humble thyself, part 2

"Come near to God and He will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Humble yourselves before the Lord and He will lift you up." ~James 4:8, 10

"If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land." ~2 Chronicles 7:14

When I started my Sin Journal, I knew that it would be primarily about shame--accepting it, drinking the cup of shame to the bottom, letting my shame put me in my right relationship with God. But last Friday I realized it was about something else.

My Sin Journal forces me to ask forgiveness for sins I may not "feel" shameful about.

Through my quiet time God has consistently revealed some sins I committed that I don't necessarily feel guilty about yet, and certainly don't feel like giving up yet. And as I grudgingly wrote them down, I realized how few times I ask forgiveness for sins I don't feel sorry for. We generally ask forgiveness only after we have, in a weird sense, been humbled by our sin. So instead of "humbling ourselves" before God, we approach Him already having been humbled. It's the distinction between passive and active humility. So I wonder how often we ask forgiveness only when we finally fully believe the essential bad-ness of the sin and want to give it up. How often do we ask forgiveness for something we aren't quite ready to give up yet?

And that's exactly what I was faced with the other night. To be honest, I wasn't in the "the mood" to write in my Sin Journal. I was struggling with where God's will has taken me, and so I wasn't feeling entirely... well... happy or willing to bow in humility before the One Who wasn't answering my prayer in the way I hoped (yes, I still have yet to graduate from the "whiny baby preschool of understanding God's will." Don't judge me or I'll smack you). But I had committed to God that I would write down a record of my daily sins every night, a record of every sin He brings to my mind, and that I would bow in humility before Him every night. So I did.

And I think I realized for the first time how "bowing in humility" is a very intentional act, one that need not be accompanied by humble, humiliated feelings. Sometimes we have to choose humility against our will, even when we are frustrated or angry with God. Our resistant feelings are not sin, but they are also not excuses for refusing to acknowledge our shameful standing in relation to Him.

And ironically, that move of asking His forgiveness is what I needed to do to break down major aspects of my frustration and anger. Putting myself in my appropriate relation to God helped me see myself in my true light, and also see Him in sharper relief. And what I saw of Him was beautiful and loving, simply because that is Who He is. Beautiful and loving. Anything that helps us see Him better will help us love and fear Him more, and drinking the cup of shame to the bottom (especially when we have no desire to do so) will help us see Him exactly for Who He is.

humble thyself, part 1

"Don't you remember on Earth--there were things too hot to touch but you could drink them all right? Shame is like that. If you will accept it--if you will drink the cup to the bottom--you will find it very nourishing: but try to do anything else with it and it scalds." CS Lewis, The Great Divorce, pg. 61

"Keep short accounts with God." Debbie Fischer, Wise One and Mom of Awesomeness (aka, ME)

"'Because your heart was responsive and you humbled yourself before the Lord when you heard what I have spoken [...] I have heard you,' declares the Lord." 2 Kings 22:19, New International Version

Lately I've kind of been obsessed with CS Lewis's The Great Divorce. I think I've read it four times in the past three weeks. If you haven't read it, PICK IT UP IMMEDIATELY. It's brilliant, beautiful, convicting, accessible, deep, and did I mention beautiful? In one particular chapter Lewis presents a character who is resistant to accepting her shame for her earthly sinful acts. This particular chapter struck me, as I think we all spend much of our lives trying to avoid or mitigate shame. This is really quite comical, as we as Christians categorically admit that we are, in this earthly form, incurably sinful. It is sort of hardwired in our human will (through our own embrace of sin, not through our initial creation). Since sin is generally defined as anything going against God's will, it is the opposite of Good/Right/Wonderful/Beautiful/GOOD, it is therefore BAD and therefore deserving of shame. We should be a shame-filled race, admitting of our faults and accepting--drinking to the bottom--the shame of our sin and sinful nature.

But oh, how we manage to ignore it or talk it away! We try to associate shame with despair, downtrodden-ness, "self-esteem issues" (for those familiar with secondary education speak), unnecessary negativity. Bottom line: we don't want to feel shame. This is so, so backwards to what we should feel with our relationship with God, because shame is the starting point of every glory! The fact that we stand as traitors, rebels, idolators is the basis for Christ's appearance on Earth, and in shame is where every person meets God before receiving grace and forgiveness. Yes, shame is ugly and uncomfortable. But it is a truthful expression of where we stand in relation to Christ, and therefore we simply must embrace it to understand Him.

