Living in Limbo

I had to stay home last weekend while my family went to a conference about homeschooling and family discipleship. I wanted to go, but alas, a major, 160 question, nerve-wracking exit nursing examination was scheduled smack in the middle of it, so I couldn't go. They came home on Sunday, beaming. Inspired. Renewed. Excited. And with bag-fulls of new books and audio lectures.

They came home filled with hope to see that there are still people left in the world who love the LORD their God with all of their hearts, souls, and minds, and teach their children to love His law as well. It was good that they went.

I, however, have been in a bit of a rut. Perhaps "stalemate" would be a better word. Not afraid, not discouraged, not frustrated--I can't pinpoint it. Worn out? Burned out? Wishing the future would hurry up and pan out so I could see how things will settle? Needing more sleep? Or, all of the above.

I want to plant a garden. But, should I bother if I won't be here to tend it? The two sheep need to be sheared. Where will I store the wool if this isn't the year I can learn to spin? I have too many horses. Which ones should I sell before I move in a mere ten weeks? Who will want them anyway? When will I find time to trim the goats' hooves? And, the "check engine" light came on in my car and it started rattling. And, we have to squeeze in a post-graduation barbecue somewhere in the 24 hours before two of our guys head to Alaska for a commercial fishing season. So much to do. Plans are a-whirling. Everything's jumbled up.

In the midst of the hum, I hear, "Be still." And know that I am God.

Yes, yes. I will. I have forgotten to be still. I have forgotten to cultivate contented joy with the flurry of each day, learning to live in this limbo land of not-quite-jelled plans. They will become clear in time, in His time, when it is right to reveal them to me. It is hard to be still when pulled in a thousand directions, hard to dim the buzzing world out and think about Him. Talk to Him. Ponder what He says. Tune for His pull on the heart.

And be still.

The Speck in My Brother's Eye

For scores of Americans, this week has been one of terrible loss. From my own small town to the great metropolis of Boston, grief and terror have seen an abrupt rise to power. In my town, a fifteen year old boy killed himself last week, shocking our close-knit community. In Massachusetts, double bombings killed and maimed dozens, and emotionally scarred thousands. In Texas, a fertilizer plant explosion compounded the national chaos and loss of precious lives. Law enforcement and emergency personnel are slain in the line of duty. Children lose parents. Parents lose children. Runners lose legs. And the whole world falls to shambles. Isn't there something or someone, somewhere, to blame for this terrible mess?

Yes.

There is one terrible, hellish curse to blame for the atrocities we've seen this week. It's name is Sin, and it is the grotesque delight and consuming passion of humanity's archenemy, Satan. How he laughs when bombs detonate and chaos reigns. How his legions cheer when children die on sidewalks. What sick delight he finds in sowing seeds of darkness in every heart, cultivating his crops of terror in every corner of the globe.

It is easy in times like these to attribute the heinous insanity of Tamerlan and Dzokhar Tsarneav to devilish forces. Discussion forums across the web wish them both eternal damnation for their crimes. It's tempting to agree.

But, truthfully, do I have any right to wish that these young terrorists burn in hell? What makes them more deserving than I? The fact that they set off bombs and killed people, while I did not?

Listen to these words by C.J. Mahaney: "When I become bitter or unforgiving toward others, I’m assuming that the sins of others are more serious than my sins against God. The cross transforms my perspective. Through the cross I realize that no sin committed against me will ever be as serious as the innumerable sins I’ve committed against God. When we understand how much God has forgiven us, it’s not difficult to forgive others."

The message of the cross is not a system of "worthiness to be saved," with some people working their way to the top of a waiting list. It's not for "good people" who are proud and blind to their sins. It's for the scum of the earth, to redeem them from the destruction that reigns in their darkened hearts and consumes them with an everlasting death. And here, Jesus says to us, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (see Matthew 9:11-13)

I, too, have a heart of sin like the Tsarneav brothers, like you, like every other person on this earth today. We are equally condemned in our sins. Friends, we're all the scum of the earth. 

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take out the speck that is in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother's eye." (see Luke 6:41-42)

 The response to this Week of Terror ought not be bitterness, revenge, or hatred. My attitude cannot be one of scorn or mockery toward the condemned. What hypocrisy to preach mercy and salvation to all--except those who "jump off the deep end" and kill people. They ought to perish in their sins. No! My attitude must be one of tremendous grief and fervent prayer for a country reeling in the aftershock of devastation, both victims and perpetrators. All desperately need the salvation that comes through repentance and belief in the Lord Jesus Christ, a message rejected by millions, but hope and healing and life and peace to all who surrender to Him.

                                                 .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. 

The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. 

They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

 ~Revelation 22:1-5

Winds of Change

Since my last blog post, I have indeed been accepted at the three-and-a-half-hour away little hospital, and if all goes as planned, I will start a few weeks after graduation, as soon as I've obtained my RN license. I mustn't complain--how good and gracious of the Lord to provide me with a job so soon! And not too far away; I can still come home often enough. Some folks are looking across the country for work. I am grateful. Really.

