The Burden for Youth

Youth groups break my heart.  It seems a bit daft, I'm sure, but every time I see a group of teenagers whose hearts are so clearly focused on God, it moves me in a way that Christ-centered adults often cannot.  For years, I couldn't quite pinpoint why I got so emotional when I saw teens give their testimony or put on dramatic productions at church, and thought (rather self-centeredly) that it was some sort of mourning for the innocent way I myself had once viewed matters of faith.

I can recall so clearly the way I and my peers had thrown ourselves so whole-heartedly into our relationship with God when we were that age, and then I saw how many of us turned our backs fully on God as young adults, and how very few of us have returned to God now, even 20 years later.  

It is rare that I think about such things though (see above re: self-centered), only really in moments like this morning at service as the teenagers of our church gathered around their new youth pastor.  Instead of feeling joy for the sweetness of their devotion to God, or a prayerful fear that they will be protected from the world as they grow up, it is a crushing sadness that gives me tunnel-vision for the thought of the ones (and there will be many) who will completely renounce their faith in the coming years.

I cannot comprehend the way youth pastors must feel every Spring as they watch their seniors graduate, and know that the kids whom they have just poured so much love and time and commitment into for the past four, five, or more years are now on their own, to make their own decisions, all of a sudden without the guidance of their parents or their youth pastors.  

They trust in God, of course.  Of course, right?  Or does it cause them so much pain they can barely make it through yet another year of ministry?

My Utmost

I have been in another dead zone with my spiritual life lately, as evidenced by my conspicuous absence here.  Since my return to church seven years ago, there has been an ebb and flow in my relationship with God that is difficult to own up to sometimes, and is something that rarely seems to be discussed in the religious circles I find myself in.  To be sure, I have heard countless sermons and Bible studies and other small group discussions on how important daily quiet time is, and how necessary daily Bible reading is, but occasionally I have wondered why these teachers rarely seem to acknowledge that even in study and prayer, dead zones occur.

As it turns out of course, as I felt the distance grow between myself and God (if only in my own heart), I did indeed slow down in my pursuit of God, and finally just begin to forget to seek God on a daily basis.  Then a few days would pass, and I would barely glance at the cover of my Bible as I did nothing but walk on by.

These times rarely have anything to do with doubting God.  If anything, they tend to come when everything is going just fine.  Life just begins to creep in, Bible reading becomes less of a priority, my prayer time becomes cursory, praise and worship at church is just the time spent between arrival and the main event of the sermon.

I have not found a solution.  No pat answer as to how to miraculously feel a deep connection to spiritual matters.  No three step process to restore an intimate relationship with God.

The only thing that ever works for me, in my spiritual life as in almost every other facet of life itself, is to just keep on keeping on.  I get up on Sunday morning and go to church, whether I feel like it or not.  I ignore the pile of work on my desk and go to Wednesday night Bible study even when I have a long list of reasons why I don't have time to do so.  I pick a Beth Moore study or a John Bevere book and I force it.

The alternative, to not go to church, to allow myself to drift farther, would be unacceptable to the way my mind works.  And I know how hypocritical it sounds, nee how meaningless, to go about my religious business as if all is fine when it clearly isn't, but it isn't my faith I am faking.  It is my dedication.

No matter what, I believe in God.  I accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior.  I desire to live a life according to God's will and purpose.  Even when I have idea what His will and purpose is, and I lack the fervor to find out.

Right now, as I stumble through a lack of inspiration in my creative endeavors and in my search to know God more, I am choosing to look to Oswald Chambers both for guidance and for accountability.  Preston has long read My Utmost for His Highest, and while it didn't appeal to me years ago when I first paged through the book, it is speaking to me now in it's sincerity and through it's calm, non-exclamatory tone.  I found it online, along with accompanying daily Bible reading, and I have parked the site right smack dab in the middle of my Google reader so that I run into it every day when I am doing my blog readings.  At a time of day when I was so recently finding it difficult to care about reading my Bible, I find it to be a welcome nudge every morning.  And in the spirit of keeping on keeping on, I read it even when it doesn't speak to me (because not every moment with God is going to involve A Miracle or An Encounter).

I read it, and I accept that God is quietly working in my life.  I read it, and I know that this dry spell will last only for a season.  I read it, and I know that I will experience other miracles and other encounters in time.  I read it, and I know that God honors my dedication, even when it is half-hearted.  I read it, and I know that no matter how unfaithful I am, God is ever-faithful.  I read it, and I know that even when I do not feel His presence, He is always there.

The Beautiful Center Again

My disappointment over how little I gleaned from my recent time in the book of Acts has been assuaged in the most obvious of ways:  by looking to Jesus, of course.

After staring at the Bible for a day or so after completing a study of Acts, and feeling more than a little ignorant, I found The Beautiful Center again, and tip-toed back a few books to start back at the beginning of The Gospels.  Honestly, since I am pretty sure I failed to, you know, pray about what I should study next, I might have let discouragement win out again were it not for the children's Bible study that I do every morning with my 6-year-old.  He and I have spent the past 10 months reading from a children's Bible storybook every morning (ahem, most mornings) at breakfast, and we just recently began the New Testament.  It was there, while eating cereal with my children, and glancing over to the side of the page where there was an illustration of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus that I again felt that glorious calm.

