Rain Song

“What is the way to the place where the lightning is dispersed,

or the place where the east winds are scattered over the earth?
Who cuts a channel for the torrents of rain, and a path for the thunderstorm,

to water a land where no man lives, a desert with no one in it,
to satisfy a desolate wasteland and make it sprout with grass?
Does the rain have a father? Who fathers the drops of dew?”

(Job 38:24-28)

Same storm, downtown. By L. Anderson.

I set out to get caught in the rain tonight. In truth, the Lord took me on an adventure. Just as the sun was setting.

I had run up to the little lighthouse and was coming back in failing light. A west wind which spoke of storm was rising up; falling leaves already turning for fall raced from their dusky heights. The Greenway dampened in the warm, wet air. My heart thrilled.

I watched enthralled as the wind whipped Hudson waves into the breakwaters, hypnotized as those boiling stony-faced thunderheads rolled in. The sky above the Jersey coast sparkled with distant lightning, each bolt a bold new stroke by the master of creation. The thousand orange eyes of the George Washington Bridge kept guard with anticipation. The near horizon gleamed again and I picked up speed. Now it was a race of the best kind, when losing is winning.

A flock of Canada geese bobbled on the water just off shore near the overhang I had nearly reached when the first raindrops anointed my head. Then, suspended in dark showers on the pedestrian bridge over Metro North. Then, the long climb of 155^th to the tune of God’s Boléro: a steady percussion of rain and the sense of something big building, slowly, savory. Then,

Downpour. A roaring applause of pavement meeting sky.

And I am washed by rain poured over me by the gracious hand of my Lord and King; He has assigned me my portion and my cup. He reminds me I am clean, and more—He satisfies my heart’s longing for adventure. And so I sit here listening to another Boléro and the thunder breaking and write this rain song to the Lord.

“Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;

you have made my lot secure.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely I have a delightful inheritance.”

(Psalm 16:5-6)

Seek

I'm beginning a self-study on the spiritual disciplines around Foster's Celebration of Discipline. He's made interesting commentary on striving in the introduction which I found helpful:

1. What are we ultimately striving for? Christ-likeness: hearts of flesh (Eze. 36:26), renewed minds (Ro. 12:2, 2 Cor. 10:4-5), holy bodies (Ro. 12:1), emanating the fruit of and walking in step with the Spirit (Gal. 5:22-25).

2. Why doesn't striving work? We cannot change our hearts through willpower (Ro. 7:7-25); this is something God must do (Phil. 1:6).

3. So what are we supposed to do? Expend our efforts not on changing ourselves, but on placing ourselves before the King.

This to me was a relief--however imperfectly we place ourselves before God (the book of course goes on to discuss the disciplines as the means of grace: ways we can place ourselves to receive His grace and transformation), He will act. It seemed to distinguish trying (process) and achieving (goal). The first opens oneself to the process of transformation; the second attempts the goal by oneself. Trying to come before God is possible for us because God wants to be found: Jesus--and Moses and Jeremiah--did in fact say we would find Him if we sought (Mt. 7:7, Deut. 4:29, Jer. 29:13). Achieving sinlessness is not possible (God has provided the means of achieving this: Him, not ourselves). Willing, not willful.

Achieving connotatively precludes failure--but failure is impossible to avoid so long as our goal is wilfully attempting self-salvation. Trying changes our focus to being open to the work God is doing. I suppose one could make religion out of seeking God (e.g., by making the disciplines ends rather than means), but it was freeing to me to consider that, if God will use our smallest effort, the only way to really fail is to deliberately avoid Him. Jesus asks us to seek; he does not demand that we find.

"You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13)

Trying v. Achieving

Process v. Goal

Willing v. Willful

Means v. Ends

Seek v. Find

Sow

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.” Ephesians 6:10

1.       God aims for arable soil. He desires everyone to be saved.

“But do not forget this one thing, dear friends. With the Lord, a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:8-9)

2.       Each of us is a field with all four types of soil. There are some areas of hardness and hurt, some aspects of our lives that tend to distract us, some desires that we put before the Lord because they are so deep and we value them so much. This is what “God aims for arable soil” means. He knows us completely and speaks to us uniquely at the places where we can best hear Him, where we are soft enough to receive Him. (We are not just one soil—our circumstances do not determine our fate such that God lacks power—as Jesus explains, though, we do ultimately choose to be one soil or another).