So I decided that I wanted to work towards embracing my shame instead of doing my normal routine of shutting it out and trying to somehow not feel it. For the last two weeks I have been keeping what I call my Sin Journal. Every night before I go to sleep I spend some time with God: meditative, receiving time. I ask Him to bring to my mind any and all sins that I committed that day. I write them down in a numbered list, as a permanent record of the sinful acts I have committed against my Lord and Savior Who died for me on the Cross.

I think some may have a negative reaction to this practice: "Why would you choose to dwell in the negativity of your relationship with God? Why choose to keep a record of what He wipes clean?" And the answer is simply: I do it so I won't "forget" the ways I have rebelled and rejected Him. Written records are impossible to ignore and escape. They define us in certain ways. Through my journal I want to remind myself continuously of my shame, of my essential "relation"ship to Christ, remind myself that I am a sinner unceasingly in need of His mercy and grace.

But of course, just writing down each sin is incomplete for Who God is in my life. Once I have what I think is the complete daily sin list (for the moment, anyway--sometimes I have to go back and add on a sin I commit as I'm falling asleep, because give me a moment and I could find a way to sin in it), I pray through and ask God's forgiveness for each sin. Not only that, but I ask that His blood would cover that area of my life and that He would redeem it for His kingdom and for His glory. (I have to believe that God can use absolutely anything--including my sin--for something as beautiful, transcendent, and unsurpassed as His glory and His kingdom.) Then, once I have prayed through every sin, I take a red pen and draw a line through and write "FORGIVEN" next to each one. That is the final word on my sin: Christ's death, God's forgiveness. Not only am I keeping a record of the shame I bear as a sinner, but I am keeping a record of the redemptive work Christ has done for and in me. It is a record of what His blood has purchased for me, of what cleansing work He is doing in my life. My shame is the essential starting point of my life, but it is not the final destination. Pure, overwhelming, cleansing, redemptive, transforming grace is the final answer. And I have a written record to prove it.

fixing

I'm a type-A perfectionist to the nth degree. So that means whenever I see imperfection in my life (faults, mistakes, flaws, etc.) I can become obsessed with fixing them or hiding them. If I'm not careful I can let myself indulge in certain unhealthy behaviors to accomplish this (working out too much, drinking just "one more glass of wine" to help blur my painful thinking, etc.). I like "fixing" the problems silently, where no one can see, and I do whatever I can to hide them from the world.

Lately I've realized that this drive has always extended to my relationships with others. Sometimes I get uncomfortable or unhappy in relationships because I recognize imperfections and areas of weakness or hurt. This just so happens to be characteristic of every single relationship I've ever had and ever will have because it just so happens that every single person in the entire world (every single potential for interpersonal relationship) is... wait for it... FLAWED. IMPERFECT. No one more so than myself.

Instead of fixing the relational flaws, however, my drive is first to ignore them and secondly to withdraw completely. This involves a LOT of effort on my part, for obvious reasons. I very rarely let God take the imperfection, use it and work through it in my heart and life. Me trying to fix every imperfection, or trying to run from the imperfection, gets in the way of not only my freedom in that relationship, but in the way of God's freedom of working in my life through that area. I get in the way of listening to Him teach me or love me through that imperfection. I get in the way of listening to Him tell me when to speak up and address the issue and when to be silent and let Him work in the heart of the other person a little more.

Oftentimes it's not about fixing something but about letting God display His own glory work through that area of my life. And He will enlighten, cleanse and purify every imperfection in His own time. This may not be tomorrow, this may be not even in my lifetime (after all, only when I'm in heaven will I be truly perfected). And there's a reason married couples still find ways to hurt each other and struggle 20 years into their marriage. This is why some couples divorce even after 25 years of marriage--imperfection is always going to be a part of a relationship. Ok, for many of you this may be the most "well DUH" statement, but for me, someone terrified of imperfection and flaws, it is hard and scary to accept. Relieving, certainly. But scary.

