When I Don't Know What is Right

Not too long ago,

the Christian leaders in my life made a hard decision.

For the sake, they said, of doing the right thing.

And I admit I was filled with anger in my heart when I heard news of this decision. I didn't know what to think. What they were saying, their motives, all appeared Biblical and sound. But something didn't feel right.

It just didn't.

This wasn't what Jesus would have done.

That's what I thought at least, but I didn't know, not for sure.

I didn't know if my unsettled feeling about this situation and roiled emotions were that of Satan or the Holy Spirit. Was I angry because this was a hard thing to do and I've become like the world - wanting to do the easy things, the things that feel pleasant? Was I blinded by my callousness to what the Bible says? Or was I weighed down inside because the Holy Spirit was grieved, and I felt that grief along with Him because I am His dwelling place?

One thing I've come to learn is that feelings aren't truth, no matter how much they feel like it. And I would know: I live on my feelings. I'm probably one of the most sensitive, emotional people you could encounter (and I'm not saying in a good way).

When I'm in the midst of a sea of emotions, those waves are all I can see. They feel like all there is and nothing is clear and all I know is how it feels, how I feel. It's all I know and so it feels like truth. Satan likes to use my rootless, confused state - when I'm stranded in the middle of the sea - to deceive me.

But sometimes? Emotions are from God. They are sent as a warning, a notice, a message. I'm one with my Savior. I am His and He is mine and so how can I not feel what He feels? He's alive inside of me, this temple of His. He's transforming me and my heart belongs to Him, emotions and all. Sometimes, feelings can be truth and sight sent from God to guide.

As I sat, listening to the explanations of this decision, insides swirling and churning, and mind stranded on a rock - not knowing what the right things was,

all I knew to do was pray.

In my head I whispered, "Father. I don't know what to think of this. I can't tell if this was right or wrong. I know I'm angry and saddened. Give me insight into this situation.

Please? Won't you help me?"

After that, I felt my heart thaw. Just a little. I listened to their explanations and felt some understanding pass into my heart. I tried to be respectful and open-minded. The anger and hurt didn't dissolve, but it quieted.

I still don't know what I think about what happened. I also don't know the truth or what would have been right.

But God does. I'm choosing to rest in that, as hard as it is. 

In which Heart must make a Choice

It is so easy to let my mind wander down the road called Ungrateful. It's the natural one, my tendency. The path is smooth and it's like my feet are made to walk there. I'm magnetized, drawn, following. So easy to wander, pleasant to forget, relaxing. I don't have to fight to stay here. I don't have to resist. I can just be conformed; no transformation necessary here. It's an effortless road and the pathway is worn shiny from the frequency of my travel on it. It's a well-worn avenue and (my) Heart holds it in familiarity. It holds it in high esteem. It thinks that Ungrateful is home because that's all it knows, that's all it has ever chosen.

Heart has had a few experiences away from the road called Ungrateful. There's this other path, you see. But its flavor is entirely different.

Heart noticed that immediately when she timidly ventured upon it. It was a bit more unfamiliar, somewhat rockier, definitely skinnier and thus easier to fall away from. Heart's footsteps were hesitant, but she continued on. And once she traveled farther than she ever had before, her pulse quickened. She stopped, realizing she was breathing more deeply than she ever had before, living more fully, and touching the Creator more closely than she had ever done in her existence. And it was so freeing, revealing, enlightening, empowering!

That was her first time.

But she forgot, you see. Heart has a tendency to do so. It was slightly scary, this new road. It required boldness and it alienated her from all the rest. For she had never seen anyone else walk this road. It made her different. Alone, she thought. So she turned back, returned to the arms of Ungrateful. She was quickly enveloped in the ease of Ungrateful, her 'true home', and her new sight hastily faded.

Every once in a while, Heart would gasp in the middle of the night. For a split second she saw that she was sitting in darkness. A rut, even  
a tomb.
A flash of lightning and she remembered:
I'm lost. This is not where I ought to be.