But I am a little afraid. Humans weren't designed to live alone, least of all women, and least of those, young women. How will I be safe? Will there be a good church? Who will be my new friends and influences? How can I let go of everything I love here? It's icy there in the winter--will my car be able to handle it? What if I get mugged leaving a noc shift? This is, of course, the point where some begin to snicker at me, and as one lady made all too plain by her scissor-snipping hand motions and a tawdry joke, I am apparently far too attached and dependent on the people I love. "Time to cut the apron strings, sweetie."

Nonsense. I have deliberately rejected that senseless, thoughtless custom of our deluded culture: that kicking-them-out-of-the-nest at eighteen, out-of-their-parents'-hair-and-into-the-world-alone ideology that is hopelessly flawed when examined against Scripture. I've seen it fail--miserably so--and have no desire to become a lonely, selfish, unhelpful person, who is not accountable to anyone for anything and has no good reason to do anything other than whatever I darn well please whenever I have the fancy to do it. Such begins the spiraling descent into apathy, sin, folly, and a host of other spiritual maladies. Granted, I'm not eighteen anymore. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

I desire to be a useful woman, integrated into a community of people, relied upon, held accountable for my life and my choices, needed, remembered, cared for, not forgotten, watched out for, missed, loved . . . everything that I have here in my home, my family, my church and my small-town community. And yet, He leads me away from it all, and I trust Him, but there is mingled with it a dose of fear.

I had, of course, always planned on leaving home someday. But I hadn't envisioned it quite like this--to a place where I know not one soul, by myself. Other people do it all the time, but the pure commonality of it hardly qualifies it as the best scenario--unless it is God who ordains such a situation to be mine to live, for this time.

So, like the boy Samuel, I wake in the night, surrounded by the comforts of a familiar life, but I sense a change in the air. And, not knowing for certain what it is, I can only speak the same words as he: "Speak, LORD, for your servant hears."

Standing in the Sun

Today was one of those quintessentially spring-ish days. Every year I fall in love with spring more and more, and it is a bit of a sorrow to me that the last five years--including this one--have found me mired in school work and unable to run outside, fling open my arms to the sun, smell the damp dirt and kiss my little goats' furry faces at every chance. But, in a way, the obligatory leash of The Nursing Program (yes, capitalized) has made me behold with a fresh wonder the glory of this time of year, particularly today, as I strain against the cord of annotated bibliography assignments. I lean out my second story window, take out the screen, and close my eyes as the bamboo wind chimes sing in the garden and the shaggy orchard grass glows in the last slanting rays of the sun. And I think, in this life, this quick, spinning, brief life, what more could there be than to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God? (Micah 6:8)

I woke up this morning from a deep, good, sweet sleep, and I awoke with the startling realization that my life is magnificently blessed. Who am I to be the receiver of a life so charmed? My parents are still married, and actually love each other (29 years and counting!). My one sister (of whom I am jealously protective) is six years into one of the most blessed marriages I've had the privilege of watching. My four younger brothers (whom I love with dreadful fierceness) are rising up, growing into the kinds of men who cast off the shabby farce of weak-minded manhood, instead asking hard questions and seeking true answers--a search that is changing them from boys to warriors before my eyes. My niece (2 years old) and nephew (4 weeks old) thrive and grow in a pure, earnest home with a mama and a papa who fear God and love his commandments.

And then there is me.

Somewhere in the middle of this bustling mini-universe that is our family, there is a 22 year old woman standing in the light of the Son, and it blinds me sometimes, when I turn my face into His glory. I'm walking, as we all are walking, and I see the junction just ahead. It's fast approaching, and when I get there, this road ends where a thousand others begin, and I'll have to pick one or stand forever on the sidewalk, watching the traffic rush by. But, it's so hard to choose. In two months I'll be done with nursing school. The pursuit that ate up the end of my teen years and launched me solidly into my twenties, forever out of childhood and into adulthood, will be over, and I'll have to move on--maybe literally.

You see, in my hometown, which is rather small and out-of-the-way, there aren't many (if any) jobs for new nurses. Quite frankly, it's just a bad time to be graduating from nursing school. Five years ago would have been a lot better. Five years from now it may be again--but I'm in the slump years, and I know it was meant to be so. I know He has not forgotten me. I know the joy of the LORD is my strength, and that I am doing this not for a good job or a paycheck or to impress anybody by having the "RN" letters behind my name, but I am doing this so that I may be of greater service to my Lord, wherever and whenever and however He should choose to use me. And if he never uses this profession, this skill set that is "nursing" which I have learned (though the thought is hard to swallow at the moment), I will not insist on using it. If He closes every door that I have knocked upon, I know it is because He knows better than I. Doors have already closed to me; even this afternoon I could scratch out another possibility on my list of hopefuls. And, for the first time, there is the possibility that I might have to leave all that I love and move away to find a job as a nurse, which brings me to some serious introspection: is it worth it? What is the point of what I'm doing? How much will I shell out in the name of Nursing? And, more importantly, it drives me into the Living Word to see what God is telling me to do, especially when each plan and sub-plan of mine are gently and firmly shut down.