3.       As a body, we can be good soil or thorny patches or dry, rocky patches to new believers. We can be thorny—divisive, heretical, legalistic; dry—nominal, well-meaning but not “in step with the Spirit”, not manifesting fruit.

“So I say, live by the Spirit and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature… The acts of sinful nature are obvious… But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” (Galatians 5:22-25)

Revival won’t happen if God’s people aren’t praying for it—or if we are not ready for the consequences of revival: having a ton of new believers to care for and disciple. How are we currently caring for the marginalized in our own congregation (Isaiah 56)? What is our response?

“Be strong in the Lord, and in his mighty power.”

“Keep in step with the Spirit.”

Tabernacle

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” (Psalm 91:1-2)

“You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” (Psalm 32:7)

This is how I know I am the daughter of the King:

It’s as if in that throne room, the Holy of Holies, shrouded as it is in His glory and wrapped in the richness of hues—purple, scarlet, blue—there is a heap of something soft I can sleep in wedged between the west wall and the Ark of the Covenant. The warm scent of acacia and anointing oil, cinnamon and myrrh, carries me away in the restful quiet. That space is lit with the glow of His presence, and my face is cast with the shadows of the upright wings of the cherubim who fiercely guard the mercy seat.

“Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident. One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple. For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock.” (Psalm 27:3-5)

This is the day of trouble—we live in a besieged city, a hurricane brews on the coast, wars rage and nameless souls are smote from the earth or merely fade away from hunger pains, bloodthirsty men rise up against us, misusing Your name with evil intent. They set traps and prowl outside Your tent, hungry lions dripping poison from sharp tongues, wicked fangs. The Enemy lurks in our own backyard.

“If the LORD had not been on our side when men attacked us, when their anger flared against us, they would have swallowed us alive; the flood would have engulfed us, the torrent would have swept over us, the raging waters would have swept us away.” (Psalm 124:2-5)

The Lord has made a place for me under the ruffling of His feathers—a spacious place of even ground built firmly on rock, not sand: this place, where beyond the east curtain, gold glitters on all sides, the gleeful work of everlasting oil bright burning from the almond blossom lampstand. From there too, the richness of incense smoke drifts in—frankincense offered up by the Israelites, a holy perfume. Sometimes the jingle of bells and chanting in courtly procession attends it.

 

“How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you. In the shelter of your presence you hide them from the intrigues of men; in your dwelling you keep them safe from accusing tongues.” (Psalm 31:19-20)

Perhaps the priests are annoyed for my wandering carelessly thus in my daddy’s house, but I pay them no mind. I think the rope around the high priest’s ankle is sad and ridiculous and weighty when I dance, bare- and light and free of foot and cuddle with the cushions and hide my face in the curtains in my secret space behind the Ark, confident before the throne of grace.

“You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you… If you make the Most High your dwelling—even the LORD, who is my refuge—then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.” (Psalm 91:5-7, 9-10)

Greenest Grass

"You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy." (Psalm 30:11)

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. Today is the first of the forty days known as Lent, a season in which Christ-followers grapple in self-examination, with a mourning and heightened awareness of sin coexistent with the imminent, unstoppable joy of Easter. Like many things in our faith, it is a paradox: the already-but-not-yet, the tension of being imperfect while being made perfect while already being seen by the Father as perfect.

During Thursday morning prayer in the back of Grey Dog, three sisters and I were... naturally... discussing the season. I made an offhand comment which I now know (after being bowled over by the Spirit's discourse on it) requires some expansion. The comment concluded with something like this:

"I wonder how much more we appreciate the Garden and the process of renewal having had experienced the Fall."

The idea, without straying into relativism, being that we cannot appreciate the fullness of something without having had experienced its opposite. I believe it was in response to the Psalm 30 verse above: our joy and dancing is more meaningful having had experienced the paralyzing throes of sorrow.

This thought then occurred: perhaps this is not by accident, but what God intended.

Here are two observations, one of which is more directly supported by Scripture. One is that God, being all powerful, could have prevented the Fall. Two, and this purely from my observation, is that God seems to enjoy thwarting Satan's plans. Especially when Satan seems to have succeeded.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)

This verse is the mantra of hope for when bad, unexplainable things happen in our lives. The usual interpretation is that God, in his infinite goodness and power, is capable of ordering the weave of history to make bad things ultimately have good consequences that make the bad thing "worth it", with the final result being the restoration of the earth and his people. It is also my support for Observation #2, with this application:

Christ's crucifixion and death is possible the greatest tragedy of human experience, the moment that appeared to be Satan's greatest achievement. At the exact same moment, God set in motion Christ's resurrection and ascension--ultimately Satan's defeat.

