God in Us

God has grown me this summer; grown me, not as a fast shooting weed, but gently, as a Master Gardener cultivates a prize rose. He has used this summer as a time of refreshment. He has used this summer to let me worship Him. He has used this summer to show me, once again, that a relationship with Him is real. He has revealed to me the realness of the Holy Spirit.

I first started thinking about the Holy Spirit on our mission trip. I read, in my quiet time one day, the story of Stephen's stoning. When it said in Acts 7 that Stephen saw the glory of God, I wondered, what does God's glory look like? For some reason, the story reminded me of Saul, who tragically had the Lord's spirit removed from his life. I cannot imagine the jet black emptiness. Saul, who had tasted the glory of God, began to gorge himself on his own glory. There's not room in the belly of man's soul for both dishes. I am so very thankful that God will not take away His Spirit from His followers today. As I thought about the appearance of God's glory, I realized something. I have seen it. It is inside of me. We believers have a piece of God's glory within us. We Christians have the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God, in our hearts. God in us.

The mission trip is when I finally saw the awesomeness of the Holy Spirit. Back home, I've seen the authenticity of it at my job... the day care, of all places!

There is a boy, a soon-to-be fourth grader, who attends both my home church and the day care. Last year, he became a Christian at our VBS (he was in my group). I wondered then, did he really mean it? Did he even understand what he was doing? The answer to both, I now know, is a resounding yes. I can see the Holy Spirit working on his little heart. If he does something wrong, I can see the Holy Spirit convicting him as he ceases play and mulls over his actions. He will come and confess to me or ask me if what he has done is really wrong. At the end of the day he usually asks me, "Did I do anything wrong today?" At first, I found his questions and confessions slightly amusing. Now I find deep comfort in them. The Holy Spirit is real. It's not some mystical being floating across our most moving worship services. It's not some power you gain after a sizable donation to a big-haired man on television. It's not an angel perching on one shoulder or Jiminy Cricket whispering in your ear. The Holy Spirit is God. Three in one. Father, Spirit, and Son. And we have this treasure in jars of clay. We are not the value. We are just clay pots. But we have become valuable because of what we hold. We clay pots contain diamonds. God in us.

Preparing for the Giant

The past few weeks, I felt I was grasping at straws when people would ask what God had been teaching me. I think it's because I was keeping Him at a distance. I would read my Bible, but then quickly move on with my life. I felt like He was there, but He was just sitting, listening, and watching me rush. He was keeping His lips closed and His body still. It was my fault. I wasn't giving Him my time. I wasn't sitting down or closing my lips to let Him speak, and for that, I am sorry. When I finally realized my problem, when I finally changed my ways, I once again heard His voice. So this, my friends, is what God has been teaching me.

This past week, at work, I struggled. I started my new job as a daycare employee. I had no idea the children would act as they did. Nightmare. God has taught me, now that I've finally taken the time to listen, two things from my week.

The first thing is that He gave me this job. He arranged it perfectly. He fit all the details together. He knew what He was doing. After my first day of work, I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't think I would actually be able to do my job. But God reminded me: if He gave it to me, He knows I can do it. Later in the week, while house-sitting, I noticed a plaque on the wall of the bedroom I was in. It was Psalm 138:8. "The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me; your love, O Lord, endures forever." I cannot express the peace I feel in those words. How amazing that I should happen to choose that room of the house! How wonderful is my Father!

Yesterday, in my quiet time, I read of David and Goliath. I find it so encouraging to hear David's words to Saul on why he is qualified to fight the giant. He tells of protecting his father's sheep from wild beasts, a lion and a bear, with his own hands. He sees those experiences as preparation for Goliath. I wonder if when David was fighting those animals, he thought that was a big deal. Perhaps he thought those were some of the most major moments in his life. But really, they were only preparation for something bigger. Preparation for the Giant.

I wonder if my "major moments" are really that at all. Or is God just preparing me for something bigger? I think this should terrify me, to think that there is more to come. But I don't feel afraid. The thought instead comforts me. I feel strengthened. I am being equipped by the Lord.

Question

When does a person stop growing up and start growing old?

