Do You See Your Calling?

I would have titled today's reading, "It's Not About Me." And it is no more about my holiness than it is about my happiness.

On one of my early posts, a friend commented that God seemed to be sending her the same message in a variety of ways. I feel like that today. My book group was responsible for the service at church today. We had read a book by Kathleen Norris last summer, called Acedia & Me. Acedia is a kind of spiritual lethargy, a not caring, a cousin to depression. A friend and I gave companion homilies, and another member of the book group led the congregation in Lectio Divina -- a special method of reading Scripture which encourages audience participation -- on the passage from Jonah where Jonah is inside the fish.

For my homily, I invited the congregation to journey with me to the belly of the fish. In 1998, I spent two weeks as an outpatient on a psychiatric ward of a Seattle hospital. That was the belly of my whale, and his hide was opaque. It was pitch black inside. I could not see God. I could not hear God. I was terribly disoriented from being tossed this way and that, and I didn't like the way it smelled -- like rotting things, like hundreds of mistakes multiplying on each other, like sin. But how did I get there? I was not running from my duty as Jonah was. No, I was running headlong into duty, like an overzealous Pharisee (redundancy intended). I was extremely concerned with my own whiteness. I might even have used Oswald's satirical words: "What I want is anything God can do for me to make me more desirable in my own eyes." And so, to save me, God threw me into the sea and sent a giant fish to swallow me.

Unfortunately, unlike Jonah, I did not learn my lesson after one trip to the fish's belly. My entire adult life has been a traversing back and forth between striving after righteousness and despair at my failure. Last summer, however, when my book group read Acedia & Me, I began to sense that God was breaking the cycle, suggesting a better way: relationship with him. Eventually, that led me to this pilgrimage with Oswald.

"Our calling is not primarily to be holy men and women, but to be proclaimers of the Gospel of God" -- Oswald. It's not about me -- my happiness or my holiness -- but about Him and his holiness and about how it made him happy to redeem us.

"It's all about you, Jesus. It's all about you."

The Dilemma of Obedience

The dilemma doesn't appear until the second half of today's reading when Oswald says that we must choose to obey even if we suspect that our obedience may be hurtful to another, as was the case for Samuel when he had to tell Eli about God's impending punishment. "If you try to prevent the suffering in another life," Oswald writes, "it will prove an obstruction between your soul and God." I haven't even made it to the point of concern that my friend or my child may suffer due to my obedience; I'm still stuck on whether or not he or she is still going to like me. I am willing to risk an obstruction between my soul and God's over the approval of my fellow travelers.

In the first half of the reading, Oswald writes about God's sovereignty and voice: "Nothing touches our lives but it is God Himself speaking. Do we discern His hand or only mere occurrence? Get into the habit of saying, 'Speak, Lord,' and life will become a romance." I want that habit to epitomize my life. I want my life to be a sacred romance.

I couldn't sleep at 4 a.m., so I got up, read today's selection of My Utmost, and prayed. I asked God to speak to me through the current and past circumstances of my life. As this day progresses, I am listening. My ears and heart are awakening to the murmurs of his voice, and as that voice becomes clearer, I will share what I am hearing. For now, I will close with the two verses Oswald mentions:

"If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?" Luke 11:13.

"May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it" I Thessalonians 5:23-24.

Barbara

But It Is Hardly Credible That One Could Be So Positively Ignorant!

"Then I asked, 'Who are you, Lord?'

"'I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,' the Lord replied,'" Acts 26:15.

Oswald's title and today's verse combined led me to the question: Do I know Jesus? I know a lot about him certainly. I grew up in the church afterall, spent 25 years or more in Sunday school. But Oswald writes of not being able to mistake the intimate insistence of God's voice that comes through the language I know best -- my circumstances. I wonder, am I listening? Or am I, like Paul, so sure I know who God is and what he wants that I've stopped my ears?

I am reminded again of another book I am reading, Sacred Journey, by Frederick Buechener, in which he wrote: "Like the Hebrew alphabet, the alphabet of grace has no vowels, and in that sense his words to us are always veiled, subtle, cryptic, so that it is left to us to delve their meaning, to fill in the vowels, for ourselves by means of all the faith and imagination we can muster. God speaks to us in such a way, presumably, not because he chooses to be obscure but because, unlike a dictionary word whose meaning is fixed, the meaning of an incarnate word is the meaning it has for the one it is spoken to, the meaning that becomes clear and effective in our lives only when we ferret it out for ourselves" (emphasis mine).

I am a participant in grace, and listening for God's voice is not a passive activity.

The last part of today's entry contributes further to my question of how well I really know Jesus. Oswald writes: "We imagine that whatever is unpleasant is our duty! Is that anything like the spirit of our Lord, 'I delight to do Thy will, O My God.'"

This, in turn, reminded me of an excerpt my husband, Frank, read me from a book he is reading by Philip Yancey: "Jesus said that the truth will set us free and that he came to give life in all its fullness. If it's not setting you free and enlarging life, then it's not Jesus' message. If it doesn't sound like good news, it's not the gospel."

I think I have feared the so-called "health and wealth gospel" and "self-help psychobabble" so much, that I forgot Christianity is, in fact, based on the best news possible: God -- Creator of the Universe, loving Father, Counselor, Sovereign, Powerful and Wise -- loves me. He really, truly loves me. And, if I live a life without evidence of that, if I am so burdened by duty that I just keep my head down and plow ahead, forsaking joy, forsaking laughter, I am bearing false witness. I am persecuting Jesus by living a lie.

It is hardly credible that one could be so positively ignorant.

Barbara

Persecuting Jesus

"The Spirit of Jesus is conscious of one thing only -- a perfect oneness with the Father, and He says, 'Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart.' All I do ought to be founded on a perfect oneness with Him, not on a self-willed determination to be godly" -- Oswald.

The only appropriate response seems to be a prayer:

Dear God, I'm afraid the words "self-willed," "obstinate," and "rebellious spirit" could all be used to describe me at times -- one of which was yesterday as I was listening to a speaker whose message irked me. I stayed in my seat (barely) but I did not meekly submit. I do not want to experience the crushing revelation that I have been persecuting your son -- although if I am, perhaps the revelation is the only thing that will pierce me to change.

