Consuming Love [The Making of Heroes Part II]

Love is no secret.
(Or at least that's what the world says.)

The only problem is that the majority of the population defines love by the wrong terms. 

The true meaning of the word has been buried beneath the fluff of changing emotion.

And I believe one of the reasons why the number of great heroes in our generation is on the decline is because we don't understand love.

I don't claim to understand Love. Far from it.
But this I know, our love tends to be shallow and the motives behind it, even shallower.




And so our generation is experiencing a critical famine, a deficiency of love, all the while surrounded by what the world labels affection.

It is no wonder that the world is in crisis. Desperate crisis.

The love that we are called to live? It's difficult. It's selfless. It's painful. 

That's why so few demonstrate it. 

Yet difficulty is never a reason to discard. 

Because this love is what will set the world on fire. Combined with prayer. 

This love is the material of the heart of God.
The love that hurts and gives and heals all at the same time.
The love that embraces utter self-abnegation.

The love that gives back a thousand-fold. 

This is the love we must learn. This is the love we must live. This is the love we must give.

Strength Costs

The clock ticks loud seconds away behind me. My arms and legs pulse to constant rhythm. Heavy breathing. Aching muscles. Active mind. 

Strength comes at a price. 

Discipline. Determination. Sacrifice. 

Light bulb moment in the basement. 

My strength — it’s not mine at all. It comes at a price. 

Sacrifice is the buzz word. 

If He hadn’t determined to sacrifice, if He hadn’t determined to give His life, my strength would be nothingness. 

Of course my strength is always nothingness, but there would be no alternative. No strength to infuse power into my weakness.

Yes, strength comes at a price. 

The price of sacrifice.

Live to Sacrifice

It has been awhile since I first caught a glimpse of sacrifice from this angle. Days and years pass. Time slips slowly into eternity. Struggles come and go, some still remain.

Yet as I sit here gazing out my window at the gently falling mist, at the blossoming apple tree, at the outside of my world, I remember.

It's not that I have forgotten. No, indeed.
This thought seared its way into my mind long ere this.

--

I had prayed to be "set on fire" for a long time. Years.
At times I felt it, I breathed it, I lived it. Other times I wondered where the fire had gone…

Yet early that morning as I listened to a friend share, I caught the secret to the fire.

Sacrifice.

It all seems so logical now. An altar is merely a relic without the sacrifice.
Without the sacrifice, there is no fire.

It only makes sense that the altar is the appointed meeting place between God and the soul because it is only at the altar that the fire is kindled. Yet a kindled fire is no security for a continued fire.

Sacrifice must become my life in order to keep the flame burning.

--

This world needs flames—rather it needs fires. Furnaces that cannot be extinguished because they are fed by such devoted sacrifice. A planet of fire fueled by a generation of sacrifice.

There have been in ages past those who have caught this fire. This world will go nowhere if our flames don't surpass theirs.

Live to sacrifice. Sacrifice to live.

He Always Endures More

I climb part of the hill behind our house to my special place of communion. Rugged boulders wait serenely as though they were the thrones of majesties themselves. A cloudless blue sky envelops the world with brilliant rays of sunlight. In the distance I hear cheerful bird melodies while I watch a silvery-blue butterfly rest gently upon my bare toes. It's time to be still…

There are few things I cherish more than peace. 

My mind has travelled thousands of pathways in the last few weeks. Big decisions to make. Places to minister. People to love. 

Yet atop my mountain top perch with a birds-eye view, my mind wanders. 

--

A heavy groan pierces the silence of midnight. The stark moonlight shining through the olive branches seems to cut the blackness like a sharp knife. Huddled beneath their cloaks a few hundred feet away can be seen a few drowsy figures. The entire atmosphere seems triggered, waiting with cold tenseness.

Stillness is broken by a movement in the shadows. A pallid form raises from the hard ground shaking in sobs of anguish. Following the silent path of gravity, blood stains red the place of conflict. With faint but determined voice come the words, "Not My will, but Thy will be done. I choose to surrender. I will give all."

Suddenly His haggard form crumbles to meet the earth. This struggle has drained from Him every ounce of strength. He has made the choice.

