When Love is Hard to Discern

Sometimes love seems hard to discern.
I mean, the divine love, the God-love.

When you feel that despite your best efforts, your life is out of control.
When you feel on the verge of a physical, mental, emotional breakdown.
When despite thorough studying and many prayers, you get a C on an exam.
When you come down with some variety of bug you picked up on a quick trip to Phoenix.

There are many things that happen on a daily basis that can make you question Love.

But I've found that actually, the reason that love is hard to discern is not the fault of Love.
Rather it is my problem because I have the wrong perspective.

It's like picking up glasses with the wrong prescription and expecting things to be clear.
You'll never see clearly until you have the right prescription.

And so it is with life.

Because when I realize my life is out of control, I run to Him for wisdom, not myself.
When I am on the brink of a breakdown, I cling to Him for strength, energy, renewal.
When I get a C, I realize that it's not the grade that really matters in the end, it's how I handle it.
When I come down with a bug, I'm thankful it's the weekend, and because of it I have a quiet Sabbath.

Through all these I realize that my God does love. Very much.
And these things are but proof of that love.

Love is only hard to discern when you have on the wrong glasses.

"He has given you continual evidences of His love in that He has given you adversity time and again..." 

*The Upward Look, 208

No More Airplane Mode

There's nothing like taking time to just disconnect from the outside world and enjoy family and nature. And that's exactly what I did this weekend. Bliss.

On one of our hikes up the mountain, Kiera and I decided to do some cross-country hiking to a little lake across the mountain bowl. Mom and Dad stayed behind and watched us from the mountainside since Dad's still recovering from his broken ankle.

As we made our way down the rocky slope and into the first of several valleys, we strove to keep our eyes on our goal, but as we dipped further and further, it became harder and harder. Soon we were just heading in what we thought was the right direction.

We continued on our very undulated trek and finally climbed the last knoll to find that we were quite significantly above the targeted lake. Although no harm was done, we did lose a chunk of time descending to the pristine little lake.

When we finally returned back to the mountain where our parents were waiting, I realized that Mom had been trying to text me when she noticed from her eagle eye perch that we were cutting up too high. I, however, had put my phone on airplane mode to save battery, and thus didn't see her messages. Because I didn't have my phone connected, I was unable to receive her guidance even though she desperately wanted to give it to me.

As I was reflecting upon the whole adventure later, it struck me that God must feel the same way. Here we are, down on this little earth. We don't have great perspective on our journey. Yet God can see everything from the end to the beginning, and sometimes He sees us cutting a little too high, or a little too low. And it pains Him because He so desperately wants to guide us.


God wants to save us time and possible misfortune, but unfortunately, the majority of the time we tend to have turned our "phones" off during the day and don't maintain the full-bar connection that we should. We don't memorize the Bible so that God can send us "texts" throughout the day by bringing scripture to mind. We don't put a high enough value on receiving minute-by-minute updates and counsel from our Ultimate Guide.

I have been challenged to rethink about how I go through my day. I need less time connected to my phone, and more time connected to my Maker. No airplane mode with Him. I want to keep in full service today!

Gift for the Minion Girl

"Therefore [because I am to be a beacon on a hill] the Lord is waiting to bestow kindness and favor on me despite the fact that I am His inferior. He arises to shower compassionate love and mercy upon me. He is a God of justice. If I wait for Him, I will find happiness." {Isaiah 30:18, my paraphrase}

I blink twice, trying to absorb Hebrew meanings.

Hello? This is me He's talking about.
Me. His little minion girl.

The girl who falls and makes mistakes.
The girl who gets herself into trouble with her choices
The girl who is trying but so often falls short of God's ideal.

Yes. The very one.

God is waiting — patiently, anxiously, longingly waiting.
Waiting to give me every good thing, every kindness, every favor that heaven could bestow.

Yet it's a two-sided agreement.
He waits for me. I wait for Him.

Waiting is best rewarded in solitude.
"Quietness and confidence shall be your strength." {Isaiah 30:15}

I must wait more.

Glorying Fool

Bondage. Beating. Shipwreck. Stoning. Lashing.
Pain. Hunger. Thirst. Cold. Nakedness. Weakness.