Jesus, I want to learn from you, to be meek and lowly in heart, to follow your example as described in Philippians 2, where Paul says that though you are God, you did not assert your rights to be regarded as such. Rather you freely gave up the throne of heaven and joined your creation as a servant. You humbled yourself to wash your disciples' feet, feed them breakfast, die a criminal's death. I, on the other hand, am in love with recognition. For today, Lord, help me to lay it down, to serve my co-workers, to serve my family, to give up the need to be right or to be recognized as such.

Father God, Lord Jesus, Holy Spirit, lift my head today. Remind me to look up and permit me to experience oneness with you. Amen.

Barbara

Look Again and Think

I think God wrote Matthew 6 with me in mind. The two major themes of the chapter correlate with the two biggest struggles of my life: It's not about performance. Don't worry. Eugene Peterson paraphrases verse one like this: "Be especially careful when you are trying to be good so that you don't make a performance out of it." When you care for the poor, when you pray, when you fast -- it's not about looking good. Not to the pastor or the poor or your boss or your friends or yourself.

Oswald's focus for yesterday and today is on the second theme which begins with verse 25: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?" Jesus then compares us to the birds of the air and the lilies of the field.

Yesterday, I realized there is a correlation for me between performance and worry. I am most inclined to worry when I perceive that I have not performed well. God must have taken this factor into account, right? He knows that I am but dust, that I am a sinful human being, that I am only able to come into his presence by virtue of his son's blood, and while he commands my obedience, he knows I will fail. He knows I will not always make the right choice when it comes to spending money and that I will sometimes lapse into envy or self-absorption. If I -- and my performance or lack thereof -- am able to negate God's sovereign plan for my life, then there is truly no hope.

I have to believe that in verses 29 and 30, Jesus is talking about more than flowing skirts and tailored dresses: "Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" He is able to dress me in grace. Every morning when I look up and confess my fears, my frailty and my failure, a lilies-of-the-field fresh start awaits.

Barbara

Look Again and Consecrate

The thing about lilies and birds . . . they don't screw up. I screw up. I can even screw them up. I've killed two budgerigars and several Asiatic lilies. I gave one of the budgies a bath (a spritz bath with a spray bottle just like the book said). I think it caught cold. The next day it was dead. I fed the other one strawberries, right before I read that strawberries are poisonous for parakeets. Of course, it could have been that Nikki, the cat, gave it a heart attack, but the point is, it wasn't anything the budgie did . . . because budgies don't screw up.

"Their main aim is to obey the principle of life that is in them and God looks after them" -- Oswald.

Lilies sprout, bask in the sun, soak up the water from their roots, grow and look beautiful. Unless I forget to water them, plant them in the wrong place or overfertilize, they will give glory to God with all their sunny orange, yellow and fuschia might.

Budgies and lilies do not worry because budgies and lilies do not sin. I sin, and I worry. I worry that I spent too much money on Christmas presents so I might not have enough for this month's tuition or mortgage or utility bill. I worry because I may have been insensitive and hurt someone's feelings. I worry because I might not be cool enough and people might not like me and then I might not like myself. I worry because I am not always obeying the principle of life that is in me -- the one that says, "Look up."

I can be pathetic -- like right now when all I can think about is how much I want a toasted croissant spread with a thick layer of Nutella -- and then if I eat it, all I'll be able to think about is how fat I'm getting and how I'll never be able to fit into those cute black pants again. And then I'll be depressed and mad at myself for being so undisciplined. Look up.

God loves me. This is a hard concept for me to grasp because, as I said, I screw up. My flight is not always smooth, my feathers always preened or my beauty always readily apparent, but God loves me. He loves me more than the birds of the air or the lilies of the fields who never get it wrong.

If I obey the principle of life that is in me -- "to consider God every day of my life" -- he will look after me.

Look up.

Leave Room for God

Talk about surprises. Paul thought he had committed his life to God. He was a Jew, one of God's chosen people. He was zealous in protecting the traditions of his ancestors and firmly believed he was justified in the persecution of Christians -- these blasphemers who taught a new way to God.

"But when God, who set me apart from birth and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his son in me . . . " While Paul was on the way to Damascus with a letter from the high priest giving him permission to arrest any followers of Christ he might find there, a light from heaven flashed around him, he fell to the ground blinded and heard a voice from heaven speaking to him. God came to Paul in a way he did not expect. Similarly, God surprised Ananias, the believer whom he sent to speak to the newly converted Paul, Christian enemy #1.

I work for a Christian organization, a homeless shelter, in the PR department, and Oswald is right. Sometimes we plan and strategize without taking the surprise element of God into account. I frequently set out to interview someone and write the prescribed article I have in mind. Then, as I interview, I find out the story is really about something else entirely. God breaks in.

"Expect Him to come, but do not expect Him only in a certain way. However much we may know God, the great lesson to learn is that at any minute He may break in," Oswald wisely advises. C.S. Lewis called God the Great Iconoclast. We are not meant to get too comfortable in our knowledge of him.

Annie Dillard has one of my favorite quotes on this subject:

There is no less holiness at this time—as you are reading this—than there was the day the Red Sea parted. . . . In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in a tree. In any instant you may avail yourself of the power to love your enemies; to accept failure, slander, or the grief of loss; or to endure torture. Purity's time is always now.

The God who parted the Red Sea and surprised Paul on the road to Damascus is my God. One and the same. Expect to be surprised.

Barbara

The Overmastering Direction

"Paul was devoted to a Person, not to a cause" -- Oswald.

I'm not sure that this connection will be clear to anyone except me. Today is Sanctity of Human Life Sunday. I am strongly pro-life, and I would love to see an immediate end to abortion. I am committed to the pro-life/anti-abortion cause. I am disinclined, however, to argue with those of the pro-choice agenda. Other than dug-in heels and rising tempers, little seems to change in those arguments. What I am inclined to do is share the story of one teenage girl who chose life and the difference she made by that choice.