--

I review this scene while gazing silently across the pined landscape and my mind returns to the cause of this remembering.

Upon the cross and in the garden over two thousand years ago He shouldered the sins for an entire world of ungrateful creatures.

He took them all. He bore it all. He chose it all.

And yet when everything is said and done, Satan will only suffer for the sins of the righteous.

Christ always endures more. 

His love encompasses, His heart throbs as one in our sorrow, in our agony, in our joy.

He has been through it all, and He understands.

Trust Him.

Hungering for Sacrifice

Sometimes I want to post. Sometimes I could care less. But if anyone has been wondering why so much silence, it's because there is too much happening. My journal is basically full, and it has only been two months. I had to go hunting in town for a new one (not quite my fancy, but at least it doesn´t have disney characters on the front). :)

I'm across the mountain now. Dividing time between La Zona and Santa Barbara. Time at the restaurant. Time at the school. Time at the hospital. My days are full...

Yet deep inside, I feel myself growing in new ways, discovering parts of myself I never knew before. And I'm glad for that…

Learning to take sacrifice to a new level.
Learning more perfectly the inexpressible joy of service.
Learning to create stillness and calm regardless of circumstances.

But the more I learn, the more I hunger. For one thing...

To see the sacrifice of my Savior played out in my life.

Because my life is not my own. All to Him I owe.

I love these mountains…

Gavi and Waleska, my friends and roommates :)

René teaching school

Picking delicious organic lettuce

Seedlings

The restaurant, La Canasta de Vida

Mouthwatering…

A batch of cookies I made…

This specialty, called Torta Fria, is absolutely delicious! I had the privileged of making and decorating it this time…

A friend in the cesarean ward

Cleaning off a cute little newborn

One of the nurses, Damaris, who has become a good friend. :)

Misplaced Trust

{Jeremiah 48}

Treasures and trophies. Accomplishments and accolades.

All blow away on the winds of adversity when you’ve placed your trust in the wrong places.

Sanctuary is promised in surrender. Safety is secured in sacrifice. 

Everything else is chaff…

To Be the Revolution…

I lie on my bed, tears trickling down my cheeks, my mind reeling with questions. I feel so ashamed. Ashamed of every fiber of my existence, of what I claim to own. 

I cry. I pray. I ponder. My life, my actions must be in harmony… And I'm finding they don’t go deep enough… I feel ashamed and rightly so. 

Have I been living a lie all this time? 

My flesh denies the thought. Yet I believe it to be partially accurate, for if I was truly living, breathing, absorbing the words I speak, my life would be reflecting Christ more fully than it is today. I need a reset, a hard reset. And that, by God’s grace, I’m going to have. 

Away with a life of mediocrity. In with a life of revolution.

These are the things I want. These are the things I need. These are the things I crave. 

To be the revolution I want to see.

False Accusations

{Jeremiah 37}

I turn page after page reading the fascinating accounts of undaunted individuals of the reformation; I trace the lives of countless faithful missionaries giving their all, even their lives, for the advancement of the gospel; I examine the servants of God through the ages, and I determine that the whole history of God’s messengers wears an almost unbroken line of sacrifice, of hardship, of false accusations, of misunderstandings. 

Jeremiah is no exception.

The devil is no ignorant bystander. He has had over six thousand years of practice to refine his tactics. He twists the minds of men into believing truth is error and error is truth, and most of them don’t even realize what has happened.

Yet when false accusations are shouted in our faces, we have a choice to make. And it all depends on the habits we have previous cultivated in our lives. If we have fostered the meekness, grace and humility of our Savior in little trials, they will also be manifest in the most difficult times.

It all depends on our surrender now.

We Call It Sacrifice?

{Jeremiah 33}

“…and of them that shall bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord…”

I rest back into my chair and mull over this phrase.

We call a lot of things sacrifice. Giving a miserly amount for missions. Setting down a good book to go help our parents with a project. Speaking to someone who’s feeling lonely when we would rather be conversing with friends. Spending a day helping at the homeless shelter. Adhering to healthy lifestyle principles just because we know it’s good for us. Putting aside our selfish nature for the benefit of others.

We call this sacrifice. And I rebel.