I want to learn how to accept imperfections peacefully, never ceasing my prayers that God will purify and work through each one in His time. I want Him to be able to use absolutely everything in my life in His way, not my way (my way is essentially ERADICATE ALL IMPERFECTIONS IMMEDIATELY AND BE PERFECT AND AWESOME. Because that's the only way people will love me, right? And the only way I can love others? If I'm perfect? And that's totally achievable, right??). I'm tired of being afraid of my imperfections, when Christ has already paid the penalty for them and loves me no more today because today I display evidence of the perfecting work He did in my heart yesterday. And I want to love others like that, and believe that others can love me like that. And even though we will always love each other imperfectly, to soak up that love for exactly what it is: God loving me through His precious created son or daughter, someone struggling under the weight of imperfection just like myself.

pwned

God has a funny way of leading me to specific books and specific passages right when I need them in my spiritual life. He will literally close my mind to understanding certain books if whenever I first tried to read them is not the time He knows I will connect with the ideas or be convicted by the image of Christ presented. Major "for instance": I've been reading the book The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer for a LONG. TIME. To be more accurate, several months ago I read through 326 pages of it and though I had picked it up several times since getting to page 326 and had made concentrated effort, I just couldn't finish the last 18 pages. My brain just wouldn't take it in, which baffled me seeing as how I had flown through much more dense material in those 326 pages, adored everything else in the book, and soaked it up like a sponge. My previous failures had even led me to start doubting my intelligence (HORRORS!).

Apparently when I tried to read it the last time I wasn't being enough of a WHINY PETULANT CHILD and therefore God wanted to save it for me to read for the time when I was. Which happened to be last weekend. WOW. So I'm convinced that the reason I couldn't "take it in" was because God wanted me to read this last night, when I "at random" chanced to take up the book again and finish it:

"The earthly form of Christ is the form that died on the cross. The image of God is the image of Christ crucified. It is to this image that the life of the disciple must be conformed: in other words, they must be conformed to his death (Phil. 3.10; Rom. 6.4f). The Christian life is a life of crucifixion (Gal. 2.19). [...] Anybody living in the strength of Christ's baptism lives in the strength of Christ's death. Their life is marked by a daily dying in the war between the flesh and the spirit, and in the mortal agony the devil inflicts upon them day by day. This is the suffering of Christ which all his disciples on earth must undergo." (pg. 342)* (emphasis mine)

Oops. Whiny baby phase officially pwned. If Christ's image in my life is made even more clear through my sufferings, then I can rejoice in that. I can't rejoice in the suffering itself (that makes no sense, and God wouldn't require us to rejoice in something painful and, in a deeper way, contrary to the way He designed us to be and to live), but I can rejoice in the fact that through this time His image is made visible in my life. That is something I couldn't do by myself; only God could and can project His image onto my WHINY PETULANT STUBBORN life. Thank God He is willing to do so, persistently and even after I Turbo Jam His will to smithereens.

* Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1963.

For those not in the "leetspeak" know, the word pwned suggests total domination or humiliation of whoever is being beaten (in this case, my whiny baby self)

desert(s)

God keeps calling me into desert after desert after desert.... and frankly, it's wearing me out and wearing me down. I'm starting to be an exhausted, whiny little baby about it. But that's ok for now; God can handle my emotions. On a side note, my frustration and pain have erupted in what I imagine are rather hilarious outburts. Well, hilarious to God. When I scream I am the child who finds what she is being subjected to absolutely the worst thing in the world. And just like her parent who understands where she is coming from even though the fact that she can't have that cookie before dinner isn't the worst, most heinous, egregious, cruel act of parenting in the world, I think God understands my emotions and my outbursts. And thankfully He won't change His plans for me simply because in a moment of pissed-off, petulant rage I tell Him, "I'm not talking to You at the moment." Or drop the "I'm not going to do anything more in this area You have called me because I'm pissed at how it keeps turning out badly" bomb threat. Yeah. I've been just DELIGHTFUL to Him these past couple days. Just a gem. The icing on His cupcake of humanity.

But honestly, when I do look around at my life all I see desert behind me and desert stretching forever in front of me. I know God has brought me here and has directed every step of this last year and a half, but SERIOUSLY?! I feel like He keeps leading me into deaths of everything I ever loved and wanted, helping me make these temporarily-shattering decisions with the help of what seem at the moment to be deceitful bursts of joy and confidence. He's tricksy. He gives me just enough faith, trust and joy to make the decision in that moment, and then that confidence dissipates. I'm not saying He takes it away; I think rather He overwhelms my human doubt and fear with His joy, faith, and confidence in order to help push me into the decision. And then, because the doubt and fear are still there (like the dirt we cover up with a rug for a quick fix), He has to expose them, often through desperate and hopeless circumstances, in order for us to see them clearly. Only then, in the midst of what feels like complete desert, can we truly work through and reject doubt and fear. YAY.