My son Drew was born to a 17-year-old senior in high school. She bore the embarrassment of a teenage pregnancy, saw her beautiful, lithe body stretched and changed by an additional 40 pounds, gave up dating and dancing in exchange for 17 plus hours of labor and childbirth. Drew will celebrate his 20th birthday on Valentine's Day because his birthmom chose life. No one who knows Drew would ever dream of arguing that his life should have been cut off before birth. One can argue against a cause, but it is difficult to argue against a 20-year-old man who has brightened the world by his existence in a myriad of ways.

Maybe this example is just on my mind because of the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade, but I do think it illustrates the difference between a commitment to a cause and a commitment to a person.

The Christian life can degenerate into a cause -- a call to morality, a call to fight evil, a call to duty and prayer and Bible reading and ministering to the poor and homeless -- but that is not what God intended.

"It is not sufficient to know that God has redeemed the world, and to know that the Holy Spirit can make all that Jesus did effectual in me; I must have the basis of a personal relationship to Him" -- Oswald.

I will be devoted to the Person of Jesus Christ, the man who brought life and light to the world by his existence, his death and his resurrection.

From the Book of Common Prayer, a Collect for the Presence of Christ: "Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know thee as thou art revealed in Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of thy love. Amen."

Transformed by Insight

"The golden rule for your life and mine is this concentrated keeping of the life open towards God" -- Oswald.

The idea that most intrigued me in today's reading was how Oswald tied transparency and transformation. Consider the phrases "unveiled frankness before God" and "this concentrated keeping of the life open towards God." I usually think of the necessary openness as being one way: letting the light of his presence shine into my life, beholding him through Scripture, through creation, through music and art, so that I am filled with awe at his majesty. Oswald's words, however, have made me wonder: If I have covered my heart with a veil and am hiding in shame the truth of me -- my fears, desires, worries, jealousies, pettiness, disappointments, anger -- can the light really penetrate?

Paul wrote that the New Covenant made the veil no longer necessary: "Even to this day when Moses is read, a veil covers their hearts. But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed in his likeness with every-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit" 2 Corinthians 3:15-18.

It is a frightful thing to stand naked before a mirror, let alone God, but the more I try to cover up and hide, the less able I am to reflect his glory.

Barbara

What Am I Looking at?

"The great difficulty spiritually is to concentrate on God" -- Oswald. Not only do our jobs distract us -- along with entertainment, our kids' activities, the news, worries, finances, hobbies, books and the general business of our lives -- our good works distract us. His blessings distract us. The lives of the saints distract us. Our ideas about what it means to be a good Christian in 21st century America distract us. In truth, in my life, even good, solid biblical teaching has proven a distraction because I let it get between God and me or, perhaps more accurately, I let it be God to me.

Here is the simplicity of which Oswald has been speaking on and off for weeks: "Turn to me and be saved, all you ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is no other," Isaiah 45:22. Turn to him. Look up. Like Moses' snake on the pole lifted high above the people (Numbers 21:9) which, in turn, was a mere picture of Christ lifted high on the cross. "Look up and be saved."

What I need now is singularity of vision. Please don't misunderstand me. Blessings, children's activities, friends, solid Bible teaching, the example of the saints -- all good things -- but I must zealously guard my heart. I must not let those good things quench my thirst (even temporarily) for God. Of course, ultimately, they cannot. Just as drugs, alcohol and sex cannot. But that doesn't stop us from ravenously consuming them in pursuit of satisfaction.

I know there is a danger somewhere off in this general direction of an it's-just-me-and-Jesus mentality -- a hole into which I do not want to fall. It isn't just me and Jesus. I am part of the Body, and Jesus is part of the divine trinity -- with all the reverence and power that entails. But the distortion of an idea -- in this case, an intimate relationship with God trivialized into a buddy-buddy casualness -- does not negate its original value or truth. The distortion may be wrong and terribly misguided. The original is simple, pure and beautiful:

"Look up and be saved."

Barbara

Recall What God Remembers

Oswald's opening question took me by surprise: "Am I as spontaneously kind to God as I used to be, or am I only expecting God to be kind to me?" Kind to God -- I have never really thought in those terms. I consciously strive to be kind to other people, but I have never imagined God needing my kindness -- or caring about it.

Oswald takes the word "kind" from the King James Version of Jeremiah 2:2. God is instructing Jeremiah: "Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, saying: 'Thus saith the Lord, I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown.'" My NIV translation uses the word "devotion," which doesn't strike me the same way. Of course I'm supposed to be devoted to God, but kind?

For some reason, kindness translates into gestures in my mind: Waking up and acknowledging his presence, "Good morning, God." Inviting him to go with me to dinner or the movies. Considering his feelings and, as Oswald suggests, what he likes and doesn't like. Pointedly thanking him for his gifts, complimenting his good work, and keeping my eyes open for some small thing he might like. Sending a "just because" or "thinking of you" note.

Kindness requires thought, and being kind to God frames him as a Person -- not a human being, but a Person. Today, I will be kind to God.

Barbara

Are You Fresh for Everything?

Here are Oswald's phrases that stuck out to me today:

• "as mysterious as the wind, as surprising as God Himself"
• "a perennial, perpetual and eternal beginning"
• "the continual surprise of the life of God"
• "freshness does not come from obedience but from the Holy Spirit"
• "don't pretend with Him"

I read in a book once where the author said she often wanted desperately to stand up in the middle of the church service and shout, "God is not ordinary!" I want to shout that -- to myself -- because, even though I know he isn't, I often act as though he is. Prayer -- ho hum. Church -- ho hum. A relationship with the Almighty Creator of the universe -- ho hum? I don't think so.

Mysterious. If he knows when a sparrow falls to the ground and the number of hairs on my head, if he loads the clouds with moisture and tells the rain, "Be a mighty downpour," then he knows when an island country will be devastated by a 7.2 earthquake. If he spreads out the skies and makes the lightning flash, then he could prevent tragedy of epic proportions, but this time -- in Haiti's case -- he didn't.

