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. 

It's not funny anymore.

It's funny how easily people raise their hands for any old concert. How excitedly they jump up and down, filled with passion, enthralled by the music. How dedicated they are to the writer of the lyrics, following their lives through social media updates. Working hard to learn of this person, to know them.

If they saw this person, they would scream.

If they got to touch them, they might cry.

And oh, imagine, if this person, if their hero,
spoke to them?

They would carry those words with them for the rest of their lives.

And it's funny how fans listen to music over and over again, until their very ears bleed and they can say the lyrics in their sleep. Everything gets memorized, and why? Because they love this music. It touches something inside of them. Those words and the person who made them becomes a part of them forever.

It's funny, too, how these listeners, these worshipers, label themselves as belonging to the group they listen to. They declare how they like them, support them. Their very names are born from their love.

It's funny, how I stuff my hands in my pockets when I feel the urge to raise my hands in church. It's funny how hastily I rush through my nightly devotions, how fast I mutter a prayer before dinner. It's funnier still how my Facebook says I'm a follower of Jesus Christ but I barely think about this God-Man I label myself with. I take the Bible's words too lightly, and when was the last time I memorized a verse on my own? And not because I had to?

But wait, it's not funny. It's not funny at all,
when, for the first time,

I decide to sit before Jesus and pray.

I set up a chair in the dark of my room for him, and I sit across from him in my rocking chair. And do you know what? I see how un-funny it is when I imagine him sitting across from me and see him looking right at me. Looking through me. Here I am,

before him,

and there is no laughter in me when I see the hypocrite and sinner I am. When have my actions matched the words I've written? When have my beliefs been carried out?

I'm sitting, I'm sitting in front of Jesus.

And all I can do is cry,
because I'm not worthy.

* * *

Linking up for Imperfect Prose on this Wednesday. Isn't this post so poignant? It touched me to the core. . .

Set Me Aflame

I was about to eat supper. Dishing up carelessly, living in the day. My food filled the plate and I took my first bite.

Oh yeah. I should pray. Forgot about that.

And with anything but depth, I started to mutter words in my head. What an obligation. What a drag. A bore. A habit that I need to develop. A thing I should do.
To be good.

An airy thought in my head, an itch to be scratched. My emotions blank. My soul numb. Oh yeah. Praying. Let's add that in real fast, like a dash of salt in a recipe.

Then

whoosh

I was shaken awake.

-What am I doing? Oh Lord, what am I doing?
And my heart in the past days? Detached. Empty. Distant. And. . . lost.

And, more than that, I hadn't even realized. 
I hadn't even noticed my state. 

Oh the realizations crashing in upon me, like beating waves, tearing winds,
and my eyelids were opened up like a chest so that I might
see.

And I saw that I was acting just like this was any old religion. An occasional thing in my life to be visited. A meager part of me. A fraction, a slice, not an
all-consuming  
fire,
a blaze transforming every crevice, awakening the deepest love and strongest passion from my depths. 

God, save me from
this
complacency.

Make it my enemy. My dreaded fear. That I may be so on edge, never to stop fighting it, searching for its presence - that if I find a
small hint 
of it, I would leap to snuff it out. May my sword be drawn, senses heightened, mind aflame with the Spirit to never forget.

I want true prayer. Intercession. Communion. A perpetual conversation, a dance of words and love and pouring out. I want this with you, God. I want a remembering heart, an unconformed mind. I don't want to settle. Don't want to sit still. Don't want to lose sight. Don't want to live on my own. Don't want to be like any other person. Don't want to act like you're just another god. Don't want to put you on my mental checklist. Don't want to change our marriage into religion, burden, a pot on the back burner of the stove. You aren't restraint. You are promise. Your grace isn't a perk. It's a pool - that's necessary for me to be saturated in.

Consume me.

Consume me. 

I can't stand my position, my current state. It's not okay. It's muck. And pick me up and 
move me far from here. 
Because I do not want to linger in this complacency, resistance, and lack of 
surrender. 


I need your winds of testing, piercing convictions, life and presence and voice. I need your touch to draw me out of this stupor, out of my death. Raise me from the dead. I need you.

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

Awaken me.

Sometimes I awaken. Get the glimpses of truth, the epiphanies, the divine ripping away of blindness. God peeling away those selfish layers like a curtain holding out the light. And I see.

I can see.

Light flashes bright. A shock for my eyes accustomed to the dark of the world. 

And in that moment, I see the ashes of my life and of this world. I see it for what it truly is in the exposure: futile.

It’s nothing. All those trivial things only hinder me and blind me.

But as that moment of enlightenment begins to fade, I stop striving and start sliding.

Sliding back.

Back, with eyes hypnotized. Believing these worldly things are like shimmering pearls. The illusion crawls back up, tricking my heart, and it’s only when the trumpet will sound that the pearls will fade before my eyes. And that’s when the sickening dread and regret will crash over me.

When it’s too late.

And I don’t want that to happen to me.

Partly because of plain old fear. Maybe it’s the wrong motivation, but. . .

I just, God-

I never.

Never.

Want to lose eyes for eternity.

May your Spirit reign in me so thick that I can never forget. Never lose sight, flush away purpose and time. This life is a vapor, disappearing in the wind. And there’s not much time, not much time. You’re at the door. May a holy haste and urgency press on my heart at all moments. May your presence be so near me, so thoroughly meshed with my heart that I’m always striving, yearning, acting. May I be bold.

Because the time’s short. It’s so short.

And I don’t want to awake when it’s too late.

