One of the sweetest things about leading worship in a church is having a perfect view of all the beautiful faces singing to God from their hearts. Sometimes there are tears; sometimes I see struggle on their faces as they pray. But I always see beauty.
I imagine God sees a lot more beauty than me, since He is also looking deep into the shining heart who wears a quiet face. Sure, He also sees more junk than I do, I can see a little of it. But if I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the saints from my corner of the platform, how much more is He? God is love--love always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
"I look across the room and I see Jesus in your eyes," my pastor said a couple weeks ago, beaming with her mother heart of love. She saw beauty.
When I see God's people during worship, I see weakness but also earnest faith. My heart swells like a mother who longs to encourage a struggling child. This is God--He loves to love, His selfless love is so abundant He pours it out on whomever will receive it.
Sometimes the faithful feel small, but His goodness is all around them and in them. Oh, with eyes to see, we would see His glory shining upon us! We would see the Kingdom of God already in our midst. "The saints in the earth, they are the majestic ones in whom is all my delight," the Psalmist wrote. If a man may take such delight in the saints, how much more does God delight in the ones He redeemed with His own Son?
As I was meditating on these things, I thought of the verse that says, "You are His workmanship." So I looked it up and saw--I hadn't realized--this statement appears right alongside those famous verses in Ephesians, "By grace you have been saved through faith, and that is not of yourselves, it is a gift of God; not as a result of works, that no one should boast."
I had a light bulb moment: We are not saved by our works--we are His work! What beautiful things He does! How wonderful His handiwork! Everything He does is excellent and good! Like that Kevin Prosch song says, "You do all things well! Just look at our lives."
And here is the rub, when these words are hard to say. We don't always look or feel like excellent handiwork. It's easy to look at a sunset and say to God, "You do all things well," but not so easy say while looking in the mirror.
Yet we must. What other choice do we have? Everything He does is good--goodness flows from His nature and character. He is the definition of goodness. He cannot not do good! If we are His, then we are His work, and all His work is good, so we are good work.
To refuse to believe that you are a good work is to say He is not a capable craftsman, or He is not good. Are His hands tied? Is the One who designed the universe stumped by our problems? Certainly not. He is the visionary of all visionaries--He sees great beauty on the empty canvas, the half-finished canvas, the blood-smeared and tear-stained canvas.
Precious saints, how lovely you are! You are lovely to me, in your earthiness and foolishness and stumbling earnest. How lovely are you to the Father?
"How lovely are Your dwelling places, O Lord of hosts," the sons of Korah wrote in Psalm 84. Isaiah said the Messiah would be Immanuel, God With Us. And this is the already-but-not-yet truth of it: "the tabernacle of God is among men" (Revelation 21).
The Sons of Korah served before God's Presence in David's tabernacle. It seems like they were probably writing about that "dwelling place." Some translations change it to singular to make it sound better, but it is plural. God's dwelling places are beautiful. We are His beautiful dwelling places! And He fills the temple with glory. We are not so lovely on our own--sin distorts the image of God into wretchedness-- but the redeemed are filled with the light and presence of God, clothed in beauty, dignity and strength.
Precious saints, what a lovely dwelling place you are. How beautiful the Spirit of grace dwelling in you and covering you. Though you feel the brittleness of being an earthen vessel, yet the power of God abides in you. Just as an ugly face is beautiful in candlelight, just as a covering of snow makes mundane things beautiful and clean, the Spirit of God shines on you and clothes you in grace.
His lovely dwelling place is not an imaginary temple, a place far away, a place we go to when we feel spiritual. We are His lovely dwelling place, the home of God.
Father, I believe I am Your home, Your lovely temple. You make us beautiful; Your grace shines on us. Let me walk, now, beaming with confidence in Your grace. I repent for heaping shame on myself and putting myself down. I am Your workmanship, and You have good works prepared for me. Give me grace to trust Your work and Your Spirit in me. Give me wisdom to have confidence in You without arrogance or presumption in my heart. And help me, Father, to see Your people the way You see them, as lovely dwelling places, homes of Your Spirit. Give my heart delight in the saints, the majestic ones, so I can honor You by honoring them.
♡ Amen.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Unconditional Love
I am smitten. Hopelessly intoxicated with affection for my little girl who was born in December (she's going on 4 months old). I know it's biology--oxytocin, the love and bonding hormone, released into my brain when I nurse, when she whimpers, when she smiles, even when I just stare at her angelic little face. But since I am a believer in things that cannot be measured, I believe love is more than biology.
And she is more than biology, this little bundle of new flesh, helpless yet strong. She looks like a different creature each week, becoming herself. That is the journey of life, right? The journey I am still in, becoming myself. And I love her through every little transition and am willing to do whatever necessary to help her along.
