I've had this seething anger, this wretched bitterness lodged in my heart for a long time now...ever since I saw the pictures of those abandoned children in Bulgaria.
I've been angry at God.
I've believed He isn't good.
Because, how could He--the One who said "let the children come to me"--let the most innocent and vulnerable suffer torture?
I still don't know, and my heart turns away. I shake my fist, I scream, and I flip him off. And I hate my hard heart. {and I wish He would punish me}
Who am I, to tell God what he should do?
Who am I, to say he is a liar and to say he isn't who he says he is?
I just felt a calm whisper--maybe it was Him?--that He gave me this heart for a reason.
That my heart is broken like his is broken...that He feels it too and hates it. That all this anger and sadness and wild-eyed hatred of an abusive world is not supposed to turn me away from Him.
{And it must be said...I am so confused...I love and I reject God in the same second. Honestly, mostly reject Him.
"Wretched man that I am! Who will save me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"
Oh Lord, help my unbelief!!!!}
Monday, April 21, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Jacob's Well
If there has been a theme in my life over the past two weeks, a consistent feeling or pattern, it would be the realization of my weakness. It would be the glimpsing of the bottomless pit that is my heart, a panicky realization that there is nothing to pull up from the bottom. The well is dry. During the day, I live by the mantra "just pull yourself up by the bootstraps". But there is nothing there.
This makes me think of my favorite scene in the bible, when Jesus talks to the woman by the well.
How I wish I was her, and yet I am.
She stood there, at the peak of the day. Undoubtedly, the dry wind swept the heat into her face, burning her cheeks. The dust stung her eyes...
She lowered the bucket down into the deep chasm, peering into the depths, waiting for the familiar sound of the bucket hitting the water. Suddenly she hears a voice: "Give me a drink". Startled, she looks up and sees the jew. "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?". "If you knew the gift of God (finish this).
How many times have these words stirred that desperate ache in my heart? How many times have they brought tears to my eyes?
I'm tired of digging my own cisterns...deep wounds in the earth that are protected by beautiful buildings...these whitewashed tombs. "Sir, give me this water, so I will not be thirsty".
And then others will say "It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know indeed that this is the Savior of the World."
This makes me think of my favorite scene in the bible, when Jesus talks to the woman by the well.
How I wish I was her, and yet I am.
She stood there, at the peak of the day. Undoubtedly, the dry wind swept the heat into her face, burning her cheeks. The dust stung her eyes...
She lowered the bucket down into the deep chasm, peering into the depths, waiting for the familiar sound of the bucket hitting the water. Suddenly she hears a voice: "Give me a drink". Startled, she looks up and sees the jew. "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?". "If you knew the gift of God (finish this).
How many times have these words stirred that desperate ache in my heart? How many times have they brought tears to my eyes?
I'm tired of digging my own cisterns...deep wounds in the earth that are protected by beautiful buildings...these whitewashed tombs. "Sir, give me this water, so I will not be thirsty".
And then others will say "It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know indeed that this is the Savior of the World."
Monday, March 31, 2014
March 2014
At this rate, it seems I am averaging about a post a year. Not too bad for an INFP in college ;).
It is now the last day of March 2014. In some ways, it seems it was yesterday that I sat in Cafe Libro, watching people and thinking those tumbling thoughts. But today I feel like that Ashlyn is something out of a dream, and that a new person is emerging--a stretching and growing caterpillar in a chrysalis, whose body has been liquified to create those tenacious wings. Right now, I don't think that the change is all good. It's true--my mind has been confused, my heart has bowed to aching desires that bring a greater emptiness, my pride has been my crutch. But a glimpse of hope: the caterpillar, squished into the cocoon, cannot see the beauty it will be. There is no beauty or understandable direction in the liquified body matter, and the caterpillar cannot will itself to be whole.
God will "keep me from stumbling, and present me blameless at the coming of my Lord Jesus Christ".
Oh Lord, help my unbelief!
Keep me from lying to myself, and help me to rest in you.
It is now the last day of March 2014. In some ways, it seems it was yesterday that I sat in Cafe Libro, watching people and thinking those tumbling thoughts. But today I feel like that Ashlyn is something out of a dream, and that a new person is emerging--a stretching and growing caterpillar in a chrysalis, whose body has been liquified to create those tenacious wings. Right now, I don't think that the change is all good. It's true--my mind has been confused, my heart has bowed to aching desires that bring a greater emptiness, my pride has been my crutch. But a glimpse of hope: the caterpillar, squished into the cocoon, cannot see the beauty it will be. There is no beauty or understandable direction in the liquified body matter, and the caterpillar cannot will itself to be whole.
God will "keep me from stumbling, and present me blameless at the coming of my Lord Jesus Christ".
Oh Lord, help my unbelief!
Keep me from lying to myself, and help me to rest in you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)