But here is something surprising: as much as I hope for such-and-such opportunity to work out, and as much as I pursue it diligently, fill out the necessary applications and present myself as best I can, I have found an abiding equilibrium in knowing that it is He who ordains the future, and it is He who will orchestrate my life into a pleasing symphony of praise. When I get the letter, or answer the phone and receive the message of rejection (and I have, several times), it gets easier with each one--which is ironic, considering that rejection is generally depressing. But I am standing in the sun today; it warms and cheers my body, and I stand in the Son every day; He warms and cheers my soul. Being rejected has become almost exciting; I get to say, "Well, that wasn't it, was it, Lord?" And I smile, both in trust and bewilderment.

In the meantime, not knowing what the remaining year holds, and not even knowing where I will be in eight weeks, I'm surprised by His peace that allows me to notice and delight in the piano's muted arpeggios as the boys practice their music downstairs, the winter pear tree by the garden gate that just burst into a snowy froth of blossoms, and the delectable smell of the waffles some good soul is making for dinner. All is well when one walks humbly, trustingly, and quietly before the LORD of heaven and earth.

A Bitter Weed

From tonight's email:

Hello, dear girls! Ninety days by the grace of God; many times I've fought to keep my eyes open as I wrote to you, but you know what--if I didn't write, I didn't read, so you all have held me accountable to be into God's precious word for this many days. Thank you, thank you. :) I love you each!

Today's reading is from Mark 9 and 10. In these chapters, there is a section that says this:

". . . And Jesus called them [the disciples] to him and said to them, 'You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.' " --Mark 10:42-45

This isn't a new idea to us, but it is oh, so hard to live. You must understand how deeply, deeply selfish we are. Our thoughts and interests naturally default to satisfying ourselves, promoting ourselves, and focusing on ourselves, to the exclusion and belittlement of other people. Selfishness isn't something that has a characteristic feature to it--it comes in as many variations as there are people. We all think of the obnoxious, greedy types as "obviously" selfish--but the truth is, the quiet, shy ones among us are equally self absorbed.

Think about this: Pride can manifest in NOT wanting the limelight as much as it shows up in those who want to steal the show all the time. If you are so self-absorbed that you can't acknowledge or honor other people's desire to care about you and recognize you, then you are just as selfish as the girl who walks into church bragging about something she wants to be praised for.

Selflessness is about OTHER people, not about our own "comfort zone." Am I too nervous and shy to greet a visitor? Bingo, selfishness--I'm too concerned with my own interests to step out of my shell and reach out to another person who may be having a much worse day than I am, might be in the middle of a crisis, could be on the verge of tears, or have just suffered some hidden tragedy and desperately needs a friendly smile and a hello. If I withhold that warmth and affection because I'm too selfish to stop putting myself first and start caring about other people, I am no better off than the worst, most blatant selfishness we can think of, and I am certainly not exhibiting the heart attitude of a humble servant of Jesus Christ.

I hope you take the time to examine your heart, and do it soon. We've all got that horrible weed trying to put down roots in us, that ugly, invasive pride of life that is the taproot of all kinds of sin. But before you despair, and more importantly, before you try to change yourself and fail and then feel miserable, let me remind you of this: you cannot change your heart. God changes hearts. It is he who purges all sin, including the sin of selfishness, from us, if we humbly repent and ask for forgiveness for the hours wasted in self-love. He will change you. You cannot win this one without him; it is futile and you'll be discouraged quickly. But with the power of the Holy Spirit conforming you into the image of Jesus, you will WIN and you will see your old self being crucified and you'll understand what it's like to glory in the joy of the Lord. It's amazing how freeing it is to stop being in love with yourself!

Don't let yourself off the hook with excuses (i.e., "I'm just an introvert, she wouldn't understand me," "I have tried to reach out and nobody appreciates it," "I'm not nearly as selfish as so-and-so," "I think I'm doing pretty well," etc). That's the easy way out, and believe me, it is comfy now, but it stings like a hornet later. I know of a girl who allowed subtle selfishness to reside in a quiet corner of her heart--it only displayed itself once in awhile, but it was there. And all of a sudden, when a time came when something (or someone) arrived in her life that was worth being totally unselfish for, she was too late, and missed it. Her true character showed itself, and she lost a precious opportunity. And it was a bitter loss--he found another girl with a gentle, healing spirit of humility who (he rightly saw) would be a far more desirable lifelong friend and wife. Oh, sweet girls, don't let that be your story! Ask the Lord to show you where selfishness resides, and then beg him to burn it out of you and make you a holy, loving servant to all.

It is a far better way.