The End

It's late. And I'm breaking my "no late night blogging" rule. (I try not to blog late at night, lest my mind be overpowered by emotions... something I've found happens to my poor brain with lack of sleep.) But... IT'S NEW YEAR'S EVE! And I just so happened to find an old journal entry that applies to such an occasion.

 

I wrote this entry on May 21, 2011; the day the rapture was projected to occur according to one Harold Camping. It didn't. Even though this isn't exactly a New Year's entry, I think it fits.

Today is the day the world is supposed to end. At least that's what some people say. Yesterday my [internet] homepage posed a question: "Why are we so obsessed with the end times?" I think the answer can be summed up in one word: control.
We humans like to think we're in control. It's why we tame lions and drive fast. It's why we fight to hold the remote. We want an easy and predictable God, so we can fool ourselves into thinking we're in control. That's why we scour the environment to find an excuse for unexpected rain showers. We wouldn't want to give credit to a wild God.
He is, you know. Wild. In The Chronicles of Narnia, they speak of Aslan. They say "After all, he's not a tame lion." Neither is God.

I think we want to know when the world will end so that we can pretend we're the ones controlling it. Maybe we can find a man-made excuse for it. Perhaps an "inconvenient truth."

I know I'm a Christian, but there is still that feeling I get when I think about the end. It's the same feeling I get when I'm caught in a storm. It's deep in the pit of my stomach. No control. My stomach rebels with my heart. They grasp desperately for a hold, a hold that says, "I choose." But I breathe deep and remember, and there is peace. I remember He is there. This Lion of a God holds my fate, not me. He is wild, yes, but He is gracious. Oh, is He gracious.
I don't think the world will end today. Or in 2012. Or any other time a human predicts. I think God will use the end to remind us, to remind us Who is in control.

We little men

Oh, the frailty of men, with our bones that bend and break! I saw an x-ray of a broken bone this week. The rod of strength was in pieces. How is this? That bone seemed so strong, so big. How is it that it could so crumble beneath weight or by force?

Maybe we are not so big after all.

Maybe we are just tiny.

I remember years ago seeing a photograph entitled "The Pale Blue Dot". The picture was taken billions of miles from our planet. Do you see us?

We are there, you know.

There. That tiny speck of dust. That pale blue dot. That is earth. That pale blue dot holds the Great Wall of China, the Burj Khalifa, and the Sistine Chapel. That pale blue dot is where Columbus discovered new lands, and the World Wars were fought. That pale blue dot is where we live and laugh and cry and love. Where we fight for more power or more land or just more. All of this, on a speck of dust. How tiny we are.

It's strange to think of my world as nothing more than a speck. I imagine God watching us on our little chunk of rock and metal. I think of a grade schooler watching an ant farm, laughing at their frantic running, all for nothing. I feel so insignificant to be an ant on a pale blue dot.

But that's not how it is. Not at all.

He knows my name.

He's not some god who threw the stars and planets into the sky. He spoke them into being. He created. He used his time, his thought, his care. He didn't drop Adam and Eve onto this rock and leave them to frantically scramble for food and life. He walked with them, spoke with them.

I am not another random ant running about on the pale blue dot I call home.

I am Moriah Beth Hendrix. My God knit me together.

He knows my actions, my words, my thoughts, my soul. He talks with me and laughs with me and holds me when I weep. He gave up His precious son, His only son, Himself, for me and the rest of mankind. For our tiny lives on our pale blue dot. He created the vast universe, but chose one pale blue dot to hold life, life that He knits and loves.

How very humbling to know that this God, infinitely bigger than our pale blue dot, infinitely bigger than the universe, knows my name.

How very wonderful that we men with our brittle bones have a relationship with this unfathomably enormous God.

Maybe we are not so big after all.

Maybe we are tiny.

But our giant God gives us worth.

Can you hear it?

My Mamma told me that creation sings praises to God. Now I know the song. It's not a song that touches my ears, but my eyes.

I can see their music.

I see it in the flowers that turn their faces to heaven, to their Maker.

 

I see it in the flocks of birds that fly in unison, in a pattern unforeseen by men.

I see it in the tiny ants that creep through forests of grass. Tiny bodies, filled with tiny organs, moving to the heartbeat of life.

I see it in the wild rush of waters, flowing from the ground across great chunks of land.

 

Most of all, I see it in the trees.

I see their song in their majestic trunks and outstretched branches, in the roughness of their bark and the green of their leaves.

 In the winter, when the ice and snow blanket their limbs, I see the mighty trees bow to Him.

But now I watch them dance, dance to the rhythm of His breath.

Hush! Listen! Can you hear it? The sound has reached my ears. But the sound is not the song. The sound is applause. As the wind strokes the branches, I hear the praise of the trees. They are honoring Him. He is their Creator. He is worthy of their praise.

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.