Likewise, the Fall of man in the Garden was a moment of victory for Satan. And yet at the same instance, God set in motion his plan to redeem and renew us. Furthermore, humanity was put on course to realize a greater appreciation for God and was what lost.

After all, if we had fully comprehended God's goodness and glory, for his personal and intimate nearness, would we ever have eaten the apple?

Called

“The LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” (Genesis 2:7)

I came from dust and to dust I should return, but dust I am now not. I am called.

“And you also are among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ.” (Romans 1:6)

I am called His special possession.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter 2:9)

I am His righteousness.

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

I am His workmanship.

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

I am called by a new name written on a white stone.

“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.” (Revelation 2:17)

I am called pure and holy.

“For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”

(Ephesians 1:4)

I am not an island, but have been brought near through His blood.

“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ.” (Ephesians 2:13)

I am no longer an orphan

“We have become orphans and fatherless, our mothers like widows.” (Lamentations 5:3)

but I am called His child

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.” (1 John 3:1)

His daughter

“Then he said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.’” (Luke 8:48)

a co-heir with His son

“Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.” (Romans 8:17)

a member of His household

“Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household.” (Ephesians 2:19)

part of His body

“Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.” (1 Corinthians 12:27)

His temple, bought at a price

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price.” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

His sister, His bride.

“You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace.” (Song of Solomon 4:9)

I no longer dwell in darkness

“The enemy pursues me, he crushes me to the ground; he makes me dwell in darkness like those long dead.” (Psalm 143:3)

but am light in the Lord.

“For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth).” (Ephesians 5:8-9)

I am called. I am called to freedom

“You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love.” (Galatians 5:13)

to fullness in Him

“For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and you have been given fullness in Christ, who is the head over every power and authority.” (Colossians 2:9-10)

and fullness of joy.

 “‘I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them.’” (John 17:13)

I am called His.

“But now, this is what the LORD says—he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.’” (Isaiah 43:1)

I am His lost coin for whom he scoured the earth

“‘Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, “Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.”’” (Luke 15:8-9)

His lost sheep for whom He left the flock

“‘Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, “Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.”’” (Luke 15:4-6)

His precious pearl for whom He gave everything he had.

“‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.’” (Matthew 13:45-46)

And I am the joy set before Him, for whom He endured the cross.

“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:2)

I am not a slave again to fear

“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’” (Romans 8:15)

and I no longer bear a yoke of slavery

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5:1)

but I bear His light and easy yoke

“‘Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’” (Matthew 11:29-30)

and am rooted and established in His love.

“So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.” (Ephesians 3:17-18)

On my worst day, I am Christ in Kelsey Anne, and I live in the room of grace, not the room of good intentions.

“To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” (Colossians 1:27)

I am called by the One who calls into being things that are not and therefore, what I am called is so.

“As it is written: ‘I have made you a father of many nations.’ He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.”

(Romans 4:17)

I am called a new creation, and what I am called is what I am.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!”

(2 Corinthians 5:17)

I am called by I AM.

“God said to Moses, ‘I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: “I AM has sent me to you.”’” (Exodus 3:14)

Fire Heart

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
 the flames will not set you ablaze.”

(Isaiah 43:2)

And I stand in the burning coals

White churls of ask fly up as the fire stirs

The fine grit soft between my toes,

Pleasantly warm, comforting

And the flames rise up

Bathe my legs and warm my heart

Fire heart. Lion heart.

Daniel. David.

But the smoke clouds my eyes

In the middle of fire-light

My vision is black

Be thou my vision

Where can I go from your presence?