Because if Christ truly has our hearts, the above is not sacrifice; it’s joy. Pure joy.

When the wellspring of Christ’s joy is in our hearts, to give is to gain; to obey is our pleasure; to share is our song. 

It’s an all-consuming pursuit of happiness of the eternal variety.

And praise? For the Israelites it was embodied in a physical offering, yet there is also the verbal aspect.

We often pride ourselves, thinking we declare our praise and adoration quite often.

We praise God when we call on Him and He shows us great and mighty things. We praise God for healing. We praise God for the big things in our lives. And to us, it seems no sacrifice. The blessings are so obvious.


But what about the things we take for granted? Or perhaps the things that don’t appear to be blessings?

Little things.

Like a minute of sun piercing through the clouds. Like a plethora of Bibles sitting on our shelf. Like instructive criticism from a caring mother. Like golden tamarack trees dotting the hillsides. Like a toothbrush. Like giving to sustain and educate a girl across the world. Like the gift of learning. Even like trials and temptations, suffering and pain, heartache and tears.

Yes, all these are worthy of our gratitude and praise. Through the eyes of the Infinite we can view even the thorniest valley as a gift from the Giver. And we mustn’t forget to pour out our hearts in thanks to the Giver Himself…

With all that He has done for us, praise is no sacrifice; to give is pure joy.

Ashes

{Jeremiah 13}

“More soap?”

“Here.”

“Good. Now the brush.”

“Here.”

“Don’t you have a stiffer one?”

“We have already rubbed him raw and he’s just a black as ever.”

“Then I’ll wash him more, that’s all.”*

---

The words from a favorite Christian classic enter my ears, yet don’t stop there.
They enter my heart…

To us it seems so obvious. Of course you can’t wash off an Ethiopian’s rich skin tone.
It’s enough to be irritated about. Don’t they realize their efforts are futile?

Yet, do we?

Do we realize the utter impossibility of transforming our lives (or anyone's for that matter) into the image of Christ through our own endeavors?

Completely. Hopeless.

But I have news for you…
He has soap and brush infinitely more powerful than anything the two attempting to wash the Ethiopian possessed.

“… for He is like a refiner’s fire, and like fuller’s soap.”**

Yes, soap made from ashes. And a fire to turn dross into ashes.

Ashes.

Only when our dross is burst to ashes can we be instruments in the cleansing process.
And if my ashes can be someone’s salvation, then Lord, let me be burned…

Regardless of the pain.



* {Pilgrim’s Progress}
** {Malachi 3:2}

Stamped with the Cross

 “All the blessings of this life and of the life to come are delivered to us stamped with the cross of Calvary.” {Christ’s Object Lessons, 362}

Not a blessing does God give without an inscription of the cross, concealed or visible. And He often proves adversity to be my greatest blessing.

Hardship and suffering are not situations I particularly desire.
In fact, my human flesh naturally recoils at the thought of sorrow or pain.

I was not originally created to ever experience these consequences of sin. Yet since the fall, these are Christ’s chosen instruments to purge my character from the traces of evil.

I stop and desperately attempt to consider sin with an eternal mindset…

In the light of Calvary, is there anything in my life worth holding onto?
Is there anything too dear for me to relinquish?

I can think of nothing…

Then why do I shrink from the approaching sound of adversity's footsteps? Why do I not embrace the pain, the heartache, the sorrow with unconditional gratitude? They are but a gift of love from my Father, a blessing stamped with the cross…

Staked for Fulfillment

Glory. Honor. Heaven. All at risk of being nullified. And by what? A promise of faithfulness… And to whom? Unworthy, sinful beings who call this blighted earth home.

Just as Christ risked all Heaven when He stooped to uplift fallen humanity, He yet again puts the whole of eternity on the line.

“The honor of His throne is staked for the fulfillment of His word unto us.” {Christ’s Object Lessons, 148}

Everything is staked on the fruition of a promise. If His word fails, even once, the entire plan of salvation will be obliterated forever. Yet Christ will jeopardize the honor of His throne merely to offer us the choice of eternal life.

This sacrifice cannot be taken lightly. He has pledged the entirety of heaven’s resources to secure our deliverance. Will we not risk every earthly loss for heavenly gain?