And so it was that I had another forehead-slapping moment.  I had been reading Acts, after all, which begins at the end of Jesus' earthly ministry.  If it is Jesus whose feet I want to sit at, then Matthew might be a better place for me to be at this moment.

It is working, as I should know to expect, and I am slowly reading Matthew for the umpteenth time, but truly studying it for the very first time.  It is there that I find Jesus right now, and it is there that I feel a closeness to God, as I draw nearer to Him, and he draws nearer to me.

Maybe someday I will learn to adjust the focus on my own, but until then I will be content with knowing that a children's Bible has the power to turn my heart.  And I pray that it has that same affect on my children as we take baby steps together.

Not with a Bang...

I finished studying the book of Acts recently, but realized that with all the fanfare with which I had begun this re-read, the whole project ended with a whimper.  From me.  I expected to really Get It this time, you know?  I felt certain I would gain an understanding of the Holy Spirit, an appreciation for the book as a whole, maybe some scripture memorization, or at least a wee bit of newly acquired and applicable knowledge.

For the most part, I got nothing.

Life interceded, as it it wont to do, and Preston and I found our marriage under attack, as Satan himself is wont to do.

Want to test your own faith, your spouse's faith, and the strength of your relationship?  Embark together on a journey in which you pray together daily and faithfully study the Bible during your individual quiet times.  Then wait patiently.

We even sort of saw it coming, and neither of us were that surprised that there were visible snags, but it was disgusting nonetheless.  Some of it was relatively comical, and some was heartbreaking.  We continued to pray together, but I lost sight of the goal more than once (more than I care to admit, actually).

Then I began my morning study of Acts one day last week, and realized with surprise, and no small amount of dismay at how little I had really learned, that I was finishing the last chapter.

And there, almost at the very end of that final chapter were these words, "...'You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.'  For this people's heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes.  Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them." - Acts 28:26-27 (NIV).

How something can be so humbling, so full of hope, and yet so tragic is almost more than I can bear, because I have let this world affect my heart, and it will take a bigger commitment to faith than I yet have if I am ever to arrive at the place where that verse would lead me.

A Fickle Sort

It seems to me that there are those who find themselves happily following God when times are easy, giving glory and praise for the good fortune; and then there are others who lean most on God when things are rough, fasting and praying and depending on God for sustenance and support.

For the most part, I go through cyclical and unpredictable phases, sometimes remembering to hold fast to God in both days of ease and moments of pain, and occasionally doing the exact opposite in similar circumstances.  Truly, I think my faithfulness to my own faith is most dependable when the middle ground is holding steady.

What appalls me is that I am so fickle in my devotion to the God of my life.

I am ashamed to pick up my Bible and expect understanding to come when I have been so neglectful in my reading for days on end.  I find it hard to pray after going a week without even thinking about talking to God, and I feel like a terrible fraud when my eyes well with tears during praise & worship at church on Sunday when I have just spent the previous day complaining bitterly to myself about every minute detail that sprang to mind.

How can I expect this relationship to thrive when the work is all done by God?  When I am unfaithful?  When I have acted petulant and have been nothing more than a cranky nag?

A human relationship would never even materialize, much less last, under these circumstances.  Rather than being grateful for God's fidelity though, I find Him even more difficult to relate to, knowing that I am so undeserving of His love.

As always, I think I may have gone one step forward recently, only to have taken another three steps back.  Then again, Square One is the place I am most comfortable with, so I will begin again with God, begging for forgiveness that I know will be granted, and asking for help that I am certain will be given.

After all, God does not suffer from human shortcomings.  He will never be fickle.

The Beautiful Center

Everything keeps coming back to Jesus.

No matter how I approach thinking about faith and religion, or the way in which I try to come at writing about God or reading about God or talking about God, the only time I end up with any clarity on the matter is when I just brush away most of the intellectual and emotional chatter and focus solely upon Jesus.

The rest of it all just falls away, and there is only peace left.  Quiet and rest.  Unambiguity.

It goes against everything we believe in as a self-absorbed civilization to set aside our own desires and questions and pursuits, but it is only in doing so that Jesus remains as the sole element left to fill the void, and the purity and simplicity of Jesus, and what he did for us, become so much more distinct.

There is much baggage and uneasiness that comes with bringing up Religion with a capital 'R' with those who are opposed to the entire concept of belief in that which cannot be proven, but the idea of Jesus seems to be universally accepted as the embodiment of love and peace and charity.  Referring to myself as an 'evangelical' can be a hackle-raiser, and there is so much politic wrapped up in the term that I almost feel its initial, more precise, definition has been lost amidst the misinformation.

I think I'll stick with 'follower of Jesus' as my creed.  There is an innocence there, a cleaving to faith in God rather than faith in ritual and religion, that better expresses why my heart is wrapping itself so tightly around this confidence.

After all, everything keeps coming back to Jesus.