From one travesty, misfortune, hardship to another. The list goes on.
Perils by sea. Perils by land. Perils by robbers, countrymen, heathen and city dwellers.

I have two questions. 

One—who could possibly endure all these things?
And two—how could anyone end such a list with gratitude?

Paul did.

And on top of a list a mile long, he also suffers from his "thorn in the flesh."
Yet he proclaims that Grace is sufficient. That strength is found through weakness.
(And through infirmity, and reproach, and persecution.)

And he calls himself the glorying fool. Because he refuses to abandon gratitude.
I marvel this man who possesses indomitable gratitude.

May I be such a one.

Poured Out [The Filling]

There she stands, her frail body framed by splintered doorposts, her face covered with salty tears. Her body shakes in silent sobs. Life seems to be giving her nothing but sorrow.

Her husband is dead. Her house furnishings have been taken by greedy creditors.
And besides that, now they want her two beloved sons.*

Yet the prophet asks a simple question. Gives simple instructions.

She returns to her home, shuts her door. In her hands she holds the cruse of oil.
It is her last link to hope. And she dares to hope.
She dares to pour. And pour out freely.

And in that one action, a miracle is wrought. A new future is born.

--

Somehow I see my heart in that cruse of oil.
Just enough to start a stream. But not near enough to keep it going.

Yet when I dare to pour, dare to pour out my life freely, a miracle is wrought.
A new future is born. New life springs forth.

In the pouring out, I am filled.

* 2 Kings 4:1-7

Today: A Gift

Birds chirp merrily outside my window, a tiding of spring.
New life will soon be bursting forth beneath melting snow.
Little seedlings sheltered indoors are pushing their green heads toward the sunlight.

It's a promising time of year.

Yet in one week I hear of birth, of death, of sickness, of sorrow. My heart is full.

So often we take things for granted, life especially. 

We don't stop to think that we might not wake up tomorrow.
That we might be in an accident next week.
That we might contract a serious disease next month.
That we might not live to see another year.

There is that possibility you know…

And I've been struck afresh with this one thought.

Live each day as if it were your last.

Beneath the Fog

I gaze out large picture windows to the frosted world beyond. Fog is frozen in time.

Everything is covered with tiny crystals just waiting for a shaft of light to set things sparkling.
It's a wonderland of beauty.

It's a world of potential…

Thoughts swirl softly. These snowflakes of the mind quickly absorb all external sounds as I contemplate life…

There seems to be a parable gazing back at me through the window.
A parable of my life. A parable for me.








This fog? Sometimes it grows thick, enshrouding me in a gray blanket. I cannot see the mountains in the distance or the sun above the clouds, yet I just have to trust they are there.

Then the fog freezes, and I shiver as crystals form. It seems my life has gone from bad to worse.  I'm stuck beneath the fog while icy fingertips paint me with the ice of trial.

Yet when the fog lifts, sun pierces the clouds and I am set sparkling. And I realize that the freezing fog was what made me beautiful.

God creates jewels in foggy shadows.

He calls me His jewel.

A Different Dream

Sometimes I wonder how it can be so hard to let a dream die.

Just when you think you've come to the point of full surrender, of letting go, you wake up and realize that deep within the dream is still there. Suppressed maybe, but very much still there despite all heart-searing efforts to remove it.

It's an interesting feeling when your heart plays tug-of-war. One half sings. The other half cries. Yet in the end it knows what is best. It knows what will hurt least in the long run.

And that is to surrender. To let the dream die.
Because the dream was never mine to cherish in the first place…

In fact, no dream is mine to cherish.
No dream but One.

And so I pray a simple prayer.

Lord, make my life Your dream. And make my dream, You.

Photo Credit: Michel Lee

The God-Treasure

I've seen many styles of boxes in my life…

Woven boxes. Cardboard boxes. Wooden boxes.
Metal boxes. Jeweled boxes. Ceramic boxes. Glass boxes.

And although they might be a varied as butterflies, they have this one thing in common.
They are boxes.

You are a box. I am a box.

Some of us are bedecked with natural beauty, a jewel-like appearance.
Others feel like moving boxes, scarred by rough treatment, defaced with permanent pen-marks.
Countless have erected a formidable metal barrier surrounding the heartbeat, the vulnerable.
Some feel as though everyone can see right through the glass of our exterior.