Surprising. Almost 20 years ago, he gave me -- a barren woman -- not just one child, but two. One in my arms and one in my womb. The first was born on the day of love, and four years later on the exact same day, he gave me a third child.

Fresh. Like a deep red strawberry plucked warm from the vine. Like the whisper of breeze on a horribly hot day. Like orange juice squeezed moments before drinking. Like a baby's fascination with his newfound toes. Like words or colors unexpectedly thrown together or the smile of a stranger.

Perpetual beginnings. What I can have day after day after day if I am honest and don't pretend.

If I confess my sins, he is faithful and just to forgive my sins and cleanse me from all unrighteouness.

God is not ordinary.

Barbara

Vision and Darkness

I had not thought about how dark it might be in the shadow of God's hand. And quiet.

Genesis 15 contains one of the most famous verses in Scripture. Paul quoted it in Galatians to reassure his readers that Abraham was saved by faith: "Then he believed in the Lord; and He reckoned it to him as righteousness," v. 6. And so, Paul argued, the true sons of Abraham are those who have faith. Abraham, by believing against all odds, set an example for all history to follow, but the reward for this belief, this faith, this hope was not immediate.

Today's verse comes in the middle of God's response to Abraham's request for reassurance: a strange ritual where God asks Abraham to bring him a three-year-old heifer, a three-year-old female goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtle dove and a young pigeon. Abraham then splits each in half with the exception of the birds, lays the halves opposite each other, and strives to keep the vultures away. Then today's verse: "Now when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and behold, terror and great darkness fell upon him." God seems to have come to him more like a nightmare than a dream. Terror is a strong word, and God's first words in this vision are not words of comfort. He tells Abraham that his descendants will be strangers in a strange land, slaves. Then comes the promise of inheritance. Then, quiet.

Oswald alludes to the following chapter where Abraham -- in the midst of silence from God -- listens to Sarah's advice. He determines to help God out and conceives a child with Hagar, Sarah's handmaid.

I am hesitant to trivialize Abraham's experience by making a comparison with mine, and yet, if I do not, he will remain a distant stranger in a book. I started this blog as a pilgrimage, a search for God and the personal relationship I believe he promises in His Word. I am approximately seven weeks into a year-long journey, and I have grown impatient, a bit frantic even (remember Veruca?) I have not achieved the goal -- a closeness with God. The number of comments have diminished considerably. It is quiet.

Oswald's word for today, for me: wait.

Barbara

It is the Lord!

"Thomas said to him, 'My Lord and my God!'" John 20:28.

To put Thomas' exclamation in context: The disciples were together in a locked room after Jesus' crucifixion. Suddenly, Jesus appeared in their midst and said, "Peace be with you." Only Thomas wasn't there the first time and did not believe the others. In fact, he said, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it." A week later, the scene was repeated, but this time Thomas was present, and Jesus invited him "to reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." And Thomas proclaimed his belief: "My Lord and my God!"

Jesus responded: "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." Was that a reproof? I'm not sure. In any case, Jesus was speaking of us, was he not? We cannot put our fingers where the nails were or put our hands in his side. We cannot touch him at all or see him with our physical eyes or hear him with our physical ears. For us, this faith is not based on any sensory experience of him at all. "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see," Hebrews 11:1. Jesus called us "blessed."

Oswald refers to two other passages in today's short reading. "Give Me to drink" comes from the passage where Jesus is sitting by the well and asks the Samaritan woman who approaches for a drink. The other comes from the first chapter of Acts when Jesus tells the disciples that they will be witnesses unto him.

All of which to say that Oswald's take on these passages left me troubled and confused: What is the basis for Oswald's declaration that we should not be "drawing on Him to satisfy us"? Can we really pour out without drinking in? What would Oswald think of John Piper's assertion that God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him? I hate the idea of being "drunk to the dregs." To me, that implies a burned-out, used-up martyr operating on her own strength rather than God's. Afterall, Christ tells the Samaritan woman, "If you knew who I was, you would ask me for a drink, and I would give you living water." I am clear on Oswald's point that service can compete with devotion, that service can meet our needs for performance and accomplishment quite apart from a love for God, but where is the danger in drawing on him to satisfy us? I would say the danger lies in quite the opposite direction.

I am further troubled by the fact that I did not start this journey with the intention of arguing with Oswald on every point. I entitled the blog "Following Oswald" because I see him as a mentor, and I envisioned myself sitting at his feet for instruction. However, I am rediscovering a truth I think I have always known about myself: I do not accept instruction easily. I have to wrestle things through until they make sense to me, and sometimes that means asking a hundred questions. In my defense , I will say this: I believe Oswald would have the answers to my questions, and perhaps one day -- if theological discussions of this sort are still relevant then -- I'll share a cuppa with him and pose them.

As always, comments are more than welcome.

Barbara

The Vocation of the Natural Life

Simply put, I think Oswald is saying good works flow from a heart utterly devoted to God. Service is a response motivated by love, not a specific call. God's call, as Oswald emphasized yesterday, is an expression of his nature, and we respond to his glory and grace with our acts of service.

1 - He calls -- through nature, through his Word, through the Gospel lived out in His people.
2 - He specifically reveals himself to us and in us.
3 - We are compelled to respond through service, and that service takes a form fitted to our nature.

Imagine the craziness of trying to put #3 first or of isolating #3 and calling it "Christianity," but I think that's what I've been trying to do for years. Service must flow from relationship or it is not Christianity at all. It might be good and noble and even bear good fruit. It might be social justice, humanitarianism, the best of what religion has to offer; but absent of relationship, it cannot be Christianity. Indeed, without relationship, what does the compelling? Fear? Guilt? Self-importance? One might say, genuine love and concern for my neighbor apart from any kind of deity, and then I'm not sure what I would answer. Apart from any kind of deity, I have not felt it.

But let's leave that and look at #3 as it results naturally from a realization of God's glory and grace, the "fitted to our nature" part.

"It is my own little actual bit and is the echo of my identification with the nature of God," as Oswald states.