Adventures in Fasting

Until recently, fasting never struck me as a serious discipline in the pursuit of God.  Sure, I know Jesus did it, but really, a 40-day fast seems a bit unobtainable for us mortals, doesn't it?  

But I have watched others as they have embarked upon fasts, some of a very short duration, some that were so loose in what was being given up that they resembled Lent more than an actual fast, and others that blew my mind in the devotion obviously at play.  A few years ago, Preston fasted for a number of days, and I felt enormously relieved that I was nursing a baby at the time and was therefore ineligible to join the madness.

Then we participated in a Sunday School group that was reading The Quest: A Ten-Week Journey Into Radical Discipleship, by Chuck Quinley.  Chapter Five, to my great dismay, was on fasting.  Fasting in secret, no less.  For 24 hours.

I blithely said, "No problem."  The previous chapters had affected me in a powerful way as I struggled and then chose to obey each directive.  This would be tough, I knew.  Though Preston and I would be fasting, I would still have to feed the children, and would be at their whim through the duration, thus limiting any distracting activities I could dream up.  We picked a day when I would be able to stay home, and not be driving young children around while delirious, and vowed to do it together.  No sweat.  All a part of getting to know God better.  Totally worth it.

Then I saw that caffeine was verboten during this fast, and I started thinking evil thoughts.  No coffee?  This was gonna suck.

And it DID suck.  I rarely made it into a fully prone position all that day, and drank something like 24 cups of decaf herbal tea (the one allowance given by the book, other than water).  Preston called mid-morning to see how I was doing, and I vented a long list of grievances, beginning with, "All these kids do is eat," and ending with, "This isn't getting me closer to God AT ALL."

I tried to pray throughout the day (half-heartedly), but each prayer kind of fizzled out a sentence in as I struggled to concentrate.  I thought about focusing on a particular need to pray for, but got too grumped to do anything about it.

The only thing I learned was that coffee is a necessary part of my relationship with God.  Inspiring, huh?

Many months later though, I had an entirely different experience.  During an extended time of great upheaval and difficulty for a loved one, I began to finally learn how to pray for others, (fairly) consistently and with (newly discovered, and very limited) compassion.  This was a big step for me - focusing on a long-term basis on others' needs rather than my own, and my understanding of God began to clarify through this (new to me) desire to intercede for another.  Then, early one morning in which I knew a pivotal event would be occurring for these loved ones, I decided I would try to pray often and much during the following five or so hours as I awaited word on the outcome.  As I prayed my initial prayer, which sounded a little like, "Um, God, please make this happen for [them]...," I felt the need to fast.

It was jarring.  And besides, I was already drinking my second cup of coffee.  How could I possibly fast?  But then it occurred to me that fasting can take many forms, and when I brought it up to Preston, that I was planning to fast all morning from food, but would drink coffee, he said he thought God would probably nudge me and let me know if He disapproved of the drinking-black-coffee-while-fasting thing.

A whole new world opened up that day.  The caffeine made me human, but the hunger from lack of food gave me a sort of an edge as the morning wore on, reminding me with every hunger pang that I was to be praying (rather than getting caught up in my routine of busyness and forgetting all about the plan to pray - as so often happens for me).

I learned two things during this fast: that hunger brings the time of prayer into a sharp focus (along with a reminder to rely on God to meet our daily needs), and that praying for others, for God's will to be done in their lives, is far more edifying and productive than just praying for my own needs to be met.

I also learned that I have a long, terrifying road ahead of me if I am ever to truly conquer this self-absorption issue.  One morning of fasting for another does not a saint make.

God is Everywhere

As far as I am concerned, science and religion are not mutually exclusive.  I realize there is a great deal of antagonism that is attributed to the relationship between the two, but I do not subscribe to the theory that only one or the other discipline can be trusted.

Not all Christians think science is Godless, and not all scientists are atheists, but that is as far into the discussion as I care to get.

I do not have an intelligent, well-reasoned, concise answer as to why I believe in God.  I just do.  I always have.  Even during the years when I shunned organized religion and lived, ahem, in a manner not befitting a child of God, I still did not doubt the existence of God.  I just didn't want to have anything to do with Him.  Youth, invincibility, and self-absorption go hand in hand, after all.

A number of my friends are self-professed atheists, and many get agitated just as the mention of God.  So I just don't bring it up usually - my faith, that is.

I have no proof with a capital "P" to back up my beliefs, but I see God everywhere.  I see God in the first daffodil of the season, in the trust of a child, in the sunrise over the ocean on a windy day, in the advances of science, and in the beauty of art.

So how do I know God exists?  Well, I suppose I don't know it on an intellectual level, but I feel it.  I sense God's power and love, and I can't help but think that following the teachings of Jesus, and to attempt to live as Jesus lived, would make the world a better place for all.

Clear Answers to Prayer

This is a strangely tough post to write.  God really showed up here today, providing clear answers to a prayer that Preston and I offered up last night, and it seems extraordinarily important to me that I tell this story correctly.

To God be the glory, after all.