So I have two options in this time, seeing as how this desert is real and is exactly where God has called me for the time being. I can surrender to God and let Him carry me through the desert, making myself compliant and receptive to His direction, discipline, correction, and protection (certainly shedding more than a few tears along the way). Or I can let Him drag me through it, kicking, screaming, swearing (there's a sailor in my head), and resisting. But what's the point of the latter? Resistance implies that I think there is something better for me in a different direction. That's entirely false; the only thing apart from Him is desert. A very, very different kind of desert, but a desert nonetheless. So I guess I do have a third option: go through the desert without God's leading hand. However, I'd probably just end up collapsing in dehydration, needing Him to carry me back to the "right" desert anyway, so if I have to suffer a desert no matter what, I may as well let Him carry me through the one He has prepared for me. That way I won't burn my red-hot Guess slingback stilettos on the hot sand (yes, that is what I imagine I wear in my spiritual journey. They give me confidence and height).

PS-- I am NOT happy to write this. I'm still pissed. I even Turbo Jammed the crap out of some nebulous, vaguely-shaped "God's will." Hey, Chalene told me to think about something that gives me passion in order to finish a particularly hardcore punching session, and the thing that gives me the most passion (ANGRY PASSION) right now is where God has led me. So I Turbo Jammed it. I Turbo Jammed it good. And God shook His head, laughed, and graciously refrained from smiting me.

second families

Oh my word, we (the Wilsons and myself) just survived what will be known from hereon out as THE most hellacious moving experience known to the free world. The two days leading up to our Saturday move, the following difficulties required immediate and consuming attention--attention away from the massive moving job at hand:

1. Staph infection of a chin (causing the chin to swell up so much and demand so much attention and bedrest that the possessor of the chin proclaimed him--yes him, as only males can cause such unremitting, stabbing, annoying pain--to be a separate, sentient, malicious entity).

2. Dental emergency/gum infection (of the only other man we knew would be able to help move heavy things. Had I known him better I would have helped him name his swollen cheek as a separate, sentient, malicious entity, but in a rare bout of wisdom I figured in-laws are probably off-limits to my mocking sarcasm).

3. Land Cruiser unfixable break-down (the very vehicle that was going to be depended upon to haul crap. Well, crap and goats).

4. Arm-in-a-splint (similar to pigs-in-a-blanket, except that it accosted, again, one of the few men available to help load up heavy stuff, leaving the women bereft of male help and wishing they did more ChaLEAN Extreme in preparation for moving).

5. Rain. Lots and lots of rain (READ: all previously and strenuously cleaned carpets thus required more strenuous cleaning).

6. Hen attacked by stray dogs (now lame and partially eaten. An indestructible hen, as it turns out, who is still surviving in her box, but stinks like a dying sack of poop and requires much more space and attention than Sarah had available. Staring at the wounded hen, as we realized its right leg was permanently useless, Sarah cocked her head and commented: "Maybe it will fall off." That was the best case scenario we came up with).

7. The most vile-smelling jar of rotten garlic ever (Seriously. I thought the corn syrup factories in Indiana were bad. Oh no. This. Was. Like. Smelling. Evil.).

But miraculously (yes, I really believe God leant us His helping hand) we made it to Mountain Home and to the house Sarah has designated as the place she hopes to spend the rest of her days, if only to avoid further hellacious moving: "I HOPE I DIE HERE."

Yesterday she was again out for the count (infections are nasty little creatures that refuse to go away) so I decided to go back to Emmett and clean, pack, finish up some nitty gritties for her. At the end of the day, before I went to bed back in Mountain Home, Sarah told me: "Jana, I'm really glad you moved with us." Before when she'd say things like that I always kind of thought they were just kind words. Not that I doubted her sincerity--she is deeply honest, sincere, and all-things-wonderful--but for some reason last night I realized, "She really means it." I mean, Sarah is actually, deeply, sincerely glad that I moved with them to Mountain Home. She wants me there. And that's when the lightbulb went on:

This family loves me. I mean, they deeply love me, for exactly who I am. Not only do they love me, but they want me with them. They desire my presence in their home. They've seen my worst sides, have seen my struggles, have forgiven me for hurts, have held my hand through tears and pain, have laughed with me (yes, probably more times at me than with me, deservedly so), and have always protected my heart, feelings, and life. And they still love me.