My own actual little bits, my echoes, as I see them today: to be a storyteller, a truth teller, to repeat in a variety of written and spoken forms the ways I've seen God's grace manifest in my life and the lives of others; and to serve my family and friends through listening to the details of their lives, through folding their t-shirts and underwear, through physical, tangible reminders of God's grace and beauty -- a hug, a cup of tea with milk and sugar, a poem or story -- and through an unwavering, consistent presence in their everyday lives. It's a beginning, and for now, I am determined not to rush onward into a call I do not hear.

Barbara

The Voice of the Nature of God

"The call of God is the expression of God's nature" -- Oswald.

When Oswald focused on this same passage (Isaiah 6) a couple days ago, the emphasis seemed to be on the verses following verse 8 or Isaiah's response to God's call. Today the emphasis seems to be on the verses preceding verse 8 or the nature of the one who is calling. Isaiah saw the Lord seated on his throne, surrounded by seraphim who were shouting: "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of hosts. The whole earth is full of His glory," and he was changed to his core: "Woe is me, for I am ruined! . . . my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts."

The call on Isaiah's life begins with a vision of God, and I think that's where God's call on my life must begin, as well. Not with the call itself -- wife, mother, writer, counselor, teacher . . . Not with my talents and circumstances -- the need for money, my skills as a writer, the desires of my heart . . . but with God. I must seek him, pursue him, gaze upon him until I am changed to my core. The call itself is nothing unless I understand the nature of the One who calls.

I believe Scripture is the primary source for this revelation of God's nature, and I must seek him there, but "the whole earth is full of His glory." I will seek him and listen for him in my everyday life, as well.

"We must learn to listen to the cock-crows and hammering and tick-tock of our lives for the holy and elusive word that is spoken to us out of their depths" -- Frederick Buechner.

Seeking and listening -- may it be the pattern of my life.

Barbara

Do You Walk in White?

I'm not sure I agree with Oswald today. I'm not sure that he has accurately interpreted the Scripture passage. I know that I cannot hearken back to a "white funeral" or a "last day." Neither can I hearken back to a specific day of conversion, my second "birthday" as it used to be emphasized. I grew up in a Christian home. I know not when God gave me a new heart. I have grown gradually in my faith, and I cannot point to a beginning when the seed was planted and began to sprout. I daresay my children would be in the same position. I have a covenant view of Scripture and baptism: we mark our children through the sacrament, and we assume that they are a part of the family of God. I know Jesus said that you must be born again, but I'm not sure you have to know when that happened. Likewise, I cannot see the necessity of recalling a specific day, as Oswald suggests, when I made an agreement with God.

Secondly, Oswald seems to be advocating a sort of second baptism or second death, apart from our original identification in Christ's death at the point of salvation, and I really do not see that in today's verse: "Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, in order that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life," Romans 6:4. When we accept his payment on the cross for our sins, then we have died with him, and the sanctification -- "the newness of life" -- begins. We don't have to do anything extra.

On the positive side, I think Oswald asks a legitimate question: "Do you agree with God that you stop being the striving, earnest kind of Christian you have been?" I'm still thinking about what this means. I am a striving, earnest kind of Christian. I tend to be a bit pharisaic in my approach to life. I would like to stop, but the way out isn't always clear.

I see parallels between Oswald's "white funeral" and the concept of a "living sacrifice," but whereas a funeral is a one-time event, the living sacrifice strikes me as being moment by moment.

Barbara

Called of God

Warning: I may sound a bit pathetic this morning. I feel a bit pathetic, and Oswald is not helping. His words seem cold and harsh and almost -- but not quite -- empty. I sound a bit like Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in my own head: "I want intimacy with Jesus, and I want it NOW!" Ridiculous, I know. My friend Jenny is up there, too, talking to Veruca: "It's not about that. It's about a commitment. You made a commitment, and you just keep on keeping on." And my sweet friend Jessica says, "Happiness is elusive. It's not really the goal." And I'm beginning to look a little possessed, just like Veruca before she jumps into the "bad egg" shoot, "I'm almost 50 years old, and I really want happiness. I don't think it's overrated. I want it. I want it with Jesus, and I want it NOW."

Well, you can understand why it gets a little crazy up there sometimes. Unmoved by Oswald, I turned to the Scripture, reading the passage around today's verse for context. After Isaiah said, "Here I am. Send me!" God told him to give this message to the people: "Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving." He continued: "Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn and be healed."

When Isaiah asked, how long? God replied, "Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left deserted and the fields ruined and ravaged . . . but as the terebinth and oak leave stumps when they are cut down, so the holy seed will be the stump in the land."

The holy seed will be the stump in the land. My heart feels a bit calloused, my eyes and ears a bit dull. I'm tired of keeping on. But there is a holy seed. I can faintly hear God calling, and though my voice is weak, I am saying, "Here I am. Send me."

Have You Ever Been Alone with God?

"Jesus can expound nothing until we get through all the noisy questions of the head and are alone with Him," -- Oswald.

Getting rid of the noise in my head can be a challenge. I have a walk I like to take that is all uphill one way, and the whole way up, I am fretting and striving and pushing and breathing hard -- trying to expend all the noise and energy racing around in my brain. I stop for a few moments at the top, look out at the view -- pine trees, houses and rolling hills -- and try to flip the switch. Not so much from on to off as from listening to the noise to listening for God. I started to say "listening to God," but that wouldn't really be accurate. I don't hear him speaking to me, and it's not a certainty of his presence. Mostly, I try to stay outside my own head and open to signs of him. I try to appreciate the beauty and keep my senses attuned, and almost always, I catch something -- a sense of peace or awe, a breath of inspiration. Sometimes I catch myself wrestling with ideas on the way down, but for the most part, the noise subsides, and for those ten minutes, I am open.

Barbara

Have You Ever Been Alone with God?

"We have to get rid of the idea that we understand ourselves; it is the last conceit to go. The only One Who understands us is God" -- Oswald.