Preston decided recently that we should make an effort to pray together (a novel thought after 10 years of marriage, yes?) and it has been nothing short of incredible to watch the effect it has had on us, though that effect is not something I believe I can articulate.  Every morning lately, Preston has taken my hand and prayed for us, for our day, for our family.  It takes maybe 20 seconds.  Nothing profound occurs, unless you consider the small fact that we are finally taking an extra miniscule step together towards God.

"For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them."  - Matthew 18:20 NIV

Last night, we had our monthly discussion in which I regularly get all freaked out about having the money to pay the bills, and Preston gets frustrated with me for not having enough faith to trust that God will provide.    We have this exchange every month, and could probably just pull out the script if we needed to.  The words rarely change.  It isn't a money fight per se, but it is a rare day indeed in which we both play our assigned roles in this performance without one of us getting rather cranky.

The issue is not one of faith though.  I have no doubt that God will take care of us, but I have always held a strict belief that I must hold up my end of the bargain if I should expect God to pour out his blessings.  It just seems to me that God would reward us if we are being obedient to Him and if we are following the path He wants us to be on, and if I am blatantly ignoring His guidance and going my own way, then I have no issue with the thought that He might pull out the rug from under me to get my attention.

My theology, as usual, may be a bit flawed on this point, but I think my heart is in the right place on this.  I just don't buy into all the promises of material prosperity that some believe are part and parcel of The God Thing.

So it is not that I lack in faith, but rather I doubt my ability to discern God's will for our lives.  As a general rule, if I (ahem) remember to ask God for guidance in a decision, I rarely feel that I get a clear answer.  I do not know whether this comes from my not paying enough attention, or if God just chooses to be subtle in His answers.   For quite some time now, I have questioned if I am doing what God would have me to do.  Money has been way more than tight for a good two years, and I have carried around a burden that this is completely my fault.  With the addition of a second small child to our little family, and then the added time constraints that crept in when we began homeschooling, my income has dropped considerably and I have watched our debts become a little scarier.

And I have prayed, oh I have prayed long and much to seek direction in this.  Am I holding on too tight to my desire to homeschool?  Should I be out pounding the pavement to drum up more clients, or should I be patient and know that God will (as He has always done) provide the workload that He expects me to shoulder?  Does God want me to sit tight and trust Him as we wait out a tough economy, or is He up there wondering why in samhill I don't go out and get a weekend job when Preston is home to see to the children?  Am I managing our money correctly?  Am I being obedient?

Last night, during our discussion, as I tried to lay out to Preston my need to hear from God on this, Preston (bless him) reached for my hand and prayed.

This morning, while the kids watched their morning cartoon, I read Acts Chapter 10, and was captivated by how God, in a vision, showed something to Peter three times (Acts 10:10-16).  The footnote regarding the phrase 'three times' read, "to make a due impression on Peter."

Sounds nice, yes?  Getting a clear vision from God not once, but three times?  And have you noticed how many times in the Bible things happen in threes when God is trying to make a point?

And then it happened to us.  Within 18 hours of praying for guidance as to whether we were being obedient to God's will, He gave us three confirmations back to back.  Not three possible confirmations, but three incredible, awe-inspiring, crystal-clear, highly unusual, far-from-coincidental Words from God.

God spoke.  And He used an exclamation point.

It does not escape my notice that as I have finally reached a point where I am hungry to get closer to God, when my husband and I are seeking Him together, when I am eager for God to use me however He sees fit, I am simultaneously feeling God moving amongst us.

I am filled with awe, overwhelmed with gratitude, and I am laying all of today's blessings at God's feet, right where they belong.

That Holy Spirit Thing (again)

This study of the Holy Spirit still has me tied up in knots.  Actually, I find the knots getting more complicated, rather than less, as I dig deeper.  Under normal circumstances, when delving into a new topic of study, I would pick an author as my expert and start there, branching out as I ingested the basics.

This particular subject doesn't necessarily lend itself well to that approach.  The Bible clearly is the preeminent textbook on the matter, and God would be the expert for me to tap as a mentor, but those facets just up the daunting factor, if you know what I mean.

A few weeks back, when I first tried to learn about the Day of Pentecost, I tried to dumb the subject down so that I could 'get it' right off the bat, and I just jumped on the thought of that moment being the Holy Spirit's first entry onto the stage when, in fact, that isn't the case.

The Holy Spirit is first introduced on page one of the Bible, of course, and there is ample enough mention of the Holy Spirit speaking through (or speaking to) Old Testament figures, so the book of Acts obviously wasn't the birth of the third piece of the trinity.  Acts may not even be the first instance of speaking in tongues, though I think I have been laboring under that assumption for some time.

I think my frightening lack of knowledge on this topic makes a clear case for blogging quietly here.  The last thing I want to do, after all, is say something that is completely theologically incorrect, and have someone read it and believe it as well-researched truth.  Then again, it should be abundantly obvious that I am expert on nothing except coffee consumption (if you know me at all, that is).

The only absolutely true knowledge I have of God can be summed up relatively succinctly: My faith is in God.  He has my (and your) best interests at heart, and my sole focus should be on glorifying God and on sharing His love and His word with unbelievers.