And so she would run away that night, before Ungrateful could notice she was missing. She would dive back onto the gravelly road named Grateful, and remember. She became alive again, aflame with the Holy Spirit.

But always, her cravings would kick in by noon the next day. She couldn't live without Ungrateful, she just couldn't! How could she have thought she could be rid of him for good? He owned her. And Grateful felt too good to be true.

Heart would always return.

As time goes on, though, Heart's expeditions onto Grateful get slightly longer. And she is beginning to taste the true bitterness of life with Ungrateful.

Let's just pray that she'll make it home in the end.

* * *

This story/metaphor just appeared, floating up as I wrote. I know the road names are a bit cheesy, overly obvious, and totally not subtle (even if good metaphors ought to be subtle). But now that I read over it, I think how the roads could be differently named. Maybe Life and Death, or Truth and Lies. Put in what you choose and it may become more meaningful, even more relevant to you personally. Those names just happen to be what I was originally thinking on and I'm just choosing to leave it unrevised.

The Ache for You

Certain days are just melancholy.

The air outside is bitterly cold. The rain's drizzling down. The clouds are a gray painted smooth.

I slept in this morning. Made a steaming cup of coffee. Read some chapters in a book. Sat on the couch. Took pictures in the yard until my nose was pink and my fingers hurt.

Days like these help me understand what's going on in my soul. They help me burrow down and think.

And I am listening to music, stuck in this dreary mood. But there's a rightness to the wrongness. An understanding to come in the midst of the gray. In all of the sublime, the magical misery of these days - I acutely feel that there's something missing.

Someone's missing.

And do you know who that is?

It's the Bridegroom.
Jesus, the beautiful one.

And when things feel off and I can't get my mind on track, it's okay. Because this world isn't my home.  Emotions evaporate. This body is not mine forever.

My sin curse is broken and He'll dress me in garments of beauty. This is not the end.

Someday, all will be made right.

Forever Discovering

Sometimes I feel as if I'm in an everlasting cycle.

This stumbling through life, first. Finding out how unsatisfied I am.

Calling out, then. Desperate.

Discovering God's mercies. Finding truth. Receiving his love. Collapsing into his arms.

Next I'm asking him to not forget this change he's given me.

Then I'm back to trying on my own. Living on my own, forgetting.

And there is always this discovery, realizing, learning
again
that this world's not enough. I am weak. I'm not able. That I mess up. This world's a crooked place. I can't stand the way it is.

Rediscovering
that when I try and make it work,
I won't ever run.

And when I'm always trying to fix myself. . .
it's only God that can save this Desperate one.

Always a sinful forgetting followed by a simple discovering.

I don't think I'll ever stop learning this need of him, this love of his, this astounding grace held out. . .
for as long as I live.

This is one lesson I'll never have down. It's something to be discovered time and time again, until the day he makes me holy.

Another Question.

Once
I came to the realization that I didn't care about the Bible. That there was no excitement or passion in me for God's very words.

And, in seeing that state of my heart,
I asked God to change that.
To mix up my passions and desires so that somehow, somehow
this feeble heart would fall in love.
Because it was ten times closer to apathetic than smitten.

And he's answered it.

He answered. 

That reminds me of the song Came To My Rescue.
That one makes me weep.

When the chorus comes and I'm scratching out the desperate words, "I called."
And the melody goes low, too low for me,
so I whisper,
"He answered."
My voice can barely get the lowness of it out, the realization that
he answered
out of my throat.
Because my heart is full of shock and undeserving at that.


This whimpering voice called out in the dark of the soul.
And
he answered.
His voice came back, to grip me by the hands. To clutch me in his strong arms.

And this question I posed, of wanting to fall in love with the Word - he leapt to answer. He's changed me and he's changing me yet. When I'm reading, I can't get enough of those words. I don't want to stop at the end of the chapter and turn out the light to get the sleep I desperately need. I want to keeping digging in, keep listening, and discovering.