He understands me, and when I am alone with him, he will reveal me to myself. For my part, I cannot simply cling to what I would like to be true of me. I have to be willing to look at my own soul with courage, and I can have that courage because the One who reveals my innermost thoughts, desires and feelings also loves me deeply.

Somehow, I wasn't wild about the tone of today's reading. For me, it had a bit of that "wait until your father gets home" sound to it. Wait until he gets you alone; then he'll show you how wicked you really are. But reading Oswald in context, I do not think that can be what he really intended. The concept of being loved and understood and having a loving guide through the quagmire of my own soul is actually very comforting.

Barbara

What My Obedience Costs Other People

I am reading David McCasland's biography of Oswald Chambers, Abandoned to God: the Life Story of the Author of My Utmost for His Highest. I think Oswald's personal story offers some insight into today's reading and Oswald's assertion that when we obey God it is going to cost other people dearly.

McCasland includes a letter from Oswald to his father in which Oswald answers his father's plea to get a paying job. Here is an excerpt: "You say can I not earn money somewhere and someway else so that I can help my Mother and sisters to say nothing of you? I could at the expense of greater usefulness. What is money help to you and mother and my sisters compared to the eternal assistance I am certainly enabled to give here to souls. I dare to say, in Heaven, you will thank God for the life so few of you deem more than mere foolishness."

Another example might be seen in Oswald's decision to break off a long-term relationship: "The decision came from Oswald as a cross-bearing sacrifice he felt compelled to make in order to follow Christ completely." However, the author writes of this sacrifice as costing Oswald quite as much as the woman, Chrissie.

Oswald considers it a matter of pride that we do not want our obedience to cost anyone else, and he states that we cannot expect our situation to be different from Christ's. He refers to a passage in Luke where Jesus and the disciples are described as traveling from one town and village to another, and "these women were helping to support them out of their own means."

I see Oswald's point. My only caveat (and it's actually a fairly big one) is this: We better be sure that our costly actions truly are obedience. In the primary passage attached to today's lesson, Jesus is on his way to the crucifixion, and the related cost to another is that the cross is given to Simon of Cyrene to bear. Clearly, the cost proceeds from Christ's obedience. In my life, however, I seldom find the lines so clearly drawn. I think I am called to write. If that writing does not produce an income and my husband must bear the complete weight of providing for our family, can I be sure that his burden results from my obedience? Or, if I sit at the computer for hours -- struggling to digest a concept and relate it -- can I be sure that the cost to my family by way of neglected household duties is a result of my obedience?

As is often the case, Oswald's black-and-white lines seem rather blurry to me.

Barbara

The Opened Sight

Today's verse is part of Christ's speech to Paul on the road to Damascus after the blinding light has driven Paul and his fellow travelers to fall on their faces. In Acts 26, Paul is relaying the information to King Agrippa as part of his defense. Oswald refers to this as "the grandest condensation of the propaganda of a disciple of Jesus Christ in the whole of the New Testament," by which I think he means a clear, concise summation of the call to evangelize:

"Arise, stand on your feet; for this purpose I have appeared to you, to appoint you a minister and a witness not only to the things which you have seen, but also to the things in which I will appear to you; delivering you from the Jewish people and from the Gentiles, to whom I am sending you, to open their eyes so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the dominion of Satan to God, in order that they may receive forgiveness of sins and an inheritance among those who have been sanctified by faith in Me," Acts 27:16-18. Oswald specifically refers to the bold type, v. 18.

I quoted all three verses because I find the first one extremely instructive, as well. My job is to be a witness to the things I have seen -- the ways God has worked in my life and the ways I have observed him at work in others -- and to the things in which he appears to me -- what he shows me in my personal time with him. My job is to be a storyteller -- to tell the story of my walk with Jesus.

Then God sends us to people or sends people to us in order that

• their eyes and ears may be open to the truth
• they may turn from darkness to light, from sin to salvation
• they may turn from a tyrannous slave driver to a loving Father
• they may receive forgiveness and join the fellowship of the children of God and all that entails.

Oswald emphasizes the difference between conversion (the turning from sin and Satan) and regeneration (the gift of a new heart): "When a man is born again, he knows that it is because he has received something as a gift from Almighty God and not because of his own decision." God is the One who does the saving.

Barbara

Intercessory Introspection

I love today's passage: "May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it," I Thess. 5:23-24.

Here it is from The Message: "May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole, make you holy and whole, put you together -- spirit, soul, and body -- and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ. The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he'll do it!

I thought Oswald's entry for today was poetic. Plus, he referenced my favorite Psalm -- 139. So I thought I'd try a little poetry of my own.

I am a Picasso. My head sits
smack in the middle of my chest. Displaced,
my heart whispers unintelligibly
somewhere
in the midst of the broken geometry.
One eye triples the size
of the other what with straining
to see
clearly.
I am a Picasso.
A mystery to myself.

I want to be a Van Gogh.
Brilliant gold sunflowers and
black blue skies
reverberating starry starry at
an inviting outdoor cafe.
Come,
lunch with me in one
beyond-natural celebration of all
that is true and beautiful.
I want to be a Van Gogh.

He is the painter, and I am no mystery to him. As Oswald said, he is "the god of the early mornings, the God of the late at nights, the God of the mountain peaks, and the God of the sea." And he is the God of me.

Barbara

Does My Sacrifice Live?

A few people have told me that they've been reading my blog without reading Oswald. I'm flattered, but if you're reading today, please click on the link at the right, read Oswald, and then enter into a discussion with me -- via posted comments or in person -- about what it means to be a living sacrifice. The language of today's entry may have been fresher when My Utmost was written, but I am having difficulty putting the thoughts into my everyday language. What is the difference between "giving things up" and "being a living sacrifice"?

I am also confused by Oswald's use of the story of Abraham being prepared to sacrifice Isaac. Was that not what God called Abraham to do? Was Abraham confused? Oswald writes that "God purified Abraham from this blunder." What does he mean by that?

Jim Eliot said, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

My questions:

• How do I go about "loosening the bands that hinder my life"?
• Is God calling me to give something up in exchange for life with him?
• What does it mean to be a living sacrifice?