That said, my life is obviously out of focus and I am a lousy example of a life lived for God, but I am fairly certain that it is through the Holy Spirit that I will grow closer to God, will be better able to discern God's plans for my life, and will learn how to be able to share God with others.

So I think I am back at square one.  Unless my semantics are thoroughly screwed up (which is highly possible), I have received the Holy Spirit through repentance and belief, but have not yet been filled with the Holy Spirit.

I am ever humbled.

Inhibited

I do not doubt God's existence, nor do I take the Biblical narrative of Jesus' life and death with any grains of salt.  I have no trouble believing in the virgin birth and the resurrection, and I do not question the benevolence of the Father.

What I do doubt is my own ability to be passionate in worship, my desire to truly live for Jesus and to listen for instructions from God (and to obey those instructions without feigning deafness).

You know those people in church that throw their hands in the air during praise and worship?  I am not one of them.  Worship does often move me, but not in a demonstrative sort of way.  I don't shout 'Amen' nor do I lift my face to heaven in a spirit of absolute devotion, and I can't be sure whether this is a fault that I should be taking care to rectify or if it is acceptable to God for some to be less gregarious than others.

There is so much I am unsure of, but the questions I harbor regard my own faithfulness, not that of God.

Unconditional Love

There are mornings when the last thing I feel like doing is reading my Bible.  Most of the time, I find that my attitude changes as I read, and then I am grateful that I took the time to do so.

There are other times, though, when the whole thing is forced and I still feel like a fraud even after I have read, studied, prayed...

This morning was one of those times.

I cannot even imagine how difficult it must be to lead a church, to preach even when you can't hear God above the noise in your own head.  When you'd really rather just call in sick.  It has to be the most humbling of responsibilities to have, to know there are hundreds of parishioners who will have no other mediator between themselves and God for the next seven days (or longer).

For us, here in our little family, we have seen concrete evidence of the difference that is brought when Preston and I take the time to read our Bibles in the morning, and when Preston takes 30 seconds to hold my hand and pray with me before he leaves for work every day.  It seems like a cliche, I am sure, but even when I open my Bible and retain nothing from my reading, when I pray but do not feel the connection to God, when I drag my grumpy self to church on a Wednesday night when I would really rather stay home and paint my toenails, when I listen to Christian music in the car but hear nothing over the sound of the squabbling children, even in those times, I am better able to feel God's presence through the day than when I consciously choose not to do those things.

So I went to church last night, though I was too tired and distracted to listen to the message.  I read my Bible this morning, struggling through one little old chapter, and I half-heartedly prayed for God's guidance as the day began.  And when I raced to town, late and low on coffee, I parked the radio station on to Christian music (though it is possible that I blew a raspberry at one of the chipper little songs).

Even at times like this, I know God is here.  I feel crappy for treating Him so badly, and I am awed that He still shows up every day, despite the abuse I heap upon Him.  I am grateful, I am undeserving of this unconditional love, and I am humbled.  Always and forever humbled.

That Holy Spirit Thing

Just when I thought that this study of the book of Acts was leading me no closer to an understanding (read: acceptance) of the Holy Spirit, I came across the following little snippet in Preston's Study Bible as a note to Acts 5:3:  "...the Holy Spirit is regarded as God himself present with his people."


And just like that, it makes perfect sense.  Well, as perfect as something so esoteric can be, that is.


While I realize that this particular quote was used within the context of the verse it notates, and that this description is not directly from the Bible, but rather from an interpretation, it stands as the first crystal clear grasp I have gotten on the concept.  So I'm going with it.  I will embrace it fully, this tiny first step of comprehension, and see where it leads me.


'Tis both comforting and humbling.  Comforting to finally be able to read the words 'Holy Spirit' without feeling that twinge of irritation that something is utterly outside my ability to comprehend, and supremely humbling in that if maybe, just maybe, I had thought to actually take the radical step of properly studying the subject, I might have been able to move past my mental block at an earlier time.


Dear Lord: please help me to remember this lesson tomorrow, that a true desire to understand your word will be rewarded with true understanding, and thank you for opening my eyes to see something that had been right there all along.

More of Jesus, Less of Me

It has not escaped my notice that this blog appears to me more about myself than about God, and while my intention here is to [try to] write about my relationship with God, thus necessitating the insertion of myself into the narrative, I find it alarming (and more than a little troubling) that my usage of personal pronouns is so pronounced.

This, too, is humbling.

I am a self-centered, vain and imperfect creature, and to have recently spent the Easter season reflecting on Jesus and his supreme selflessness has, as should be expected, highlighted so many of my own flaws.  It is Jesus that I find myself drawn to in the Bible, more than to the Holy Spirit or to God Himself, which was, I suppose, much of the point of Jesus' being made human.  It makes him more relatable in a way, though his perfection is also made more awe-inspiring for the same reason.

How can I be so drawn to someone so filled with love, someone so blameless, when I am made to feel so little, so petty, so hard-hearted in comparison?

If the Church were to focus more on Jesus, wouldn't that make it more difficult for the world to be so disgusted by religion?  If I were to focus more on Jesus, wouldn't that make me better able to show the love of God to those who want nothing to do with Christianity?