Yet despite the extreme discrepancies, we are all boxes.
What matters is the content inside.

Because without the treasure, every box is worthless really.
We all have an empty void that we need the God-treasure to fill.

The question is,

Does the God-treasure inhabit your box?

Obedient Suffering

"…He learned obedience by the things which He suffered."*

My eyes turn an unfocused gaze to the opposite wall.
Little shafts of light dance bokeh-style.
My mind is far away.

Is this what makes men invincible?

To suffer and yet trust. To sorrow and yet sing.
To not understand and yet obey.

Is this? Is this the secret?

I think so. Because it says He was "made perfect." Entirely.

But oh, how hard it is to always accept the gift with outstretched hands, especially when it hurts.
Yet this obedience in the midst of suffering creates a beauty, a strength, a trust unlike any other.
And when we come forth, we are called sons and daughters, children of eternity.

"…He learned obedience [was perfected] by the things which He suffered."

May I never resist the fire.

* Hebrews 5:8

Measure of Love

I walk in early morning darkness, dawn barely touching the skyline. Gloved hands covering my ears in an attempt to keep warm. I pray and ponder.

What is it to truly follow the footsteps of One who went before?

I've seen plenty of good weather Christians, those who follow when the path is smooth and easy. But when it turns steep and sharp rocks cover the ground, when the trail turns into a muddy mire, when thorns pierce tender feet, it's easy to turn aside. Because following in His footsteps hurts sometimes. I know. I've been there.

Yet there is no middle ground. 

Either you follow or you don't. 

I think of Joseph. Unconditional following. From a favorite son to a common slave to a trusted servant to a condemned criminal to a prime minister. 

I'm sure he wondered why God was leading him on such a rough pathway, but he chose to trust, chose to love despite the hard lessons taught in this school of adversity. 

"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." {Luke 9:23}

You only "come after" one you love or respect. How much you follow depends on how much you love.

The question is,
How much do you love Him?

What Are You Doing Here?

Sometimes you just have those moments. Moments that slap you in the face and demand a reason why.

And you don't have one. 

Or if you do, it's an excuse that doesn't hold water. 

I've been there. Far too recently. Far too often.

The still small Voice whispers when you're finally quiet enough to listen.

"What are you doing here?"

My silence deepens. I have no answer. Because really, I'm the one who got myself into this mess. 

It wasn't His fault. And any defense I attempt to make will just look foolish.

I know why I'm here. Really, I do.

It's just difficult to admit that to Omnipotence. 

Because if I had just claimed Power, things would be different. 

Yet He offers me angel food and angel water. Heaven's fare. 

And I'm nourished. I can listen again. And hear the Voice. Still and small. 

He says, "Go."

And I return to the place where I last saw light, where I last had victory. And go forth to conquer. 

This love, this pursuing, amazes me.

I go.  

To Know His Heart [The Making of Heroes Part IV]

Sometimes we see only the love.
Ardent affection springs from our own hearts as we offer Him praise.
We warm His heart.

Other times we see only the pain.
We instinctively draw back because we don't want to risk being hurt.
We break His heart.

Rarely do we see both and want His heart.
Because our natural tendency is to shy away from pain.

In fact, our reflex reaction is to stay as far away as possible.
And so when we are wounded, we hide hurt, fester hurt, and too often avenge hurt.

We want the love, but we don't want the pain.
And we think we're doing ourselves a kindness… 

A falsity if I ever heard one.

How can we expect to know the heart of God and not know His pain?
We pray to be intimately acquainted with Him, and yet we don't want the package deal.

Is it that we don't trust Him?
Have we forgotten that it's God's heart that throbs with joy and anguish blended, always?

If we are going to make any impact on our generation, we have to know and have God's heart.
And we learn only by embracing both love and pain as He sends them our way saying, Thank You…

He's the Giver. He gives the gifts. And He only gives good gifts.

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.

Learn Again [The Making of Heroes Part I]

It's astounding to me how easily we glide over the important details.

We see successes. We see providences. We see affluence. We see attainment.
Yet we glibly pass over the grit of life that makes men and women strong.

We read the stories of great Bible characters as if they were another strain of humanity, holding unattainable standards for our degenerate race.

