being changed--progressively sanctified—-not because I implement the right strategies or impose the right restrictions, but because “he who began a good work in [me] will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil 1:6).

So, dear friends, I offer to you this word of hope as we enter 2008 together:

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Neither the darkness inside us or the darkness around us can contend with this light--in whom is our very life.

Happy new year to you and to me. Let us lie down to sleep in the knowledge that we have already received in Christ everything that we need for life and godliness.

Reality Check

4 doctors' appointments, 2 birthday celebrations, and 1 trip to Chicago.

Why did I think that I was going to start a new discipline this week?

Lie Down and Sleep

"In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety" (Psalm 4:8).

Lord, I have not done my part by lying down in peace, and yet you have preserved me--mind, body, and soul. You and you alone have made me to dwell in safety; you have kept my foot from stumbling even in my self-righteousness and anger. None of the things I fear as I lie awake on my bed--not one of them has overtaken me, though many have come upon me. You have raised me up to meet these challenges; my faith is increased according to your purpose. I praise you because you have not abandoned the work of your hands! I praise you because you are completing the good work that you began in me.

I know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself and that he hears when I call to him (Psalm 4:3). So for today, I will call and wait. "Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness! You have given me relief when I was in distress. Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!" (Psalm 4:1).

I will hope steadfastly as I walk through the trials of the day, and I will lie down and sleep tonight in gratitude and faith. I will wait upon the Lord the Almighty, for I know that he is safely within earshot...

Giving Thanks When I Don't Feel Thankful

I met with my pastor and several other leaders at church this morning to pray for my health. Over the past two to three weeks, an alarming number of new symptoms have manifested themselves in my body--each one bringing with it new or increased temptations to anger, anxiety, fear, and self-pity. My specific requests were for bodily healing and for endurance, faith, and hope throughout this trial. We prayed for my body in accordance with James 5, and we prayed for my heart in accordance with Colossians 3.

I have been challenged several times in recent weeks to consciously practice gratitude. Gratitude is not my natural posture; my natural posture is a bit defensive and overwhelmingly cynical. My natural posture is that of a natural man. But that man, according to Gal. 2:20, has been crucified with Christ and no longer lives. If this cynical and defensive self has been crucified, then it's time he started acting like a dead man. The call to thanksgiving is not just for those who feel like giving thanks.

Two weeks ago, I received divine provision for my housing needs. The provision didn't come the way I'd expected or hoped; it came in a way that humbled me and called me to perseverance. Walk with me all the way back to the wilderness. Deuteronomy 8:2-4 says:

And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years.

In A Hunger for God, John Piper reflects on this passage:

"Notice carefully. Now he is saying that the giving of manna is the test. Not the withholding of food, but the giving of food--to teach them that man does not live by bread alone. He gave them manna, an utterly unheard-of food falling from heaven. Why? So that they would learn, Moses says, to live on everything that comes from the mouth of God. Now how is that? How does the giving of miraculous manna teach that? Because manna is one of the incredible ways God can, with a mere word, meet your needs when all else looks hopeless. So Moses' point is that we must learn to depend on God and not ourselves. We must trust him for every utterly unexpected blessing that is commanded for us from the mouth of God."

This provision itself is one way that God is teaching me that every thing I have comes from Him. God has been faithful to provide for my needs; the manna continues to come in different areas of my life. As I eat this strange bread, I must fight against self-pity and cynicism. I must fight for joy and for gratitude. For this reason, I intend to begin posting brief "bursts" of thanksgiving here. I have tried, in less structured ways, to cultivate a heart of gratitude. But my efforts have been anemic, at best. It is my hope that this blog will help to hold me accountable in this discipline of gratitude and that the Lord will change the orientation of my heart.

I will give thanks until I feel thankful. I will give thanks in faith that God will lift my eyes to behold his glory. "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble" (from Psalm 107).

Magnificent Defeat

This old Wes King song has been ringing in my ears for the past few days. Perhaps it will help me explain to you my silence. I have not forgotten you. I have not abandoned this blog or the hope of ministering to others through it. But I am wrestling--night and day I am wrestling. From my first sinful thought to my last act of faith each day, I am fighting. I wrestle with my own blindness and dullness. I cry out to the Lord, "But now [my] strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (Num 11:6). I forget or I refuse to believe that manna is provided for eating in faith, and I demand food for my eyes. I "see no manna." So I pray for a grateful and contented heart, remembering all that I have in Christ:

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagles.