Stormy Knots

I can't decide if I like storms. A part of me loves seeing lightning dance across the sky and hearing thunder roll in the distance. A part of me embraces the rhythm of the raindrops as I fall asleep. But there is another part of me: the pit of my stomach. And that part of me doesn't know what to think. My insides knot when I even hear warnings of storms. I don't think I'm afraid. I think I'm aware. Storms make me aware of God's power... and I'm not sure if I like it. I don't like being reminded that the weather man really has no say at all, or that I can't make the rain clouds go away by closing the blinds. Somewhere past my superficial calm and excitement, just for an instant, I wonder if He really knows what He is doing. "You're still in control, right?" I ask. He answers with a soft peace.
I'm reminded of the psalm I read just this morning, Psalm 19.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.

There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world."

In my quiet time, I wrote this psalm into my own words. Here's my version:

Look into the skies.

Can't you see it? Can't you hear it?

Their actions never cease and their voices never fade.

All people understand because it's a different language, one we all speak.

Their words echo in every corner of the world. All have heard them.

I don't think there's a single person on this earth that hasn't felt that twist in the pit of their stomach. The twist of the storms. The twist that says, "There's Someone more." Sunday night in a mission trip meeting, my dad asked the youth to define "awe". One boy said, "It's bigger than you." In storms, I feel awe. I think everyone does. I think that's exactly what He wants.

Beautiful Things

Yesterday, somewhere between the time my family left the house and the end of Cinderella, I decided I needed to write a new blog. This time, with pictures. So I grabbed my camera and set out through my house, determined to unearth some blog-worthy subject (pausing every now and then to dance and sing along with the television.)

In my kitchen, I found my two round chocolate cakes, sadly cooling on their respective racks, their bottoms tragically uneven-- both from sticking to the pan and my premature nibbling.

On the front porch, I found Mamma's flowers and soil, sitting, waiting for planting hands.

And in my room, I found my latest puzzle, (yes, I like to work puzzles, and yes, I know that is yet another thing I have in common with the elderly. But like a true old lady, I don't give a hoot.) parts finished, most still in fragments on the floor.

Now I knew what I would blog about! How God finishes every good work in us. How He ices our cakes and plants our flowers and fits together all our pieces.

But when I iced the cake, it still looked lumpy.

When I finished the puzzle, several pieces were missing (not uncommon when you use a thrift store as your supplier.)

I was a little miffed. My wonderful illustration had fallen flat on its face. 

It wasn't until this morning that I realized those imperfections fit. After all, we don't turn out perfect either. That's not our Maker's fault. Those bumps and bruises are our own pizazz. The chunks out of the cake are where we want to stick with our own plan instead of his, or where we get tired of waiting on His timing.

 

Those missing pieces are where we refuse to do his will, or we put ourselves in the hands of others before turning to Him.

But even with the mess-ups, the cake was still delicious, and the pieces still made a lovely image. He's not stopped by a few lumps or missing pieces. He doesn't give up on me.

By the way, the flowers turned out just fine, most likely because I had no part in their planting.

Oh, and the plain country bumpkin and the prince did join in marriage.

Chapters in My Book

Isn't it strange how everything that happens in our lives somehow connects, somehow relates? I suppose I never truly realized this before a couple of weeks ago, when my small group leader made a fleeting remark. She was expressing her amazement that something in the final chapter of our study book related to other chapters at the book's start. Then she laughingly chided herself, "Well of course it ties in. It's a chapter in the book." For some reason, this comment stood out to me. I suppose I never before saw my life in that light; that every circumstance is just another chapter in the same book I started with. And even though my eyes were opened that night, I still find it incredible that everything so fits together.

Yesterday morning, as I helped in children's church, I learned something about children. They don't understand the temporality of pain. When they fall, they cry. A bumped knee is a crisis and a scraped elbow is the end of the world. Then it's gone. The pain disappears and they forget anything happened. One little girl in particular, a little girl who struggles mentally, showed me this. I found her sobbing in the floor rubbing her arm, which had been scratched in play. I told her it would be alright, but she kept saying, "It hurts." I told her it wouldn't hurt for long, and she looked at me, tears covering her face and asked, "When will it heal?" I told her it would be better by tomorrow, that she wouldn't even remember she was hurt. She simply said, "Okay," and arose to continue in her play.
She wasn't sinning, you know. It wasn't wrong for her to cry for her pain. It wasn't wrong for her to ask when the healing would come. And it certainly wasn't wrong for her to stand up and move on.