I'm really hoping to hear from some of you.

Barbara

Intimate with Jesus

Earlier this morning, I had one of those "ah-ha" moments. (Imagine a little bubble above my picture with a light bulb in it.) It stemmed from this line in today's reading: "The whole discipline of life is to enable us to enter into this closest relationship with Jesus Christ." Indulge me and read that again. "The whole discipline of life is to enable us to enter into this closest relationship with Jesus Christ." The whole discipline of life -- working, shopping, parenting, praying, struggling, loving, laughing, eating . . . everything -- is about bringing me into intimacy with God.

That's quite a bit different from this: Everything that happens in life is about God shaping me into the person he wants me to be. This last statement is the one on which I've based my life, and while I believe it is probably also true, the emphasis is radically different. The trajectory of a life founded on the former principle might look very similar to the trajectory of a life founded on the latter, but the quality of those two lives might bear little resemblance. One starts and ends with relationship. The other easily slides into performance.

Worship

I have heard worship defined as "ascribing worth to God." The actual etymology, according to several online references, is "shaping worth." How does one do that? I am merely a sinful human being, albeit kissed with the image of God. How can I ascribe worth to God? The activities we perform in church come immediately to mind -- singing, praying, teaching, preaching. We can say with our mouths that God is worthy of adoration. We can dance and play on the flute and lyre and harp and trumpet. The piano, the guitar, the drums -- a loud cymbal crash commands the attention of which God is worthy. But we all know worship must leave the building.

I happened on an interesting website as I was searching for the origin of the word worship, "Experiencing Worship: Discover the Very Thing Which God Created Us to Experience for His Glory." Debbi Barnett, the worship leader who wrote the article, encourages that we put ourselves into Scripture. "Imagine that you just crossed the Red Sea, and you're with Israel when they sing, 'The horse and rider he has thrown into the sea.' Imagine the walls of Jericho falling with shouts of praise. Imagine yourself seeing the elders laying down their crowns and saying, 'Worthy is the Lamb.'" Those ideas seem to move us into the world a bit more.

Oswald describes worship as "giving God the best that He has given you," and he emphasizes that it cannot be merely a segment of your life: "Some of us go in jumps like spiritual frogs, we jump from worship to waiting, and from waiting to work. God's idea is that the three should go together." Here Oswald uses the symbolism of Abraham pitching his tent between the two cities -- Bethel, the house of God, on the one side, and Ai, the ruins, on the other -- to illustrate our place in the world but not of the world. Our worship must take place in full view of the world.

The best that God has given me -- my husband, my children, the beauty of the Northwest, my mind, my friends, books, my writing, my health, my time. What does it mean to give those gifts back to God? "Take time to meditate before God and offer the blessing back to Him in a deliberate act of worship," Oswald suggests.

Offering the blessings back. As I journey through this year, I will take the best that God has given me, and meditate as Oswald suggests.

The Afterwards of the Life of Power

Follow me. Oswald refers to three different instances where Jesus spoke to Peter about following him. Initially, Peter and his brother Andrew are fishing beside the Sea of Galilee, and Jesus says, "Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." Scripture tells us that they left their nets "at once" and followed. The second time is before the crucifixion when Jesus tells his disciples that where he is going they cannot immediately follow, and Peter protests. The third time is recorded in the last chapter of John. Jesus has found the disciples fishing. He cooks breakfast for them and then has a sobering conversation with Peter where he asks, "Do you love me?" three times. After Peter's third yes, Jesus replies, "Feed my sheep. I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. . . Follow me!"

Peter has changed between the first and second conversations. He has spent three years with this man, seen him perform miracles, walked on water with him, listened to his parables and their explanations, witnessed the transfiguration. Peter expresses real devotion when he says, "Lord, I will lay down my life for you." Oswald powerfully describes the even greater change that takes place between the second and third conversations: "Peter had denied Jesus with oaths and curses, he had come to the end of himself and all his self-sufficiency, there was not one strand of himself he would ever rely upon again, and in his destitution he was in a fit condition to receive an impartation from the risen Lord."

Not one strand of himself he would ever rely upon again. How at odds that God-dependence is with what is communicated to us in a hundred different ways every day from the world.

Why Cannot I Follow Thee Now?

John 13 illustrates the truth of yesterday's assertion that Jesus and his ways sometimes appear to be surrounded by clouds and darkness to us. They certainly were for Peter in this chapter. First Jesus wants to wash Peter's feet, and Peter replies, "No, you shall never wash my feet." When Jesus insists that it is a requirement for relationship, Peter says, "Then wash my whole body." Again, Jesus indicates that Peter has missed the point. Toward the end of the chapter, Jesus says that he is going away and that the disciples cannot follow. Peter doesn't accept that. He demands: "Lord, why can't I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you." And Jesus answered: "Will you really lay down your life for me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times."

As Oswald writes, Jesus possessed "a deeper knowledge of Peter than Peter had of himself." Peter wanted to do great things for Jesus, but he wasn't quite clear on what was required. Jesus, however, knew both Peter and what was required. There is great comfort here. Jesus knows me better than I know myself. I might think I know what I'm ready to undertake, but he truly does know. He knows the pieces that will take me by surprise as Peter was taken by surprise in the high priest's courtyard. He knows my fears, my weaknesses, where and how I am inclined to fail. He also knows my strengths. He hasn't missed the growth that has taken place. I do not need to sell myself. He knows me better than I know myself. Hence, his timing is better than mine. When I say, Now! and he says, Wait, I need not doubt which one of us is right.

I should probably leave it there, but Oswald makes a point which troubles me. "Never run before God's guidance," he writes. "If there is the slightest doubt, then He is not guiding. Whenever there is doubt -- don't." I'm afraid, if I followed this advice, I would never do anything at all. Absolute certainty escapes me most of the time.

