I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

I rehearse reality in my morning prayers,
And live in unreality through out the day.
With my mouth I confess,
But with my heart I retreat.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

There is no patience in my well-doing,
And I submit myself again to that terrible yoke.
It is for freedom that I was set free,
But I content myself with slavery.

I see my wounds and not my healing.
I forget His blood and feel my bleeding.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

But God’s righteousness has come
Not as a law but as a Son—
Though I don’t yet see him on his throne,
I trust his power alone.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief!

Let me see your wounds my Savior, for in them lies my healing.
Cover me in your blood, to stay my feeble bleeding.
By your grace alone I believe; complete this work in me.

“Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain” (I Cor 15:1-2).

OPEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Excuse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul writes to the Corinthians:

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

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

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

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

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

Flesh Versus ... Service?

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

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

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

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

Hi, My Name is Michele.

Over the past year, I've found it hard to meet people. Though I've never considered myself an extrovert, I always enjoyed those initial interactions. It was a chance to make a careful and controlled presentation of myself—the Michele that is gilded with southern charm. That simple, "My name is Michele" has always been a confident assertion for me.

In my heart, I stopped extending my hand to strangers about a year ago. Sure, I’ve met dozens if not hundreds of people since then. The smile, the handshake, the pleasantries were all in place, but the self—the heart—went into hiding. Though it was never a conscious decision, I seem to have embargoed all new relationships until the return of the old health and confidence.

I look around my office, my church, and my life, and I see swarms of people who intrigue or inspire me—people to whom I would have reached out a year ago. But I slink away from them now, dragging a heart full of fear behind me. They don't know why I limp down the hallway and wear these ridiculous shoes; they likely wouldn't guess the path that these feet are walking. I don't want to just unload my story on them, but my pride cannot bear the thought that they would assume that this is just how I am.

I liked to think of my three-inch heels as an extension of myself, as a part of what made me “Michele.” But I now see that I was sowing lies. I was training myself to believe that my value—both real and perceived—lay in a pleasing presentation of myself. It seemed harmless, but lies never are. Have I, as a human being, changed fundamentally over the past year? Of course not! Why, then, this sudden reticence to love, to serve, to move boldly away from myself and into the lives of others? Let's call it what it is--it's just plain, old-fashioned pride. And that's just plain, old-fashioned sin.

If I suddenly find myself to be boast-less, then it is fair to ask what I was boasting in to begin with. Jeremiah 9:24 says, “Let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me.” The truth is that, over the course of the past year, I have come to know and to love the Lord more. Should I not therefore enter into his world with more confidence and humility instead of less confidence and humiliation? Yes, I should. But I am confessing to you that I have not.

In John 8:32-33, Jesus says to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” If I abide in God’s word, I am not a slave to the deceitfulness of sin. If, on the other hand, I abide in my "harmless" lies, then I will never be free—free to love, to serve, to live in the freedom of the glory of the children of God. And that is what I am! I am a child of God, and I have not "received the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear" but have instead "received the Spirit of adoption" (Rom 8:15-17). When I extend my hand, then, I can "kick off my shoes" and do so in the name of my Father--confident in him as my unfaltering righteousness and my immutable worth.

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.