Since when has a teenager become the counselor of a world power king? Since when has a young woman been willing to surrender her life for her nation? Since when has a young man become the king's best friend and saved a foreign country from extermination by famine?

Sometimes I wonder who we think we are. Or more specifically, who we think God is…

Has His power dwindled with the passing of centuries? I think not.

Rather I think it is us who have succumbed to lowering the bar.
We have allowed our standards to deteriorate over time instead of rising to meet loftier aims.

What is wrong with our generation? I attribute it to two things.
Shallow love. Shallow prayer.

We've lost grip on the Power.

It's time to learn again. Learn to love. Learn to pray.
And most importantly of all, learn to know the heart of Love Himself.

Seasoned with Salt

Swords clash while entire wars are fought over it.
People travel thousands of miles on camelback to trade gold for it, ounce-for-ounce.
Roman soldiers receive a "salarium," a partial paycheck of it (from which we derive our word salary).

14,000 uses. One mineral. And we are called to be it.

Salt.

--




Saltiness.

It's not a question of quantity, it's a question of quality.
Because if you have ever claimed the name of Christ, you have claimed His salt too.

We are all "salt-bearers" in a sense.
And I have to admit, I like salt. Somehow it makes everything tastes better.

"Salt is good, but if the salt loses its flavor, how will you season it? 

Have salt in yourselves, and have peace with one another.” Mark 9:50

But salt without its saltiness? Worthless. Impossible. (really?)

The chemical form of sodium chloride cannot be easily altered.
Only by dilution can the saltiness be compromised.

And only by mingling with the substance to which it is added, can it preserve and flavor.

It's a question of caliber.

If we want to exert a saving influence on the world, we must receive the saving salt.
The salt that has not lost its saltiness. And we must mingle in order to preserve.

The world is saved as individuals, not as masses, through personal influence, contact and association.

Salt that has lost its flavor can mingle with the world and not affect a soul.
It's a mere profession of godliness.

But a truly "salty" Christian? The world will not remain the same where he has visited.

"Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, 

that you may know how you ought to answer each one." Colossians 4:6

Unearthing Insecurities

I don't think it's just coincidence that so many on this planet struggle with insecurity.

I never thought I did. 
But I am discovering in my own life that the most dangerous insecurities are the unidentified ones.

It's a hidden trap. Disguised and unrecognized.

Christian society delights in pious platitudes. We say a lot. We want affirmation for the "high standards" that we profess. It's only natural for human nature to desire recognition.

Because of this I find myself having to constantly reevaluate my life, my actions, my priorities but most importantly, the motives behind the things I do.

Whether it is my use of social media, the way I dress, pursuing academic excellence, or anything else.

The list could go on.
It's easy to want to be acknowledged. To be appreciated. To have a good reputation, a following.

But wait a minute.

Didn't Christ make Himself of no reputation?

Yes, indeed.

It's a pause for thought.
Whose affirmation do I really crave?

I want a following. But not the following you might immediately think of.
I'm learning to desire a following of blessing.
And not just the Lord blessing me, but a blessing that leaves a wake.

I want to leave a trail of blessing behind.

And I want my security to be in Christ alone.
So I'm reevaluating.

Are there any hidden insecurities in my life that I need to address that are preventing the Savior from being my true security?

Contradictions.

I have to admit, I'm a mercy lover.

On the flip side, however, I believe in justice. Justice for the falsely accused. Justice for the underdog. Justice for those deprived of justice.

I guess that's still my soft heart.

But is mercy always kindness?

--

"We want judgment for others and mercy for ourselves," the speaker said. 

I suppose it's the nature of the human heart. We want the line held when others step over the boundaries, but we want lenience shown when we ourselves trespass. 

Two-facedness at best. 

A verse comes to mind that I've been meaning to unravel more deeply for the past nine months. 

"He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" Micah 6:8



Do justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly.

Aren't these contradictions?

You tell me.

Since when has God required something of us, but that He did not require it of Himself?

Never.

So it must be possible. Period.

--

My mind suddenly latches onto the secret.
It's when we are walking humbly at His side that we are able to live justice and mercy combined.

It's all a matter of perspective—perspective in regard to the longterm benefit of others.

Since when has God required something of us, but that He did not require it of Himself?

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.