In the mid-eighties, when I was in middle school, my mother and I trekked to Atlanta every Monday night to see Mylon LeFevre & Broken Heart play.  They were very much a part of my mother's return to church, and thus my own exposure to God, and they were very much a product of the time period.  Christian rock mirrored the styles of the times, much as it did for the following 10 years or so, so it is with no small amount of trepidation that I link the following video.  One must be able to overlook mullets and parachute pants, mustaches and the like.  I rather liked the 80's.

This band holds a very special place in my heart, and the song "More of Jesus" that appears in the following video is one that stuck with me through more than a decade of rebellion against the church; and last week, when I felt God moving my hand, and I wanted to rebel against even that, this song planted itself on repeat in my head, where it has remained stubbornly for the past eight days.

This is my prayer: to be more like Jesus, less like me.

A Brand New Prayer

I have this brand new prayer that I wish desperately to continue to want to pray: God, keep this new hunger for your Word alive inside of me.  Do not let me become distracted by meaningless circumstances, as I so often have before.


I like it here.  Very much.  'Here' in this newfound desire to immerse myself in the Word and to learn more about the teachings of Jesus, and 'here' also being this page, this place where I am hoping to put on paper (read: screen) whatever it is that God would have me to say.

Not that I'm doing exactly THAT yet, but I'm hopeful...

I have not yet gone (very) public with this journal, partly because I do not yet know what direction I am being led in, but also because I have a nasty little habit of wanting an audience, of needing the validation that comes from having a readership.  If this is to be for God's glory, rather than my glory, then a site meter is out of the question, and self-promotion would be ever unseemly.  I have listed this link over in the sidebar on my food blog and on my Facebook page, but with no announcement or fanfare at this time, and while this might appear to be a humble move on my part, it has not escaped my notice that this is sort of the way I have always approached being public about my faith.

If anyone asks me where I stand on matters of religion, then I do not hesitate to say that I am a believer, but I am pretty certain that I do not make it obvious to others that I am a follower of Christ.  I do not bring up God to my non-churched friends.  I even, dare I admit it, avoid the topic altogether with my atheist friends.

Ever heard of The Great Commission?  Well, we could just go ahead and list that one under the heading of 'Things at Which Sarah has Completely Failed.'

I like to think this is because I prefer to show Christ to others through the way I live my life, rather than shoving my religion down the throat of those who might be offended, but that is only a polite way of saying that (1) I act like I am ashamed of my faith, (2) I feel so unqualified on the subject of religion that I stay away from the topic so as to not be embarrassed by my abject ignorance, and (3) I care more about what people think than I care to let on.

So, is it a humility thing that is keeping me semi-quiet about this forum, or is it fear?

The Gift

I am almost at a loss as to where to begin in describing the utter lack of understanding I have about the Holy Spirit.  At some point, many years ago, from some source (but which could very well have been my own bizarre and flawed interpretation of said source), I came to believe that being filled with the Holy Spirit was synonymous with speaking in tongues.

Ergo, if one did not speak in tongues, one was not baptized in the Holy Spirit or filled with the Holy Spirit or indwelt by the Holy Spirit... 

The tongues thing was a BIG part of the church I was raised in, and now that I think about it, I do not recall a service ever going by in which there wasn't at least one instance of someone speaking out in tongues and then having their message interpreted.  At the time, rather than being awed by what was happening, I remember feeling vaguely uncomfortable.  The discomfort was due more to my own fear of being a freak for God than anything else.  

Now though, after speaking with a few people whose opinion I respect greatly, I find myself under the impression that one can be filled with the Holy Spirit without speaking in tongues, and I am relieved by this, though that is a bit embarrassing to admit.  I am still not sure that my understanding is correct, nor am I proud of my fear of speaking in tongues, but there it is.

It is supremely humbling to speak so plainly about this.

It seems to me that I would ideally be getting my answer straight from the Bible, rather than from footnotes in the Study Bible or from a commentary or even from a learned friend or teacher, but the simple truth is that I rely heavily on others to interpret the Bible for me, and this, too, is humbling.

This morning, while reading Acts 2 (again) and digging deeply into each and every word, I found myself reading and re-reading verse 38 for quite some time:  "Peter replied, 'Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins.  And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit."

I repent on a continuous basis, and if a day goes by in which I have not repented, it is only because I have failed to repent, not because I have run out of things to repent for.  So then, have I been given the gift of the Holy Spirit?  Is it already here and I just don't recognize it or appreciate it?  Has it been given to me, but then did I fail to receive it?  Did I reject the gift?  Do I reject it still?

Am I receiving the gift right now?  Am I being filled at this very moment, and is that why I am finally (FINALLY) feeling the words of the Bible as I read them so hungrily?

Is it even possible to have as strong of a faith as I think I have and yet to be so ignorant?

Five Words In

I tried explaining to God that I wasn't qualified to write about Him, and, as if to illustrate my point, I got tripped up only FIVE WORDS IN when I began my intensive study of the book of Acts a few days back.