On Saturday, my sister's softball team lost in the conference championship game. This means no National Tournament, and the end of their season together. Everyone mourned the loss. My heart ached for my sister as I watched her cry with her softball family. But as I walked away from the field, I saw a group of little girls playing in the mud, oblivious to the Great Tragedy. And suddenly, I saw life moving on.

Several years ago, I, with my highschool small group, went to visit our leader in the hospital. She had just had her baby girl. On our way home, we found out that a man in our community, a respected man, had commited suicide. A new life was born the same night an old one slipped away.

In my mind, all of these three circumstances fit together. They teach me of pain, of how to deal with it and how God is still gracious in its midst. I've wondered before, how much simpler it would be if the world would simply stop for our pain. If time would just stand still to let us ache and cry. But now I see the grandeur of it all. The world turning on. The immense hope of a new life ushering out the old. The grace of children to play while the old ones weep. 

I see these chapters, I read over them and my heart is stirred. Isn't my Author magnificent?

A few chapters of my life.

My God is Love

As my first year of college draws to a close, I am reminded of how changed I am from the girl I was when I began. God has shown me so much in these two semesters. As I look through my journal, I see in ink my struggles and my deliverances. I think the two journal entries I share today show my greatest discovery of these past seven months.

January 18, 2011
Tonight in Collide, I was angry at God. We watched a video promoting missions in Asia. My heart ached for these people. They are already hurting and poor, but to add to that, they invest their broken lives in lies. The video showed Christians being persecuted, killed for believing the truth. And at the end, it showed orphans, unloved innocents. It left me asking "why?" Why them? Why not me? Why would God allow this? After the video was the message, then the time for worship. The band strikes their first notes and I am angry. It's "How He Loves." No He doesn't. Why would He allow this suffering? How can He love us, in our perfect chapel with our group of Christians and ignore the bleeding and broken in the streets? How can He love? How is that love? I sat while all those around me stood; they praising, me glaring at God and shaking my head. My heart and soul mourned for those unloved, and my body wept.

I went on in that entry to state that I knew God loved, even though I didn't understand it, but those were just words. My heart was hardened against that love for two more days. Then my God softened me.

January 22, 2011
Two nights ago, we had our full practice for Singers, we ran through our entire service. During the first few songs, I didn't really worship, I was still angry. Then it came time for the offertory which Mrs. Tracy plays on the piano. We all sat as she played her song, a combination of the two hymns "Oh How He Loves You and Me" and "Oh How I Love Jesus." I felt so frustrated! Again?! Why must everything be about God's love? Then it hit me. Many of our songs speak of the cross. It must be love. There is no other reason that God would become man. There is no other reason Jesus, perfection, would bear the sins of the world, separated from His Father. Why else would he be beaten, pierced, torn, mocked? Why else would He do all of this just for a relationship? It has to be love. There's no other answer. I don't understand it. I don't know why people are suffering persecution, or why babies are starving. But I know He loves.

A day before I wrote the above entry, I decided, on a whim, to write a poem. The poem ended up being about my week.

God is love?

I look at my life.

I see such neat rows.

Where You put everything in place,

Where Your hand is so evident.

I say, “God is love.”

I go to church.

I see my family all sitting in their pews.

We sing together.

Eyes closed, hands raised, I say

“God is love.”

We sit to eat.

We hold hands.

We speak grateful words.

We eat.

And we say, “God is love.”

But then I see faces,

Faces streaked with tears,

Homes of cardboard and tin,

Meals of stinking garbage.

I see this and say,

“Is this love?”

I see swollen bellies and matted hair.

I gaze into hauntingly hollow eyes.

I watch the children suffer for what they never did.

I see and say,

“God, you call this love?”

I go to my church.

I hear my songs.

But now I don’t even stand.

I sit and shake my head,

Angry at such love.

Then I remember,

My God bled.

My God hung.

My God died,

For this, for us.

How can He not be love?