I want to compare my mother love to God's love. Now, don't be alarmed; I am well aware that He is holy and He is other than weak little me... and yet, He created me in His image. All of natural life is full of pictures and parables pointing to Him. As the skies and oceans make us feel small enough to contemplate a Creator, the natural love of parents toward children points us to the greatest and most loving parent of all. I try not to presume, but I think it is reasonable to say, if humans are capable of great love, how much greater is God's love?
God's love is underrated, often painted as abstraction, or taken for granted... but we can never tire of mentioning His love. Like the hymn says, if the sky was paper, the oceans ink, and every man a scribe, the oceans would go dry and the paper would be too small to tell about the love of God.
So I am in love. My baby girl doesn't have to do anything for me to love her. I mean absolutely nothing! Even if she cries inconsolably for what seems like an entire afternoon, I am more often frustrated with my inability to meet her needs than with the inconvenience her needs present. I got irritated more easily with my first-born, but I've become a little more patient and a little less selfish with each baby. (She is my third.) How much more does God love us unconditionally, regardless of whether we appreciate Him or love Him back?
Sometimes I am lazy or cold hearted, and don't respond right away to a child crying. Sometimes I delay on purpose to give them a chance to practice calming down on their own, but often it's my sheer indifference. But God is not like me that way; He doesn't get lazy or apathetic toward His kids. His heart is always for us, always with us, always responsive and connected. He does not resent inconvenience. (The cross, after all, was pretty inconvenient.) He hears when His children cry and responds perfectly.
When my little one is satisfied with my comfort, when she eats herself into a breastmilk coma-- I am truly delighted. I feel proud and powerful--in a good way--sustaining her existence with my own body. I am satisfied because she is satisfied. (If you're a mom who couldn't breastfeed, no judgment here.) How much more is God willing--even delighted-- to meet our needs? How much more does He take joy when we are satisfied with His provision and care?
You've probably heard, breastmilk is miraculous stuff. It's a perfect balance of nutrients--protein, fat, sugars, water, vitamins, living probiotics, immune boosters, literally everything a baby needs for the first six months of life on the outside. The supply matches the needs of the baby, the supply and demand constantly fluctuating, constantly synchronizing. Breastmilk even delivers like a three course meal, with the lightest milk first and the sweetest, fattiest milk last.
One of God's names in the Bible is Shaddai, the breasted one. If that grosses you out, too bad! He is not embarrassed. After all, He personally designed the amazing female body to bear His image alongside the male. As the breasted one, He sustains us Himself, every breath, every meal, every heartbeat. His nourishment is miraculous and sufficient; His supply to us matches our need perfectly.
Sometimes I am lazy or hard hearted and don't respond right away to a child crying. (Sometimes I delay on purpose to give them a chance to practice calming down on their own, but usually it's sheer laziness.) But God is not like me that way; He doesn't get lazy or apathetic toward His kids. His heart is always for us. He does not resent inconvenience. (The cross, after all, was pretty inconvenient.) He hears when His children cry and responds perfectly.
If you are thinking, Wow, her version of God sounds like a sissy, let me say a few things. First, God is also the wisest parent and I do not mean to say He is a pushover. He perfectly discerns needs, wants and the gray areas in between. He always meets our needs and sometimes witholds our wants to help us become mature in self-control, humility, generosity, etc. But through it all, His heart is for us, wanting good for us.
Second, I know in part and prophesy in part. We cannot really grasp all of God's facets at once. I just wanted to look at one facet of God's mother-like love, one that is not often mentioned in communities where God's masculinity is strongly emphasized. He is masculine too. He is both; male and female He made us in His image. God is full and perfect in every facet--as King, as Shepherd, as Friend, as Deliverer... I want to see all of Him, but rather than try to stand far enough back to see the whole mountain that fills the earth, sometimes I like to look very closely at one little part. His love is vast; I am just illustrating one little part.
Meditating on God's perfect love reminds me of some lines in a Jason Upton song: "Frustrated, I try to make it, 'cause I've just got something to prove. Smiling, He says, 'Son, come here. Won't you let me just help you?'" Like a parent, He is intimate in His love for us, and willing to be close to us. I am not suggesting that we go through life acting like helpless babies, but I am suggesting we receive God's love with childlike trust, un-self-conscious and dependent, making our needs known without shame. I love my little girl more than she knows and I am undone by my love for her--how much more does God love me? My little girl depends on me for her life; certainly I can depend on God for mine.
And she is more than biology, this little bundle of new flesh, helpless yet strong. She looks like a different creature each week, becoming herself. That is the journey of life, right? The journey I am still in, becoming myself. And I love her through every little transition and am willing to do whatever necessary to help her along.