I had assumed there would be topics I would chase through Strong's Concordance and Preston's Study Bible and maybe a few other places, but to get flummoxed by the fifth word is not the way to get off to a good start.  And to be honest, it made me feel a bit daft.


Acts chapter one begins, "In my former book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do...".  Well now, I generally pride myself in having a relatively firm grip on the English language, so it was clear that Theophilus was either the name of the book the author is referring to as "[his] former book," or is the name of a person (which did not seem likely) or to a place (which didn't make a whole lot of sense grammatically, but would make my study a little easier).


So I backed up a few paragraphs to read the introductions to the book of Acts, and subsequently the book of Luke, in both my old Student Bible and Preston's Study Bible, and, lo and behold, began to learn the most fascinating information.


First, Acts is believed to have been written by Luke, the well-educated physician with a superb grasp of the Greek language and a gift for intriguing storyline, who also, of course, wrote the book of Luke.  Ancient Greek culture has long been a source of fascination to me, so the fact that God has planted me here in the book of Acts with this instruction to write about Him is both awe-inspiring and supremely comforting.  I may be inadequate in knowledge and twisted up in flawed theology, but this is clearly the proper starting place for a firm foundation to be staked.


Back to that fifth word, though: Theophilus, as it would become clear with just the slightest bit of study (which I should point out had never occurred to me to do before this point) is neither the name of the former book (that would be 'Luke') or the name of a city or a church.  Theophilus is a particular person.


Can you imagine?  A book in the Bible (two actually) that is addressed to a single man?  I find that mind-boggling.


And so it was that after two days of studying the introductions to Acts that I finally actually began today to focus on the book itself.  If there is so much to glean from a brief introductory summary, then I am fairly beside myself to see what else will be learned here.  And how is it that I have just sailed through Bible reading before, moving through a few chapters a day without more than a cursory glance at most of what was written there?  I mean, it spoke to me, I learned truths, but retained very close to nothing in the way of actual deep-in-the-soul understanding.  Obviously my attention had not been full or even, dare I admit it, as much as I would have devoted to a run-of-the-mill detective novel.


This, too, is humbling.

Obedience

I am not one of those people who hears clearly from God on a regular basis, or even (honesty alert) on an occasional schedule.  There are those who do, I am aware, and when I hear them say, "Well, God told me that..." or "God showed me...," sometimes the only thought I can muster is a grumpy 'Well, bully for you."


This, too, is humbling.


I get nudges that I tend to attribute to God, though I cannot be sure whether it is actually God's voice or my own conscience giving me a pinch, or if there is even any discernible difference between the two.  There is a man in our church, a dry-witted type not prone to emotional demonstrations who is an incredible fount of knowledge on Biblical matters.  He said once (and I paraphrase) that God's voice will sound very much like our own voice.


I found that to be a profound and partially terrifying thought.  If this is true, then I hear from God much more often than I obey Him.


So I have tried to let my conscience be my guide, assuming that it may be God who is guiding me, and hoping for the best rather than actually exerting true effort into learning how to distinguish God's voice.   I am hoping to change that, and I think it is the elusive Holy Spirit who provides that bridge.


Elusive to me, that is.


Sunday morning, I heard loud and clear from God, and I can be sure it was in fact God because of the nature of what was said.  I bowed my head to pray at the end of Sunday School, and before I heard a word from the teacher who was leading the prayer, or even readied my own mind to focus on praying, I heard "Write about me."


Well, clearly that was God, because from what I understand, if anyone truly means it when they pray to God for guidance on what direction their life should go in, then the answer will come as a bit of a shock. See, when I was praying for said guidance (and I have been praying this prayer for many months now), what I meant was, "Should I build my bookkeeping business back up again, or should I be focusing on starting a semi-career in food writing (my great love)?  Should I even be thinking along the lines of making more money or should my attention be aimed more at homeschooling?  Is homeschooling what God would have me to do right now?"


So, yes, what I was doing was giving God a few options that appealed to me, and asking Him to narrow the field down so that I could be doing His will in my life.  And yes, I see the irony here.  How can one truly ask God for guidance without giving God the leeway to decide the entire direction one should move in?


I understand though, that this particular fault is not one that I own all the rights to.  I heard J. Lee Grady speak recently, and he said roughly the same thing, that he prayed, "Lord, send me, just don't make me get on a airplane."  And of course, Mr. Grady now flies all over the globe speaking.  A woman I admire very much has often recounted the tale of when she asked God to guide her steps, but tried to tell Him that she would do anything as long as she didn't have to speak in front of people.  Of course, she was put in front of large groups of women almost immediately.


So I should have known better, because it tends to be Christian literature that I am particularly snobbish about.  While I am fully aware that there is plenty of garbage out there in secular reading material that I could better focus my literary snootiness upon, I find that I am rarely engaged by (brutal honesty alert) contemporary books written for the Christian audience.  These things tend towards the emotional, which I prefer to avoid, and emotional writing often breeds the excessive use of exclamation points.  Actually, that doesn't quite sum up my issue.   See, I just don't talk that way.  I don't say "Well, Praise the Lord," after a particularly moving sermon.  Instead, I say something completely inane (yet perfectly sensible to me), like "That was a rock-and-roll sermon, Pastor."  


