My Joy . . . Your Joy

"The life that is rightly related to God is as natural as breathing wherever it goes" -- Oswald.

As natural as breathing. The opposite of self-conscious. God living through me. Not me stiltedly trying to do his bidding and then evaluating my performance.

"Be rightly related to God, find your joy there, and out of you will flow rivers of living water" -- Oswald. But the rivers won't be my concern. I won't be judging their flow or forcing them or damming them up. I will be living moment by moment ever conscious of God's goodness and my position before him as a beloved child.

Rightly related to God. As natural as breath. Finding my joy in his presence, in his unchanging, unwavering approval. That is what I long for. That is what I pray for.

Am I Convinced by Christ?

In my own words: My usefulness is not the measure of my worth. When I am in right relationship with God -- that is, when I understand at my core that he loves me and I, in turn, love him with all that I am -- then I will fulfill God's purpose for me. I may not hear from anyone. I may not think I've done anything out of the ordinary. I may not write anything that makes an obvious impact. In fact, it may appear that I am a nobody who has done nothing of any lasting value or it may appear that I have created conflict and havoc in one situation after another. It doesn't matter. My usefulness is not the measure of my worth. All that matters is that I keep in right relationship with God. Any work he wants to do through me, he will do, and I might not ever know it because . . . my usefulness is not the measure of my worth. Believe me, the only way that idea is going to get through my thick head is if I repeat it over and over and over. My usefulness is not the measure of my worth. My usefulness is not the measure of my worth.

Sublime Intimacy

All this time -- years and years -- I have thought it was a small thing that I questioned God's love for me. More his problem than mine, as arrogant as that sounds. After all, I've been obedient. Isn't that the important point? Like the older brother, I've been slaving away, walking the straight and narrow. I've got a pretty good record on all the biggies -- lying, cheating, stealing, adultery, murder. I don't use drugs or drink to excess. I go to church regularly, try to use the best of my gifts in his service, speak the truth, put my children's needs before my own, vote pro-life, boycott Victoria's Secret. I've been here slogging it out day after day, a real trooper, but I have questioned whether God noticed or cared -- questioned his love for me.

Gradually, I am beginning to see that what I thought was a small thing is perhaps the only thing.

Here's how Oswald describes faith: "unutterable trust in God, trust that never dreams that he will not stand by us."

If I don't believe he loves me, how can I trust him? And if I don't trust him, how can I possibly have faith that he will stand by me? And if I don't have faith that he will stand by me, what good is the obedience?

Jesus loves me. I need to begin at the beginning. Because without that foundation, without the fundamental, unshakable knowledge that I am loved, I've got nothing. And my obedience is nothing but wasted time.

What's the Good of Prayer?

A few related questions and answers from the Heidelberg catechism:




Q 116: Why is prayer necessary for Christians?

A: Because it is the chief part of the gratitude which God requires of us, and because God will give his grace and Holy Spirit only to those who sincerely beseech him in prayer without ceasing and who thank him for these gifts.

Q 117: What is contained in a prayer which pleases God and is heard by him?

A: First, that we sincerely call upon the one true God, who has revealed himself to us in his Word, for all that he has commanded us to ask of him. Then, that we thoroughly acknowledge our need and evil condition, so that we may humble ourselves in the presence of his majesty. Third, that we rest assured taht, in spite of our unworthiness, he will certainly hear our prayer for the ssake of Christ our Lord, as he has promised us in his Word.

Q 118: What has God commanded us to ask of him?

A: All things necessary for soul and body which Christ the Lord has included in the prayer which he himself taught us.

I was reading a friend's blog where she wrote beautifully about contentment and how she went from seeing her situation in light of all that it lacked to seeing it in light of the abundance God had provided -- not only in terms of worldly goods but in terms of relationships -- and it started me thinking about my own discontentment. I have allowed severe frustration with my job to seep out into the rest of my life, coloring my perspective on everything.

I know myself well enough to know that I cannot just decide to change my perspective. I can make a conscious effort and wear a look-on-the-bright-side suit for a few days, but it will quickly begin to chafe -- to look and feel unnatural. I need God to change me. I need not to just look on the bright side but to be blinded by it.

And, according to Oswald, that's where prayer comes in: "It is not so true that prayer changes things as that prayer changes me . . . God has so constituted things that prayer on the basis of redemption alters the way in which a man looks at things. Prayer is not a question of altering things externally, but of working wonders in a man's disposition."