I want to compare my mother love to God's love. Now, don't be alarmed; I am well aware that He is holy and He is other than weak little me... and yet, He created me in His image. All of natural life is full of pictures and parables pointing to Him. As the skies and oceans make us feel small enough to contemplate a Creator, the natural love of parents toward children points us to the greatest and most loving parent of all. I try not to presume, but I think it is reasonable to say, if humans are capable of great love, how much greater is God's love?
God's love is underrated, often painted as abstraction, or taken for granted... but we can never tire of mentioning His love. Like the hymn says, if the sky was paper, the oceans ink, and every man a scribe, the oceans would go dry and the paper would be too small to tell about the love of God.
So I am in love. My baby girl doesn't have to do anything for me to love her. I mean absolutely nothing! Even if she cries inconsolably for what seems like an entire afternoon, I am more often frustrated with my inability to meet her needs than with the inconvenience her needs present. I got irritated more easily with my first-born, but I've become a little more patient and a little less selfish with each baby. (She is my third.) How much more does God love us unconditionally, regardless of whether we appreciate Him or love Him back?
Sometimes I am lazy or cold hearted, and don't respond right away to a child crying. Sometimes I delay on purpose to give them a chance to practice calming down on their own, but often it's my sheer indifference. But God is not like me that way; He doesn't get lazy or apathetic toward His kids. His heart is always for us, always with us, always responsive and connected. He does not resent inconvenience. (The cross, after all, was pretty inconvenient.) He hears when His children cry and responds perfectly.
When my little one is satisfied with my comfort, when she eats herself into a breastmilk coma-- I am truly delighted. I feel proud and powerful--in a good way--sustaining her existence with my own body. I am satisfied because she is satisfied. (If you're a mom who couldn't breastfeed, no judgment here.) How much more is God willing--even delighted-- to meet our needs? How much more does He take joy when we are satisfied with His provision and care?
You've probably heard, breastmilk is miraculous stuff. It's a perfect balance of nutrients--protein, fat, sugars, water, vitamins, living probiotics, immune boosters, literally everything a baby needs for the first six months of life on the outside. The supply matches the needs of the baby, the supply and demand constantly fluctuating, constantly synchronizing. Breastmilk even delivers like a three course meal, with the lightest milk first and the sweetest, fattiest milk last.
One of God's names in the Bible is Shaddai, the breasted one. If that grosses you out, too bad! He is not embarrassed. After all, He personally designed the amazing female body to bear His image alongside the male. As the breasted one, He sustains us Himself, every breath, every meal, every heartbeat. His nourishment is miraculous and sufficient; His supply to us matches our need perfectly.
Sometimes I am lazy or hard hearted and don't respond right away to a child crying. (Sometimes I delay on purpose to give them a chance to practice calming down on their own, but usually it's sheer laziness.) But God is not like me that way; He doesn't get lazy or apathetic toward His kids. His heart is always for us. He does not resent inconvenience. (The cross, after all, was pretty inconvenient.) He hears when His children cry and responds perfectly.
If you are thinking, Wow, her version of God sounds like a sissy, let me say a few things. First, God is also the wisest parent and I do not mean to say He is a pushover. He perfectly discerns needs, wants and the gray areas in between. He always meets our needs and sometimes witholds our wants to help us become mature in self-control, humility, generosity, etc. But through it all, His heart is for us, wanting good for us.
Second, I know in part and prophesy in part. We cannot really grasp all of God's facets at once. I just wanted to look at one facet of God's mother-like love, one that is not often mentioned in communities where God's masculinity is strongly emphasized. He is masculine too. He is both; male and female He made us in His image. God is full and perfect in every facet--as King, as Shepherd, as Friend, as Deliverer... I want to see all of Him, but rather than try to stand far enough back to see the whole mountain that fills the earth, sometimes I like to look very closely at one little part. His love is vast; I am just illustrating one little part.
Meditating on God's perfect love reminds me of some lines in a Jason Upton song: "Frustrated, I try to make it, 'cause I've just got something to prove. Smiling, He says, 'Son, come here. Won't you let me just help you?'" Like a parent, He is intimate in His love for us, and willing to be close to us. I am not suggesting that we go through life acting like helpless babies, but I am suggesting we receive God's love with childlike trust, un-self-conscious and dependent, making our needs known without shame. I love my little girl more than she knows and I am undone by my love for her--how much more does God love me? My little girl depends on me for her life; certainly I can depend on God for mine.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Trusting God with my heart's desire
Fear and worry are sort of my favorite enemies to pick on; I savor every victory. This particular battle was a bit longer than usual, though. When my daughter was in the womb I worried more than I had worried for my sons. I had those normal but disturbing nightmares about giving birth to a pile of rocks, to a wooden doll, to a tiny creature that fit in the palm of my hand and then shrunk and disappeared.