Even darkness will not be dark to you

The night will shine like the day,

For darkness is as light to you

You hem me in, behind and before

And the embrace of the flames is your arms

And the fire brightness flies up to the evening sky

The shining light of the Morning Star

And the crackle of pine resin is your song,

The sweet perfume of your incense

And I stand before your alter, and I worship

I stand before you and I sing

Quiet Waters

“The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land.” (Psalm 95:5)

“Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.’” (Exodus 14:13-14)

My thirst is quenched by the mighty flood of the Lord; above me is the waterfall of the Spirit—crashing down to soak my soul with a gentle raging power—below, the ubiquitous thick rainforest steam rising up to steep my skin and lungs in its warm, wet glow. I sit at the shoreline of His broad ocean, bright shining with the light of the Morning Star, waiting for healing to come—and am met by the rising tide and lapping waves, kisses tickling blisters, cooling bruises and sore feet. I am a drip in the ocean and the whole of the ocean is cupped in His hand and still He sees me.

“‘Therefore, say to the Israelites: “I am the LORD, and I will bring you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians. I will free you … and I will redeem you… I will take you as my own… And I will bring you to the land I swore with uplifted hand to give to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. I will give it to you as a possession. I am the LORD.”’” (Exodus 6:6-8)

This is the marriage proposal of my King, and His promise is to plant me “like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever [it] does prospers” (Psalm 1:3). I am a mangrove, not planted beside but swamped in His living water, surrounded on all sides by His green warm nourishment, soaked to overflowing, His precious guarded garden. The Everglades. Eden.

“LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” (Psalm 16:5-6)

The Lord has decided on that portion, and it is the end of barrenness—it is the richness of endless oil pouring a continual steady rain of life, glossing my heart with the fresh dewdrops of a brilliant new morning.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” (Psalm 23:5-6)

It is endless, this fullness of joy and brimming over of blessings, these endless glorious riches of Christ Jesus, the fullness of the knowledge of His presence, the hope of glory. I am filled and anointed and blessed to pour out, anoint and bless. I am the fruit-laden tree, never giving from need, but bounty—food for the hungry, rest for the weary. Birds hidden in branches cry out their song, a mellow lulling lovely refrain for the anxious in spirit who have come to abide in my shade. I give from the fullness of life I’ve been given, from the stores of oil and flour that never run empty. I give from the flood of gifts of my immeasurable God.

“I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3:16-18)

My Lord knows where I am, and He has come after me and has found me. I am rooted in His depths of love—deep calls to deep—rooted in the deep veins of pure underground streams untouched, untapped, unblemished, rich with the minerals of the earth. I cannot be pulled out. I am His perfect bride, enraptured by His covenant promises. I cannot be pulled away. My being is stretched to the edges of infinity, eternity is in my heart, everlasting in the light and love of my Lord, and still He fills me to eager excess and fills me with hope for this new monsoon season. I need only be still.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

Desert Land

“O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.” (Psalm 63:1)

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?” (Psalm 42:1-2)

This summer has been dry for my soul. It has been a summer of harsh heat, of bruised reeds and smoldering coals, of a laziness that keeps one in the dimness of a stifling room, unmoved and unmoving—the only sound the whirring wings of a single, over-sized fly.

I have wandered this desert land for two months; I have felt the long weary dead distance to God, the strain of walking through sand, the burnt breaking skin, the rattling gasps of dry lungs breaking free from bleeding cracked black lips. Hour after hour, day after day—wavering heat rises from the endless, empty horizon and unrelieved sand. My steps slip on hillsides as I wander, aimlessly, eyes squinting shut, having no clear nor vague idea to look for water. The dullness of my senses prevents me from being taken in by mirages.

Was there life in this place—anything restorative or redemptive at all to stumble across by chance? Was there any way to lighten this load, to refresh the soul? Would it ever rain again—would heaven ever open with a glorious peal of sudden thunder and crack open the clouds with lightning would the sky drop, turning asphalt black and plastering the brilliant orange of autumn leaves to the pavement would the land be soaked again, dripping with the life and light of the Lord of hosts? Where was the ocean? Where was the Spirit?

“Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.’” (John 4:10)

I’m asking, Lord! I’m asking! I know—I’ve tasted it! Restore my passion for your voice and redeem my heart’s wilting petals from its ugly, soulless malaise.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14)

Give me this water, Lord! I’m thirsty! I hear and know and believe the promises, but my dry tongue still distracts. I desperately look around me for one muddy puddle. I feel in my depths a faintness overtake me, but out of the darkness hear a voice:

“The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let him who hears say, ‘Come!’ Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.” (Revelation 22:17)