Come What May

God.
I know that I can't keep going on like this.
This in-out love I have for you.
Living on the emotional highs and lows,
which I've let become my faith.
Valley and mountain. Desert and oasis. I've got trust when it's easy, but no grit when it's tough.
My weaknesses.
My lacking.

Coming back over and over again,
only to say
again
that I've messed up.
And that I need you.

But
not
changing.

This thirst for surrender.
Ache for the Spirit.
Seeing my flaws, asking for transformation,
but still disobeying your discipline.

Every day.

I'm not who I want to be.
Not what you want me to become.
I want to change,


but am I willing to go through fire to get it?


The other night, I found myself on my bed, crying and asking God for
hardship.
Because I know my faith is weak and I know I'll never believe I need him alone if my life stays the way it is. Big or little trial, 
I was begging. 
I don't want the pain of it, but I want the gain of it. 
I know it will change me. I need something to wake me up. And I finally fell to my knees and sobbed before my Daddy.
My flesh half is terrified of what's to come.
 
But my soul whispers, "Come what may.

I want to be satisfied in Him alone."

Living in Ink

I just watched Ocean's Eleven again recently. The team uses a pinch to take out all of Las Vegas' power for thirty seconds to accomplish their heist of a casino. The movie flashes between different scenes - of a crowd watching a boxing fight, shouting, and then suddenly

darkness.

They're all in darkness.

The camera shows the whole city alight from afar, and then you see the millions of lights and flashes. . . wipe out. The whole city sits in darkness.

As I watched, I was struck thinking of every single person in the city experiencing this darkness. Whatever they were doing must have been stopped. Someone could have been getting married, having a baby, or

dying

in that darkness.

Everyone's life was affected. Each situation changed.
A hush could have fallen. Or a scream could rise up in the night.
Pandemonium, chaos,
or silent sobs.
Each person grasping the person next to them, fingers grabbing that skin, the warm skin of someone,
to know they weren't alone.
Whatever happened, wherever they were, they all felt that same darkness.

They were blinded.
Gripped with fear.
And lost.

And as I was thinking it over,
I realized that this darkness. . . it's real.

The whole world is plunged in ink.
Everyone's wandering through their life,
searching,
seeking,
pouring themselves out to find satisfaction.
And not finding it, in the end.

And really, they're all lost.

The reality of it is clear and I want to weep. This truth always strikes me on occasion: that the world is lost. But I so easily forget it. . .

I never want to lose the impact of that truth, God. 

Never. 


Because then I won't be living with the right goals in mind. That passion for the lost is in your heart, I know it. And to follow you, I want to want what you want. To feel your desires pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Drenching my skin, drumming in my mind, thoughts, emotions. In the core of my being, may your Spirit be present. Alive. Transforming my heart to breathe along with yours.

"Break my heart for what breaks yours. . ." 

Guilt Within

Oh God,
cleanse me.
I look inside and all I see is

dirt.

That muck, penetrating so deep, seeping out every crack,
in harsh words and ugly thoughts
jealousies and tears.

I feel
unsavable.

I can't feel the hope I crave,
just hear these words.

When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.

Oh God.
I'm stuck. . . I'm stuck on those first two lines, no further.

To Pray Boldly

I was reading part of Psalm 139 with my mentor group,
when someone commented on how when David was angry, he told God.
When he was sad, he told God that.
When he was joyful, he thanked God.
When he wanted something, he asked. He just plain asked God.


He just layed his messy heart before God, raw and bare.
No excuses added.

"Hey God. This is how I'm feeling.
Let me tell you about it..."
Like a best friend.
That's how I want to talk to God.

I want to be a bold prayer, like King David.

I Want To Know You

 

This is my prayer.

Sorry, you may not want to take the time to listen to this. And I know it won't, if you do take the time, be the same for you as it was for me. I feel the Holy Spirit so close in Jesus Culture songs. And after Acquire the Fire, my heart yearns for that. Because now I've had a taste, and I only hunger for more.

But this song is . . . sweet.

I want my heart to speak this out. 


I pray God would be near to you through it.
Close, with his presence overtaking your heart.

Do I love His Word?

Really.

Do I?

(source)

I've said to myself before, when typing the Bible into my favorite books for some profile:
"Of course. Of course it's one of my favorites!
Of course I love it."

But, really, I don't know.
Most of the time, I don't feel a passion for the Bible. There is no overflow of eagerness, delight, and love in reflecting in it.

Soaking it in (or lack thereof) can feel like a burden.

Miss Sweazey (my teacher/mentor)
has told us about one of her friends. How he realized he didn't love God's word.
But then, he asked for it. For a deep love of the Bible.

And she told us that he's so in love with it now. Like no one else she knows.
She encouraged us to ask,
to desire for that love.

Because God is able to give it to us.

So I'm asking God. Really, I am. Because I'm distracted and so often feeding myself with the world.

I'm asking.

selfless love.

This is a bit late,
but look at this:

It was in Egypt.

I saw it on someone's Facebook with the caption:
I hope I can be like this and love my neighbor as myself.

I was struck in the gut.

...I hope so too.
I hope that I can be like that.

Give Me Jesus

my favorite song,
is Give Me Jesus.

"In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
Give me Jesus


Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus


And when I am alone
Oh and when I am alone
And when I am alone
Give me Jesus


Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus


And when I come to die
Oh and when I come to die
And when I come to die
Give me Jesus


Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world
You can have all this world
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus"


It makes me cry.

I love to play it on guitar and sing it.

I think it is beautiful.

It has struck me in so many different ways.

It is how I want my heart to be.
It is what I want.

I can't even describe it.
What I feel, when I sing it.
This is pitiful.

But oh, how it makes me love Jesus.