Maybe I was just more anxious because I wanted her so much. I loved my two boys but I wanted a girl so badly, and my husband and I agreed this was going to be our last child. When I found out I was pregnant, long before the ultrasound, I bought a sweet little girl's pajama, whispering a prayer that I believed God was giving me the girl I asked for. I hid it in my closet because I didn't want my husband to think I was foolish. Months later at the ultrasound, my heart beat faster when the technician asked if I wanted to know the gender. Had i been a fool? Was it just chance and biology? Does God care about these things? Tears sprang in my eyes when she told me it's a girl. No one else has to believe-- I know there was a 50% chance of having the girl I wanted, but in my heart I chose to believe it was God's doing.
One night while I was pregnant I woke up and didn't feel her moving. (Babies in utero sleep a lot--no need for concern unless a couple hours go by with no movement.) I practically held my breath waiting for her to wake up, unable to go back to sleep until I was sure.
While I laid in the dark waiting, fear welled up in my heart. What if God gave me the girl I asked for, only to take her away and break my heart? What if He just wants to test me? Will I still believe in Him? I reluctantly concluded, yes, I would still believe... Helpless sadness began to settle into my heart as I resigned myself to a capricious God, arbitrary and heartless as He tests His followers. Vaguely I was aware of some questionable doctrines I had somehow picked up along the way-- if you love something or someone too much, God will take it away from you in His jealousy. Vaguely I thought, Wait, that's not right... That's not right!
Suddenly my heart and spirit came wide awake as I shook off fear. Boldly I prayed --whispering, because my husband was sleeping, but in my heart I was shouting-- "No! My Father is not cruel! He cares about the desires of my heart! He cares about me! He would not give me the child I asked for and then destroy her. I trust You! The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy, but You came to give life! I trust You to take care of us! Watch over my body, watch over this child, Father!"
Over the rest of the pregnancy I still struggled with fear and worry, but I had confidence in the goodness of my Father, and I continued to pray believing He is for me and not against me. Never again did I beg for Him to have mercy as if He were a cruel master. As my due date drew near, my water broke partially with no contractions. My midwife said the baby had plenty of fluid left, but we needed to be vigilant against infection. I still worried and prayed and fretted.
Days went by and I wrote to my church's prayer team: "Asking for prayer that the baby gets in optimal position and the Lord's perfect timing. And also asking prayer for me, for peace and confidence. For some reason I have struggled with fear and worry for this baby all through my pregnancy. But I am choosing to trust God's good intentions."
Mike Brink, the prayer team leader, responded: "Lord, bless Aurora. Fill her with Peace. Put peace into her amniotic fluid, all thru the sac, and into the umbilical cord and baby. Bring peace, acceptance, and welcome to Baby. Bring peace into the whole process. Banish all fears and let your angels minister all the touches of peace and health and love that Baby and Mother both will need throughout and after."
That night, rather than another birth nightmare, I dreamed about a beautiful white home full of colorful books and artwork--including children's handprint art. Outside was a garden bursting with flowering vines, a cherry tree in bloom, and flowers everywhere, as if, unlike earthly life, all the plants were flowering at the same time.
The next day I was full of peace. I stopped doing exercises to get her in optimal position, I stopped taking the evening primrose supplement that was supposed to help labor start, I took the day off from worry, and sat around watching tv--not very spiritual, but that's the truth. She was born the following morning with no complications. However, as my midwife checked the placenta, she discovered that the umbilical cord was barely attached. Normally the tough gristle-like tissue surrounding the precious blood vessels is firmly anchored to the center of the placenta. But the vessels were only attached at the outer edge of the placenta, and the tough protective tissue wasn't connected at all. If the baby had got the cord wrapped around a foot and kicked, she could have died. We looked at Mike's prayer again and felt chills. My midwife said, well, you had good reason to be worried.
The day she was born, my husband said he wanted to name her Rosalyn ("pretty rose"). I had worked on a list of my favorite names, and Rosalyn was not one of them. But when he said, with a matter-of-fact shrug, "She's a rose," I remembered my garden dream and agreed. I realized that most of the names I had chosen were about me, not her. I felt God telling me that she will be different from me, reserved, a caretaker, a gentle gardener. So I chose another garden feature for her middle name, Ivy, which represents "faithfulness."
So my heart is full. I was going to write about my love for my daughter, even though she has done nothing--absolutely nothing!--to earn it. And I was going to say, how much more does our Father God love us unconditionally. But I guess I needed to tell this story first, about God's faithfulness to me and my little rose.
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