My Father, who dwells in a place that I cannot see, whom I can neither hear nor smell nor touch, but whom I know loves me as one of his children,
You are perfect. You are loving and wise.
Let me see the evidence of you all around me. Work your will in me and in the world about me.
Please, Father, give me what I need this day to work, to write, to create, to mother, to encourage and love my husband, to deal with the conflicts that will inevitably arise. This day, Lord, let me know what it means to find my identity in you, to abide in you.
Forgive me for turning to all the wrong things for comfort. Forgive me for not trusting you, for doubting your goodness, your interest, your love.
Help me to forgive the imperfections in those around me, rather than counting and admiring the scars I've acquired. Give me glimpses of the scars I've caused -- not as a road to shame but as an escape from misanthropy and a guide to grace.
You know that I am but dust. Keep the steps small and the way clear. Conquer and obliterate the demons of discontentment and depression within me. Open my eyes to your presence, your riches, your work in the world around me.
For you are perfect, beautiful, majestic, the author of all good things, and worthy of my praise.

Amen.

Prayer Choice and Prayer Conflict

I am just beginning to learn how to pray. Of course, I have been learning for a very long time. Perhaps I should say I am just beginning to progress.

Oswald uses two opposite images involving a door to describe what is necessary in prayer:

Open wide the door. Let God in. Yesterday we had a prayer service at church. One of the Taize hymns we sang went like this: "O God, we call. O God, we call. From deep inside we yearn. From deep inside we yearn. From deep inside we yearn for you." We sang those words about ten times. The worship leader explained that the repetition in Taize hymns allows the words to penetrate. I experienced that. I realized how deeply I am yearning for God. It doesn't always manifest itself as obvious longing. Lately, it looks like anger or apathy or hopelessness, but beneath all that is groaning for God to make sense of things, to envelop me at the core of who I am, and give me rest.

Slam the door shut. On all the flies buzzing about my head demanding my attention. Some of the buzzing is duty, work, the jobs I should be doing. Some of the buzzing is the world -- the enticing pleasures by which I am so easily satisfied. Some of the buzzing is doubt.

I want to believe that Oswald writes the truth: "When we live in the secret place, it becomes impossible for us to doubt God, we become more sure of him than of anything else."

Now I just need to find the secret place.

I Indeed . . . But He

"The only conscious experience those who are baptized with the Holy Ghost ever have is a sense of absolute unworthiness" -- Oswald.

Have I ever really come to the end of myself or is there some piece of me that still holds to a notion of saving myself, of being good enough?

The Ministry of the Unnoticed

Note: This should actually have been Saturday's entry.

"At the basis of Jesus Christ's Kingdom is the unaffected loveliness of the commonplace" -- Oswald.

I love that. Now if I can just figure out what it means.

The older brother was involved in the commonplace -- the daily work of managing the land -- but he was always conscious of his duty. He carried his duty, his faithfulness, about like a cross, and when his father came to him, he held it up as though his father now owed him a debt, rather than vice versa.

"I cannot enter His kingdom as a good man or woman, I can only enter it as a complete pauper" -- Oswald. My righteous acts are as filthy rags, and yet I persist in draping them about myself like Miss Havisham in her decaying wedding dress. A few days ago, Oswald wrote about being morally naked. That is what I want to be, but I'm not sure how to shed the dress.

My attempts seem like Eustace's half-hearted attempts to tear away the dragon hide in which he was encased. My attempts seem more like summoning-up-the-gumption decisions rather than yielding. Eustace had to yield to Aslan's claws.

I ask myself: Am I prepared to let his claws have at the old dress?

Completeness

I have no idea what Oswald is talking about today. Really. The absence of self-consciousness? I have never experienced it. I am always the sick man who knows what health is and is striving to get there. I want to believe that God answers prayer, but I am not restfully certain of it.

Oswald says that I cannot overcome my self-consciousness by any common sense method. Jesus says, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." How, Jesus? How do I get where you are? What am I missing?

Self-Consciousness

Two scenes. Both set in Christian environments.

Book group: We are discussing My Life in France by Julia Child. Cathy, our hostess, has prepared a classic French meal from Julia's cookbook -- roast chicken with an amazing sauce made by deglazing the pan, a vegetable dish of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes topped with bread crumbs and Parmesan cheese, country French bread and a tossed salad with vinaigrette. Chilled French wine flows freely. We are out on Cathy's deck on a perfect summer evening. The heat is gone. The moon is out. A piece of classic French cloth covers the picnic table. Laughter. Discussion. Friendship. Love. It is easy to believe that life is good. After the main course, Cathy brings out sliced Valencia oranges, chunks of cantaloupe and a bottle of Chocovine. We watch an episode of The French Chef where Julia is making a spinach turnover with her friend and co-author, Simka. We talk about France and travel and God and food and decide our next book will be Lust for Life -- a fictionalized account of Van Gogh's life. I leave with a sense of connection, of being loved and valued and wanted.

