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.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