I meant it in the best possible way when I said that, and thankfully, I have a pastor who apparently gets where I'm coming from (or else is long-suffering in his manner of humoring me), but you see what I mean, right?  My tone just doesn't lend itself to contemporary Christian writings.


Lest I be completely misunderstood, I do not mean to imply that contemporary Christian writers are not anointed by God, or that I do not respect these authors.  They are beloved by many, their writing is needed, and if God put them on this path, then obviously it is my attitude that needs changing, not their writing style.  And besides, there are plenty of them that I do very much enjoy reading.  Be that as it may though, on Sunday morning, when I clearly heard God say, "Write about me," my first thought was, "Oh, no, you don't, God.  I want to write about food.  This writing thing is mine, and as you know, my knowledge about you is woefully inadequate and I am wholly unprepared to write anything about you.  I want to write about food.  Maybe you could open some doors for me at Vegetarian Times or something along those lines instead, hmmm?"


God has a sense of humor.


I came home with my tail between my legs and thought about not even bringing this up to Preston, but I knew I needed to be obedient (and be held accountable), in whatever form this might take.  If I truly want a deeper relationship with God, then maybe I could start by actually being responsive to God's voice.


And so it is that I am here, writing these words.  Making uncomfortable thoughts public.  Being obedient.

Pentecost

I have decided to camp out in the book of Acts for a little while.  This is a book I have read previously, more than once in fact, and while it is a book I enjoy reading, as a general rule, I retain next to nothing after time spent studying the Bible.  I know countless people who can pull a memorized Bible verse out of a hat when they need it, but I am not one of those.  At any given time, other than the usual suspects, like John 3:16, or the better part of 1 Corinthians 13, the only verse I can call to mind is the one my 6-year-old is memorizing for his Sunday School class.

This, too, is humbling.

I spent some time doing a Beth Moore study on the book of Esther some time ago, and was more than suitably gratified by how much I learned from the study.  Esther is a short book, and not one that is often quoted from the pulpit, but one which, for obvious reasons, is encouraging to women, especially those of us who embrace the more palatable tenets of feminism.  

The study was exciting to me, both in its historical significance - I studied Greek culture extensively in college and was thrilled to encounter some characters from the Persian Wars right there in my very own Bible - and in the comfort I drew from gleaning some concrete intellectually-satisfying knowledge about the Bible.  Of course, I fully intended to go to the bookstore and pick up another Beth Moore study, but, well, I didn’t.  I forgot, life went on, it wasn’t important enough to me to focus on...

So it goes that I will now throw down my hat in this place, in the book of Acts.  Here I will remain until I feel I am really, truly getting to know the book.  According to my Student Bible, the one I used in high school and which has been gathering dust on a shelf until now, “...Acts reads like a novel, skipping from one exhilarating scene to the next.  Wherever the apostles went, action swirled, riots erupted, and a small church took root.  In an era when new religions were a dime a dozen, the Christian faith became a worldwide phenomenon.  Acts tells how.”

It was the introduction of the Holy Spirit as a character (pardon me if I continue on in the vein of the author of the above quote), that made this possible, and it is the Holy Spirit which I feel nearly certain is what is lacking in my own, oh, what’s the word?  Walk?  Faith?  Relationship with God?

I have had a singular encounter with the Holy Spirit (I think) and it was mind-blowing, but an introduction does not a relationship make, and there is just so much I do not know.  It makes sense on a poetic level that this is not something one will ever fully understand, but the gap between me and anything called the Holy Spirit seems to be ever-widening.

I have a feeling I will be hanging out here in Acts for a while.

Exhibit One

On our way into the church parking lot this morning, I remarked on how happy I was to see that the wooden crosses from Easter were still up in their prominent place by the street.  When Preston said he thought they might be leaving them up for The Day of Pentecost, I, in my infinite lack of knowledge on what is important, said, rather ashamedly, “What is The Day of Pentecost?”

I credit my husband with being supremely patient with my ignorance on matters of faith.  

“When The Holy Spirit came...” he started to answer.

“Oh.  Yeah,” I replied dully, feeling, well, quite dull, to be honest.

How is it that I know so little about the Bible?  About biblical history?  About my own faith?  About what really matters?

After church, in an attempt to actually deepen my knowledge instead of remaining content with ignorance, I checked Wikipedia and re-read Acts chapter 2.    It is humbling to admit this is the first time I ever gave the term ‘Pentecost’ any real thought.  Here is what I learned:

The Day of Pentecost is 50 days after Easter, and is celebrated on the 8th Sunday, counting Easter Sunday, to commemorate the Holy Spirit descending upon the apostles and other followers of Jesus who were present that day.  This is the first appearance of the Holy Spirit, and is what enabled the disciples to go out and preach to all, and to be understood by those who spoke different languages.  It was this event from which the Pentecostal Christian movement took its name.

I have not yet been baptized in the Holy Spirit, and I question whether maybe it has not happened because I do not truly want it to happen.  This, too, is humbling.