Work: I work for a Christian organization. I am surrounded by Christians. These days, I dread going, and I come home exhausted. Everything about the place seems to suck the life out of me. I struggle to find the truth. I struggle to tell the truth. I struggle to be heard. I struggle for respect. I struggle within myself over whether I'm being unreasonable. I feel angry much of the time. I do not feel valued. Even as the words are coming out of someone's mouth, there is too much evidence to the contrary drowning them out. Much of the time I feel like a freak, and I wonder if I have anything in common with these people at all. Can I even be a Christian if this is what it is?

The comparison is unfair. One is work. They pay me to do it. The other is pretty much my idea of a perfect evening. Still, I wonder, is the Christian life a struggle -- a wrestling match, a race -- or is it a permanent, living sabbath -- resting, abiding in Christ? Can it really be both? Is it supposed to swing like a crazy pendulum weighted heavily to one side? Working, striving for six days, resting for one?

"Learn the unforced rhythms of grace" -- Eugene Peterson translates Matthew 11:29 with these words.

Jesus, please teach me the unforced rhythms of grace and give me rest for my soul.

Have You Ever Been Expressionless with Sorrow?

If I mean what I say . . . Undress myself morally before God . . . until I am a mere conscious human being and then give God that. . . Am I more devoted to my idea of what Jesus wants than to himself? . . . Discouragement is disenchanted self-love, and self-love may be love of my devotion to Jesus. (Oswald's words with the pronouns changed.)

The older brother was in love with his devotion to the father. This is my addiction. I keep thinking I have left it to go into the party, to seek him, to sit at his feet, to finally know him, and then I wake up for a brief moment to find I haven't left it at all. Only dressed it a little differently.

Are You Discouraged in Devotion?

A hard word. Not something I can say this and that about . . .

God's word for me today came through a co-worker and a 3-word plaque given to me for my birthday. My friend Dawn gave me the plaque. Frank hung it above the door where I cannot miss it. Every time I leave the house, every time I stand at the kitchen sink, I will see this simple message: God is good.

The other words came from the young woman with whom I share an office. She is large with child and with mountains of ideas -- colors, images, sketches forming first in her mind and traveling to her fingers. I talk words and she talks images and somehow we connect. Today she gave a short devotional during our team meeting on some words from Dietrich Bonhoeffer. My very inadequate paraphrase: God is reality. Apart from him, there is no reality. It makes no sense to talk about goodness apart from him. We cannot segment our lives into the God parts and the non-God parts. They are all God parts. (This is probably why Jess doesn't like it when people refer to "God moments." They are all God moments, she says.) The thing is, Jess, they don't all feel like God moments. But what are feelings anyway? I hear they can't be trusted.

I do seem to be saying this and that . . . but really, I have no words. My oldest son went back to college today halfway across the country. I started missing him yesterday while he still sat at my table. Son #2 had surgery last week to remove his appendix. You've heard it a thousand times . . . life is fragile.

God is reality. God is good. I have no words.

Chastening

"Sanctification is not my idea of what I want God to do for me; sanctification is God's idea of what He wants to do for me, and He has to get me into the attitude of mind and spirit where at any cost I will let Him sanctify me wholly" -- Oswald.

"We get into sulks with God and say, 'Oh well, I can't help it; I did pray and things did not turn out right, and I am going to give it all up'" -- Oswald.

I think I have been in one of those sulks: Well, no one can say I didn't give it a good shot. I went off anti-depressants. I prayed. I spent time seeking God's will for my life -- regular, planned, quality devotional time for close to eight months. I worked at being honest about my feelings, not pretending, being the real me . . . and still, I am no closer to sanctification. I am the same insecure, glass-half-full, needy, oft depressed woman I was when I began. I have the same job with the same problems -- only worse. I am no nearer to holiness or self-actualization or happiness. I am no nearer to God or to knowing Him.

I have seriously contemplated those three words -- I give up. But what then? Eat, drink and be merry? Go back on drugs, back to striving to be the perfect me? I cannot quite bring myself to give up this pilgrimage. I really believe the answer to the meaning of life lies along the path of Christianity, along the path of knowing the God of Scripture.

So, what is sanctification, God? What is your idea of what you want to do with me?

The Sacrament of the Saint

"Sympathy enervates" -- Oswald.

I think Oswald is using "sympathy" as a synonym for "pity." We don't do people a favor, according to Oswald, when we feel sorry for them. Rather, we reduce their mental vigor or lessen their vitality through our sympathy. Worse than that, Oswald says, we blacken the name of God. We imply that he has somehow messed up, that he doesn't have their life in his hands, their best interest at heart. Or perhaps that he was powerless in this instance or, worse, just not that interested.