And with the painful realization of my weakness I sit, a messy heap in the dust, without to energy to go. If He wishes me to rise, He must bring me the water Himself. And I sit, and I wait quietly, watching, and in the stillness—perhaps I will give in to images without resistance—hope breaches the crest of the sandy slope before me. I watch its crawling progress to the trough where I lay—it sends tiny stones skittering down to meet my face, a gentle avalanche assuring me of hope’s actual existence.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior." (Habakkuk 3:17-18)

My Lord knows where I am. I cannot flee from His presence or go from His Spirit or be hidden by darkness. He will leave the ninety-nine to find me, and will lead me again by quiet waters, and lead me out of this darkness and into His marvelous light. He is the Alpha and the Omega, and He has come, and is offering “water without cost from the spring of the water of life” (Revelation 21:6). I hear His song and am lifted from the dirt and my heart from darkness and my spirit from despair.



Source: gracehilladultcare.com



And I am brought through another season and am washed clean and made new by His great, tender love and great, forever patience; and I breathe in, lungs stretched full, heart stretched full, and breathe out—a lazy, contented sigh of relief warmed again by the closeness of His presence.

“Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will respond as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.” (Hosea 2:14-15)

Even Then

“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:13-14)

Much has happened recently, which makes the idea of writing a little stressful—I prefer writing in chronological order, or at least topical, but many things have piled up in a ragged, anxious, colorful heap of yet-to-be-unwound creative ideas. For instance, there are still one or two aspects of Miami that should have been addressed. Or, there were those four hours, one day late in April, which were epically strange and changed the course of my life forever.

 Or, the fact that I graduated from NYU two days ago.

 But this most likely will be my only post for May, as I leave for San Diego this Sunday until June—my brief break from New York during which I will gain even more loose threads needing weaving—and my last two days have been pivotal enough to deserve special attention.

 My parents and I flew home yesterday, and I’ve mostly spent my time deep-cleaning my room: sorting through relics of the last 21 years, getting coated in dust, reminiscing, and generally being amused by the things I uncovered. Notably, there were just piles and piles of awards I’d strove so hard for in high school and found my identity in. Many I don’t remember ever receiving and many, I’m happy to say, I threw out without a twinge. The change God wrought in me during college was very good.
 

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ…” (Philippians 3:7-8)

There were some hidden gems that I must list here: agendas from high school and freshmen year of college, a physics homework dated 4 May 2007, a purple Walkman with an Andy Williams Christmas CD still in it, four seasons' worth of line-ups for track and field meets, unbelievably embarrassing scraps of stories written by my younger—and apparently already relationship challenged?—self (that will never again see the light of day), my UCLA acceptance letter (Why did I keep that? What might my life have looked like?), and an old notebook comparing college choices—“NYU- Actuarial Science” with a little star next to it.

 

 

I threw all of it out with little remorse. (Except the Walkman—that CD definitely wasn't mine). It was a beautiful and remarkably cleansing experience, sloughing off dead skin, a false mask I'd clung to for years, layers and layers of dust and rubbish and stains. Even though I didn't remember many of the artifacts, it was uplifting and a final release to see them disappear underneath the black lip of the industrial-sized garbage bags. I was actively and very physically putting aside elements of my old self and choosing God—another baptism, my second in three weeks—and it was perfectly symbolic for this unique time of transition in my life. 

 

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" 
(2 Corinthians 5:17)
 

Somewhat surprising to me, however, was that there were fairly frequent run-ins with Christian paraphernalia dated pre-college: a “Got Jesus?” book cover and cross necklaces I beaded myself. Since I officially consider my turning point during my freshmen year of college, it was interesting to see little indications of how Christ was drawing me toward Himself even then.

 

 

 My favorite encounter, though, was a notebook I seem to have intended to fill with a thorough analysis of the [NKJV] Bible. I started with Genesis, poor me, which may explain why only about a page and a third of this 500-page notebook was filled. (Or, it could just be indicative of my eternal habit to not finish things). But it is dated 23 March 2006, which is almost two years prior to the day that I really ‘accepted Christ’—diving headfirst into His comfort for the sake of my life—what, again, I call my turning point. And it does contain some interesting observations—I wrote out Genesis 1:26 and noted that it was important because it tells that we are created in His image. In response to Genesis 2:3, I noted that, ‘If God will take a break and be appreciative, we can too.’

I failed to take that advice for the longest time.

I just keep thinking how, even among so much junk I threw away without a second glance, even then, there were precious, little seeds sprouting already being grown by God, and that verse I began this year with comes again to mind:

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)