And when I miss a day, when I shove it aside, or let sleep take me, or forget, I feel
off.
Unsettled. Lost. Floating on the waves of the day. I wonder what I'm missing and it's then that I realize what I never did. And now I'm seeing how I need this Anchor. These words of God writ to guide me. Now that my roots have finally tasted what they need, now that they've attached to the water of life, I can't go without it. And I can't stop desiring more.

It's unbelievable. And it's real. It happened to me!

These past months, God's been unexpectedly answering the deep desires of my heart. I've got a lot of unspoken prayers buried in me, weighing me down with the hope and desire of them. And he has come along and answered
in the way that only he can. Showing how much he knows my deepest corners, how his timing is perfect, how he can change hearts.

And with his answers, I see how eager he is for me to ask. And to ask big.
So I've noticed another area where I'm seriously lacking but deeply desiring:

I want to experience
perpetual conversation with God.

There have been a handful of relationships in my life that have slackened, declined, and distanced lately. Mostly because of my big fat sin. I'm craving for those relationships to heal or grow or be as they once were. I'm craving that human interaction, the conversations I'm missing. Plainly put, I feel as though I can't live without these people. I can't stand to leave things as they are and I'm afraid that they'll stay cracked and chipped for the rest of my life. I've let some of my happiness depend on these people. (Which will fail me, I realize. But that doesn't change the fact that it's true.)

Despite my anxiety, these relationships are mostly at a standstill. It's like God's put a hand out and stopped anything from happening. He's slid them behind, made them out of focus, so that he can look me in the eyes and show me my lack of desire and interest in
my relationship with him.

Yes. Because that's where my heart belongs but is so far from.

I'm sick of wandering through a day on my own. Most of the time, I'm living like he doesn't exist. Like I said, bobbing on the waves. Anchorless. Reading Scripture has become a daily renewal for me, it's true. I've snuggled up to the Word more, but that's not enough. I want my mind and heart and soul and whole being to be engaged with God each moment. I want my mind to be acknowledging him, remembering him. All the time.

And I want to be talking to him constantly. And listening hard, ears open.
I desire this perpetual conversation, this fellowship within, as I live in the world. I want to know his presence more. To know his voice so I will know when it's not just my thoughts talking. I want to think of him, dwell on him, call to him. To ask more when I'm about to sin, when I'm struggling, when I'm rushing, falling, regretting. To have a constant thought be: God, I need you right now.

So Lord. Here's another question, another prayer.

Will you teach me to live in perpetual conversation with you?

"Dependence on God and abiding is more than a state of mind, it is a conversation with Him."
Mike Bickle

Why I'm never satisfied at the end of the day

My ability to turn whatever I'm dished out into a miserable experience surfaces at many days' ends. I choose that misery. No matter how fine a day was.

I know I have an easy, cushioned life.

And I know that my heart chooses this joylessness. It's this human nature thing. Maybe you've heard of it.

We've been reading The Republic at school, rolling the ideas of justice and motives around in our minds time and time again. And it always boils back down to this flesh issue. Our ability to distort and stain and want more than we have. Endlessly. This ability to be unhappy in every season of our lives. Whether it's cloudy or sunny. To never be satisfied.

To drink from the shallow places and never dive in with all of us.

Skimming the surface. Getting by. But feeding this empty by placing ourselves in place of the Son. Making ourselves the one that our world revolves 'round.

A day is marked by our ability to keep thinking about ourselves. 


And whether a day is good or bad, whether life is like sitting on a cloud or drowning in the sea-

we aren't happy.

I come home, at a day's end, and I am still thirsty internally.

It's this choosing of myself that fails me. Every time.
It is me drinking from the
shallow place
that will never hold enough for me when the deepest, coolest waters are just around the bend. I've just got take the few steps over there. It's available; I've just got to lean down and drink immersed. Then my soul will be satisfied. If I choose to have faith.