I've never been truly loved before, by people other than my family (and yes, sadly, this does include my only, and long-term, relationship). When I was thanking Brad (police officer of awesomeness) for taking me in and letting me live with them for so long, he replied as his 'you're welcome,': "You're family." I never thought it was possible to love another family as my own, or to be loved as a part of a family I was not born to.

So that was my big awesomeness yesterday, realizing that I am loved by this family and that I love them more than I ever thought I could. God is so amazing to give me a family, this family, as my own in order to show me deeper levels of His own love for me. I can't believe, sometimes, how happy I am, and how lucky. My life looks nothing like I thought it would by this age, and probably looks a little weird to outsiders (I mean, seriously? Moving with a family to Emmett then to Mountain Home? A family who keeps humping goats as pets? And where I sleep on a couch?), but I honestly wouldn't change a thing. I hope I can live with this family for another 6 months and keep them in my deepest, dearest, closest life forever.

hurt

This week God uncovered a huge gaping wound in my life that I have tried for years to ignore, cover up, and somehow not understand so that I could heal without actually having to face into the actual pain. This week God made it impossible for me not to face into it. And as I screamed and cried and cursed and said all those things Christians are not supposed to say (who knew I had such a sailor's vocabulary?) I suddenly saw myself as a cornered, wounded wild animal. I saw God reaching out to heal and comfort me, and, like the animal who only understands aggression and self-protection and does not understand the proffered hand of a compassionate human, I lashed out at Him, at one point even telling Him I didn't want Him "near" me anymore (OUCH). Thankfully God knows the real source of my anger better than I did, and refused to grant me my ever-so-sweetly-phrased-and-humbly-delivered request. He kept His tight grip on me though I pushed, screamed, and kicked the whole time. And today, driving down the mountain from a beautiful day of skiing, I realized something:

At some point we all have to choose to trust a God Who has allowed, and will continue to allow, us to be in pain.

In early October 2008 I made a huge leap of faith, one that I am 100% sure God asked me to make, one that ripped my heart apart (though not at the time). And after that decision (which, in my mind, sealed me for God for the rest of my life), a million other parts of my life crumbled. Like waves on the beach I was drowned by deeper and darker times of pain than I had ever experienced before. Ever. And this was after I had chosen to trust God, during the time I was making the most concerted effort to draw closer to His heart and be more submissive to His will.

This week as God sort of forced me to face into a bunch of that hurt I suddenly got so mad at God for allowing me to experience that pain--as well as getting mad at Him for actively bringing me into a spiritual pain like I'd never imagined--that lashed out at the only One Who was around. I knew that the pain was absolutely connected to my surrender to Him. And let me tell you. I. Was. Pissed.

And the worst part was that I didn't know how to trust Him anymore. Who was He to me? He keeps bringing me from death to new death, and I didn't (and still don't) know how to reconcile that with a hope for a better future. What if this is simply the way my life will go from now on? It's possible. I have no idea what God wants for me. I do know it's what is somehow "best," but heavenly best doesn't mean a whole lot when you're crying, panicked, and despairing in the middle of the night as you grapple with gaping loneliness, looming homelessness, and an incapacitated future. My attempts to somehow manufacture or choose hope in Him actually burned inside. It was painful and crushing. How could I trust a God who not only has allowed me to experience pain, but will continue to allow me to be hurt, wounded, and crushed? How could I possibly hope in that, in a way that encourages and strengthens me in the midst of the pain? If I can count on new pain for the rest of my life, how does that reconcile with hope for my life?

I think maybe, on a really basic level, I just need to accept the pain. Accept it, embrace it, understand that it is real, accept that it is sometimes devastating, and then allow myself to be devastated and to let God give me the space, time and relationships to heal. Part of embracing this current pain (without dwelling in it) entails me allowing myself to get what I need to heal. And because God is a God of salvation and redemption, He is ready and willing not simply to heal me (though that would be more than enough and more than I deserve), but to take every ounce of my pain and actually use the devastating pain to accomplish something amazing in my life. Accepting pain is a choice, as is trusting our God Who allows us to be wounded by others, by life, by He Himself. Trust is not a feeling, but a choice. And, because it goes against what is now natural to us, sometimes choosing trust in the midst of pain hurts more than the pain itself.