But there is more to wrestling than just fighting sin. As I limp, as I fight, as darkness sets in and I find that I am not alone, I remember Jacob and I wrestle again (Gen. 32:22-32):

And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

Jacob did not feel defeated as he limped away from this encounter, and I think of him when the pain feels like too much to bear. We see no sign of self-pity in Jacob's analysis of his own situation: "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered," he exclaims. Jacob had eyes to see--first, to see God and second, to see himself in proper relation to God. When I allow myself to be defeated in my own mind, I can still see God on his throne. But since defeat still feels like defeat, I draw strength from these words:

Magnificent Defeat

What is my purpose for being here?
I've had no burning bush or voices in my ear.
I have been wandering for all these years
But I've seen no manna, or angels appear.

Now I long for the solace of my soul
I have wandered from pole to pole.
here I lie, broken at your feet
Rejoicing at this magnificent defeat.

I have been wrestling all through the night
But the darkness hides the face of the one I fight.
Beloved enemy, demands my life and all I am.
But then he blesses me and gives it back again.

Now I long for the solace of my soul
I have wandered from pole to pole.
Here I lie, broken at your feet
Rejoicing, rejoicing, rejoicing at this magnificent defeat.

I am fighting on fronts other than this blog right now, though I hope to return soon. Until then, I am trusting God to make the bones that he has broken to rejoice!

No Water

It's been hard to write lately. My silence has not fundamentally been a scheduling issue or even a case of writers' block. The problem is that my heart has been reluctant to embrace the mission of this blog: to take every thought captive to obey Christ and to rejoice in the sufferings that are producing endurance, character, and hope in me. It has settled for a self-analysis that doesn't produce transformation and reaped a stagnant self-criticism and latent anger.

The shift from liturgy of faith to litany of complaints was slow, but I can hardly say that it's been subtle. Last week, I caught myself crying out to the Lord in frustration, "Have you brought me here just to abandon me?" I am not the first grumbling Israelite to speak these words:

Now there was no water for the congregation. And they assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron. And the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Would that we had perished when our brothers perished before the Lord! Why have you brought the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness, that we should die here, both we and our cattle? And why have you made us come up out of Egypt to bring us to this evil place? It is no place for grain or figs or vines or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink.” Numbers 20:1-5

No water. That's how my life feels right now. But the truth is that water for the Israelites was quite near--it just wasn't yet in a recognizable form. A rod and a rock; an act of faith and an act of God.

It is so easy to believe that I will be satisfied when X, Y, and Z are resolved, but when I believe that these things are necessary for my sustenance, then I begin to challenge God. It's no forty-year journey from the "I need" to the shaking fist. Can't you hear the chains rattling? I am enslaved to the things I see, not liberated by what I believe.

No Water. If God did not withhold from me his only Son, how will he not also along with him graciously give me all things? If I see no water, it is only because I do not recognize it. I remember another woman who stood before the Living Water and did not have eyes to see:

A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.” John 4:13-15

I will not be enslaved by my own circumscribed vision; I choose to believe today that what does not yet look like water is truly water. And, by the grace of God, I will settle for no water but the water from the rock.

Apparently Irrelevant Decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HT: Pure Church

Overwrought

Overwrought. Lonely but without comfort in the presence of loved ones. Wearied so by self that all other things grow wearisome beyond measure. Can't eat it away, can't sleep it away. Neither words nor silence still it. “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night.” Assuaged not by the presence of light, though no longer preferring shadows. "Be careful lest the light in you be darkness." Even the darkness is not dark to Him.

Once innocuous desires charge past cursory defenses. "She who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives." Unblinking fear, frail yet defiant; sinful yet self-righteous; broken, yet self-sufficient. Strengths and weaknesses inverted by a heart deceitful above all. "But I have come to give you life." Knitted, broken, hemmed, held. Even my wrestling against is now wrestling with, and Orual's complaint is uttered in my voice. "Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God."

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge--not in the courts of my mind, the chambers of my hearts, or the audience of man. Wait in faith, soul, and be not overwrought! For the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save.

It is good that I should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.

Old Desires and a New Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Death of the Addict

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Doctors and Diagnoses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets