I can be deep in one part of me,
and quite shallow in the other.
Bright-minded in one reflection,
Dark in my assessment of another.
Joyful as I recognize new pathways,
Mournful as I remember those grown over.
Giving as I accurately estimate my blessed resources,
Stingey as I allow fears of being cheated to overshadow them.
Free and weightless and prepared to run the race some hours,
Burdened, weighted, and constrained at others.
So today I seek to
plunge deep,
absorb sun,
joyfully walk,
happily give,
energetically run:
Remembering every moment that I am loved,
Despite splinters I get when I run my hand over
The wood of old structures needing repair
Or perhaps my hand needing a new surface.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
Equations and a Presentable Home
Most things in life can't be understood in formulaic terms. Except maybe this one thing. I can't help but think that the parallelism in this verse hints at some degree of "this equals that:"
He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. (Ps 103:3)
The context surrounding this one verse pertains to recognizing the good things God has given to me, and the good thing He is in the process of making my life about. And that uniting theme which He is increasingly making my life be about is the reflection of Him in all my life's circumstances and all my heart's aches and desires-- to make every element of my life cohere into agreement with one central theme, that is, to exhibit His character of goodness, restoration, and redeeming love for me and for all people.
So I think it's a safe inference, based on sentence structure and context, to say that forgiveness is one of those devices by which God gives the good to me. It is a highway by which he extracts the bad I have done before it poisons my identity. But He removes it in such a way that I still remember, still experience a sting from what I've done. That way, I have a new, vital awareness of my own part in and responsibility for harming His creation or tarnishing the state He intended it to be in. So, forgiveness teaches me without jading me, or letting me unjustly off the hook and equally prone to commit the same damaging act again.
Forgiveness -- God's forgiveness extended to us, to be exact -- is a complete, comprehensive thing (note: "all"). God is not a selective Forgiver. He's about restoring the whole house, not just a room. In that way, God's brand of forgiveness is a creative act aimed at refurbishing what was lost and bringing it back to its former condition.
I study God's forgiveness in order to understand His design for how I forgive others for the ways they have damaged, harmed, or tarnished me, as well. It's true that once transgressed against, I am and can no longer be the way I was before. But I am not worse off than I was before I was hurt, and here is why.
God is interested not only in forgiving, but in healing. That is, He cares not only about restoring me to a spiritual state in which He and I can get along, but also in restoring me to a mental-emotional state in which I can function and even blossom and bloom. That is, He doesn't just come over to my house to repair its toilets, clear its defunct drainage, paint its walls, brighten its windows, and spruce up its hallways, so that I don't have to be ashamed of the condition it's in. He also comes to remove the things within it that could make me sick: He cleans its carpets, clears its airducts, and removes its pests. He gets into the seen parts that are making me unhappy, uncomfortable, and downtrodden in spirit, sure enough -- but He also gets into the unseen parts and removes the latent illness that lies there. He cares that much. He gets into my heart and tends to the bitterness rooting and growing there with some very special kind of Round-Up. He sees the pain that is killing some precious hope and faith in His goodness that was once there or was once more intact, and as he administers forgiveness, he is submerging me in a bath of healing. He is removing the stains and dirt, and he is applying balm.
Talk about being able to live again! Friend, come over to my house! I am proud of what He's done in here...
He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. (Ps 103:3)
The context surrounding this one verse pertains to recognizing the good things God has given to me, and the good thing He is in the process of making my life about. And that uniting theme which He is increasingly making my life be about is the reflection of Him in all my life's circumstances and all my heart's aches and desires-- to make every element of my life cohere into agreement with one central theme, that is, to exhibit His character of goodness, restoration, and redeeming love for me and for all people.
So I think it's a safe inference, based on sentence structure and context, to say that forgiveness is one of those devices by which God gives the good to me. It is a highway by which he extracts the bad I have done before it poisons my identity. But He removes it in such a way that I still remember, still experience a sting from what I've done. That way, I have a new, vital awareness of my own part in and responsibility for harming His creation or tarnishing the state He intended it to be in. So, forgiveness teaches me without jading me, or letting me unjustly off the hook and equally prone to commit the same damaging act again.
Forgiveness -- God's forgiveness extended to us, to be exact -- is a complete, comprehensive thing (note: "all"). God is not a selective Forgiver. He's about restoring the whole house, not just a room. In that way, God's brand of forgiveness is a creative act aimed at refurbishing what was lost and bringing it back to its former condition.
I study God's forgiveness in order to understand His design for how I forgive others for the ways they have damaged, harmed, or tarnished me, as well. It's true that once transgressed against, I am and can no longer be the way I was before. But I am not worse off than I was before I was hurt, and here is why.
God is interested not only in forgiving, but in healing. That is, He cares not only about restoring me to a spiritual state in which He and I can get along, but also in restoring me to a mental-emotional state in which I can function and even blossom and bloom. That is, He doesn't just come over to my house to repair its toilets, clear its defunct drainage, paint its walls, brighten its windows, and spruce up its hallways, so that I don't have to be ashamed of the condition it's in. He also comes to remove the things within it that could make me sick: He cleans its carpets, clears its airducts, and removes its pests. He gets into the seen parts that are making me unhappy, uncomfortable, and downtrodden in spirit, sure enough -- but He also gets into the unseen parts and removes the latent illness that lies there. He cares that much. He gets into my heart and tends to the bitterness rooting and growing there with some very special kind of Round-Up. He sees the pain that is killing some precious hope and faith in His goodness that was once there or was once more intact, and as he administers forgiveness, he is submerging me in a bath of healing. He is removing the stains and dirt, and he is applying balm.
Talk about being able to live again! Friend, come over to my house! I am proud of what He's done in here...
Friday, July 12, 2013
My Bank Account
I remember I used to joke with a friend on every payday, "My bank account is full." He would wonder at the idea of 'full,' pointing out that that may be an impossibility. But by my comment, I was mostly expressing my positive point of view towards my own wage. (I was a schoolteacher, but only 24 years old, so I was easily satisfied. I think I still am--never thought I would say it, but "thanks, Dad, for making me be content with a modest sum of money!")
I discovered yesterday morning that my spiritual bank account is full, also. (I wonder if there's such a thing as a spiritual payday? What a marvelous thought--especially if it's periodic and refilled whenever I get desperately low. But God doesn't operate on such economies. Back to the loose metaphor at hand.) When by best friend, C., and I discussed the Bible story of the miserly servant whose debt was forgiven by his master, but who in turn refused to forgive an underling of a smaller debt, it was as if I'd never heard it before. (I had.) As best friends do, C. made it crystal clear to me in that moment, that I have the ability to forgive anything, anyone, of any debt, because it is small in comparison to the oceanous reservoir of built-up love-investments that God has put in me.
I believe it: my spiritual bank account is full. This fact has caused a paradigm shift in hope, that I am indeed empowered by God to maintain a soft heart in hard times. Thank you, best friend, for repairing my hope in the truth.
I discovered yesterday morning that my spiritual bank account is full, also. (I wonder if there's such a thing as a spiritual payday? What a marvelous thought--especially if it's periodic and refilled whenever I get desperately low. But God doesn't operate on such economies. Back to the loose metaphor at hand.) When by best friend, C., and I discussed the Bible story of the miserly servant whose debt was forgiven by his master, but who in turn refused to forgive an underling of a smaller debt, it was as if I'd never heard it before. (I had.) As best friends do, C. made it crystal clear to me in that moment, that I have the ability to forgive anything, anyone, of any debt, because it is small in comparison to the oceanous reservoir of built-up love-investments that God has put in me.
I believe it: my spiritual bank account is full. This fact has caused a paradigm shift in hope, that I am indeed empowered by God to maintain a soft heart in hard times. Thank you, best friend, for repairing my hope in the truth.
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