Still, no one who has just lost a job or crashed her car or experienced some much greater disappointment wants to hear how it's all part of God's plan, how it's all going to work together for good. Not at first anyway.

My life has been relatively suffering free. My mom died the day before my 31st birthday when my boys were both under two years old. My husband and I lost our restaurant -- the big dream of our lives up to that point -- and along with it, most of our friends. My youngest daughter was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes at age 8, and I have struggled with clinical depression for most of my adult life. But that's about it. I have brushed up against pain, but it has not rolled over me the way it has some of my friends -- the loss of a child, divorce, cancer.

I never want to be glib about pain, but I don't think that's what Oswald is really saying. I don't think he's preaching against empathy, just pity, and I doubt anyone really wants to be pitied anyway. Still, there is a care that is required here in how we respond to another's misfortune. We do need to keep God's character and omnipresence in the forefront of our minds when we step into their pain. Somehow God is all-good and all-powerful and bad things happen. Our tendency is to want to deny one or the other -- either that bad isn't really bad or that God isn't really who he says he is.

The difficult -- but only truly helpful -- thing is to hold both truths inviolate and operate from there.

Oswald's last paragraph brings up a whole new subject in my mind. One definitely worth exploring, but another day.

Prayer in the Father's Hearing

Oswald has written before about the danger of letting common sense obscure my view of God or limit my understanding of his ways. I haven't taken his words as strongly to heart as I might because I don't think of myself as a commonsensical person. Common sense is what comes to your aid when you're stranded in an unknown place or what keeps you from getting stranded in the first place. Common sense says you spend less than you make and you only plant as big a garden as you can reasonably care for. Common sense is for practical people, and I've never thought of myself as terribly practical.

Today, however, it occurred to me that when Oswald uses the phrase "common sense," he is referring not merely to the practical ability to fend for one self in a variety of circumstances but to human reasoning in general -- to the mind, to a logical, analytical way of thinking, judging, and assessing a situation -- and that reasoning's tendency to oppose/dismiss/minimize the supernatural work of God in our lives.

"Our ordinary wits never worship God unless they are transfigured by the indwelling Son of God" -- Oswald.

Oswald takes today's verse from the passage in John about the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Jesus says, "Roll away the stone and open the tomb."

Martha replies, "But, Lord, there will be a bad smell."

Jesus wants to bring me new life every day, and every day -- in big and little ways -- I argue with him about the smell, the mess, the noise.

Do I believe he can bring me new life? Or does my mind scoff at the possibility?

Prayer in the Father's Honor

I'm back. I missed a week due to vacation -- my husband, children and I went camping on the Oregon Coast. Before that, I missed a week due to being overwhelmed and depressed. So the vacation came at a good time. The beauty and majesty of the Oregon Coast always speak to my soul, and it was beyond wonderful to have all my family together -- laughing, hiking, playing in the sand, exploring tide pools and hunting for agates.

Today's Oswald seems like a good one upon which to re-enter.

"Oh, the clamor of these days! Everyone is clamoring . . . There is no room here for the Son of God just now, no room for quiet, holy communion with the Father" -- Oswald.

Room. I want there to be room in my life. I don't want to scribble in all the margins -- squeezing out any sense of extra space, of quiet, unfilled moments, of expectancy, of waiting. But it is so, so easy to overfill my life -- with time wasters, yes, but with good things, as well. There is my work. For a good and noble cause -- a rescue mission serving the homeless and preaching the gospel. And then there is my perfectionism about my work. There are my children, their various involvements, my husband, my garden, my house and all my household duties. There are friends. And books. And church. There is no end of good things -- recipes, flowers, words -- but they will not all fit.

Seek ye first the kingdom of God. Oh, God, the world is constantly clamoring. Help me to be wise in terms of what I allow into my life. There are many wonderful things that I cannot see or do or plant or make or read or experience . . .

Peace. I will seek you first. I will make room in my life for holy communion. I will quiet the clamor.

Something More About His Ways

It's not exactly that God has commanded me to leave my children, but more that he has begun a process of separation where I am not meant to be all that I once was to them. Sometimes that scares me, and I do start to debate all the things I've left undone, all the words I haven't spoken, all the holes in my past example. They didn't learn money management from me or how to pick up after themselves or even the rudiments of self-discipline. We were pretty family-centric. What if they have no sense of mission or caring for the less fortunate? And we never quite finished that overview of Scripture. They may not fully understand what it means to be reformed.

Be that as it may, the time has come to begin letting go. To trust God to step into all the cracks and gaps and questions and to be to them more than I ever could be.