Barbara

Clouds and Darkness

I might not have had as much trouble with today's reading if I hadn't read those December devotionals where Oswald described obedience as easy. From December 23: "The proof that your old man is crucified with Christ is the amazing ease with which the life of God in you enables you to obey the voice of Jesus Christ." Compare that with the opening lines of today's devotional: "A man who has not been born of the Spirit of God will tell you that the teachings of Jesus are simple. But when you are baptized with the Holy Ghost, you find 'clouds and darkness are round about Him.'" And this line from the end of the first paragraph: "After the amazing delight and liberty of realizing what Jesus Christ does, comes the impenetrable darkness of realizing Who He is."

So, I struggled. If Jesus' teachings are not simple, if he is surrounded by mystery and darkness, how can it be easy to follow him?

Honestly, I still chafe at the adjective "easy" being applied to life in general, obedience in particular, but that aside, here's where I landed after wrestling with today's concepts:

• Reverence is required. Jesus became man. He is Emmanuel -- God with us -- true intimacy is possible, yes, but he is still God. We are not equals. His thoughts are beyond our comprehension. We may come boldly before his throne, but we still stand on hallow ground. We must take "our commonplace religious shoes off our commonplace religious feet."
  
• Listening is required. It is the Spirit of God working in us that makes Scripture personal and life-giving. "The Bible has been so many words to us -- clouds and darkness -- then all of a sudden the words become spirit and life because Jesus re-speaks them to us in a particular condition." I remember experiencing this with the story of the woman at the well -- a story I had heard a hundred times and thought I knew. I was in a place in my life where I felt radically misunderstood, and I heard this story anew as reassurance that God knows me, understands me.
  
• Mystery is involved. I cannot simply sit down with the proper books, notebook and pen, and apply scholarly principles to the understanding of God's Word. I am dependent on the Spirit to whisper, to prod, to open my eyes, and to move me to a position where comprehension is possible. This is a departure for me from the years when I regarded Scripture as completely accessible to everyone.
  
• Finally, I do not understand Oswald's last two sentences with regard to the distinction between dreams and visions and words. Anyone else? Please feel welcome to leave a comment if you have some insight on that point.

Today's Bible passage -- "Clouds and darkness are round about Him" -- is from Psalm 97:2, and so while wrestling with today's blog, I turned to Eugene Peterson's study on the Psalms: Prayers of the Heart. I appreciated his explanation of the language of the Psalms as a combination of poetry and prayer and found it tangentially relevant to today's subject; so I am attaching an excerpt in a comment below.

Barbara

Will You Go Out without Knowing?

"I cried out with no reply, and I can't feel you by my side. So I'll hold tight to what I know. You're here, and I'm never alone," from Never Alone by the Barlow Girls.

Faith

Hebrews 11 begins with these verses: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God's command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible." The writer of Hebrews describes the faith of Abel, Enoch, Noah, and then in today's verse, Abraham: "By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going."

Abraham was setting out on a grand adventure. Forgive me, I don't mean to imply that it was easy. I know that he was a wealthy, established man with everything to lose and seemingly nothing to gain, and yet, wasn't that part of the grand adventure? How do I apply this principle of "going out" to my ordinary, every day life? Oswald writes: "Each morning you wake it is to be a 'going out,' building in confidence on God," and he quotes Jesus, "Take no thought for your life . . . nor yet for your body."

Today is January 2, 2010, a Saturday at the end of a two-week vacation from school for my children. The Christmas tree needs to be taken down, the ornaments put away, and the rest of the house is screaming for order to be re-established -- dishes, laundry, leftovers sorted. What does "going out" mean for a day like today? I want to live in "perpetual wonder" as Oswald describes. I want my life to have an "ineffable charm about it which is a satisfaction to Jesus." But how? There is no grand adventure here, no call to brave acts, no courage required.

At present, I have only this partial answer. I prefer a character-driven novel to a plot-driven one. Oswald writes: "Have you been asking God what He is going to do? He will never tell you. God does not tell you what He is going to do; He reveals to you Who He is."

Help me, God, to go out in perpetual wonder in the midst of my household duties. Let my grand adventure be a discovery of who you are. And even when I can't feel you by my side, I'll hold tight to what I know: You're here, and I'm never alone.

Let Us Keep to the Point

In the introduction to my edition of My Utmost for His Highest, Richard Halverson, former chaplain to the US Senate, writes: "Through the years Chambers has kept me on course by bringing me back to Jesus. Believing Jesus, not just believing my beliefs about Jesus, is basic." I appreciate his distinction -- "believing Jesus, not just my beliefs about Jesus." I might have said, "believing Jesus, not just believing in Jesus." Through this pilgrimage, I hope to progress toward the former whereas most of my life has been structured around the latter. I believed God wanted me to attend church faithfully, serve in the church, teach Sunday school, marry a Christian, be a supportive wife, serve my family as a stay-at-home mom, and in the course of time, home school my children. Certainly not bad things, but in and of themselves those behaviors, those actions, those roles, do not constitute my utmost for his highest.

While I began this blog at the beginning of December, I see the last few weeks as a sort of warm-up, a preparation, a test to see if I could keep up the daily discipline of a blog like this. I still feel very much at the beginning of my pilgrimage, and Oswald's point today comes to me like a question -- the answer to which will be the blast from the starter's pistol: On what point has Jesus asked you to yield to him?

I prayed before beginning to write and asked Jesus to reveal the answer. It isn't entirely clear to me yet; so we may have a few false starts, but as I grow in my understanding of what Jesus is asking of me, I will share that. In the meantime, I can prepare my heart for the traps Oswald describes.

He writes that we are kept from all-out yielding to Jesus by an "overweening consideration for ourselves." I had to look up "overweening." (Online dictionaries are a handy tool when reading Oswald.) Dictionary.com defines overweening as exaggerated, excessive or arrogant. When Jesus reveals my yielding point, I will listen for the beginnings of internal debate and the subsequent crisis where Jesus requires me to choose -- his way or mine -- and I will remember Oswald's advice that surrender is the answer.

Part of the debate, Oswald suggests, will be me telling God that he doesn't know what he's asking. Again, I will attempt to remember Oswald's words:

"Keep to the point; He does know. Shut out every other consideration and keep yourself before God for this one thing only -- My Utmost for His Highest."