Better to Obey . . .

“It is to the man who is trying to live, to the man who is obedient to the word of the Master, that the word of the Master unfolds itself.” 

― George MacDonald, Unspoken Sermons: Series I, II, III

It tasted so good.

The sweet and sour chicken that my brother-in-law picked up for me on Friday night.

My husband was working late -- and here I was, pregnant -- and the sweet and sour chicken just tasted so good. 

But I'm trying to be careful with what I eat -- I was pretty careful all week -- this was a treat -- a salty treat. 

I had eaten about half of it, and I was full. And I felt my conscience, felt the Holy Spirit speaking to me then and telling me that I had eaten enough. 

I was full. I knew that if I ate any more (as I have in the past) I would feel sick and sluggish and my ankles would most likely swell like sausages. 

So I wrapped it up. I put it away. I prided myself on the "good" example that I was setting for my watching daughter and happily placed it in the refrigerator, planning in my mind what I would have later as a healthy dessert. 

A few hours later.

I put my daughter to bed, was feeling tired and discouraged. Somewhat thoughtlessly, I opened the refrigerator and there it was. My half-eaten sweet and sour chicken -- Chinese takeout -- the "opiate of the masses." 

I took it out and ate the rest . . . it didn't even taste that good. 

Later, feeling sick and bloated and frustrated, I asked for forgiveness. 

Rather than taking my weariness and discouragement to the Lord, I had taken it to sweet and sour chicken -- and the only "consolation" that I "got" was that of a sick stomach and a restless night.

It's always better to obey...

The alternative isn't worth it.

And we forfeit peace and joy and holiness and rest for a lukewarm morsel that only makes us sick.

It's always better to obey.

When we sense the Spirit of God speaking to our conscience -- whispering some word to us about self-control or trusting the Lord, or being slow to become angry, etc., it always behooves us to listen.

An idea struck me this week -- when we love the Word, we obey it. 

And our obedience is a testimony to how much we truly love the Word of God. 

The Word is not just a Book -- yes; it is transcribed for us in a book -- the Bible -- but the Word is a Person -- the flesh and blood Person of Jesus Christ.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth --and we beheld His glory . . . 

He speaks to us through His Book and through the Person of the Holy Spirit -- who makes that Book come alive in our hearts as we surrender to Him in obedience. 

A few years ago, my sister introduced me (more in depth) to the writings of George MacDonald. 

His emphasis on being obedient to God in the seemingly "little" things made a deep impression upon me and has helped remind me of how important it is to do a thing that the Lord wants us to do once we become aware of it.

Simple things like laying out our family's clothes for church the night before so that I'm not overwhelmed and running late in the morning--

Things like picking up toys and books as we use them rather than letting them sit and pile up (as much as this is possible with a young child). 

Things like asking for forgiveness quickly when I've wronged someone rather than letting it sit and frustrate and fester.

When we don't sense or "feel" the presence of God at any particular period of our lives, I've learned that the answer doesn't always lie in waiting for Him to give us an epiphany.

The renewal of that sweet sense of His presence often comes through taking the small, difficult steps of obedience that lie before us, even when we don't feel like taking them.



Getting up a little earlier in the morning to spend time in the Word of God when we'd rather sleep--

Truly listening to someone who is speaking to us rather than being distracted by the 100 things on our to-do list--

Exercising self-control and patience and humility and trust in the areas of our life where the Holy Spirit is convicting us, rather than giving ourselves an excuse--

Spending our time in edifying conversation and pursuits that bring health to our souls rather than wasting our lives on things that really won't matter in eternity.



This is how we, how I demonstrate love for the Word of God--for Jesus, the Word--through quiet, simple steps of obedience in the day to day things that happen to me.

When we love the Word, we obey.

Recently, I watched a video clip of Chinese Christians receiving Bibles for the first time.

It brought me to tears when I witnessed how these precious believers pressed the Word to their hearts as they were handed their copy of the Word of God and praised Jesus openly, kissing the Bibles that they held.

So full of joy -- kissing their Bibles because their eyes have been opened to see Jesus as the living Word.

Kissing their Bibles as if they were kissing the Son.

Beauty and truth in their open hands and in their open hearts.

So persecuted, so poor, the refuse of this world, their hearts wide open to receive His truth--

Why?

Perhaps because when we come to a place of emptiness, of brokenness, when we have suffered long for righteousness' sake, He is ready to fill us with His presence, with his joy, with his Word--

And of His fullness we have received . . . 

Grace for grace. 

And if we are too "full," too "stuffed," with the things of this world, this life, His fullness cannot fit -- and we are just bloated, worldly-fluff-filled beings who have eaten too much Chinese takeout. 

We don't really care for the things of Christ . . . We  aren't aliens and strangers here; we're friends with this world and all of its pleasures.

Friendship with the world is enmity towards God. 

We have to ask ourselves, do we, do I have that kind of all-encompassing love for Jesus Christ, that I would take His Word and kiss it and press it to my heart?

Is it that precious to me? Do I even hold those kinds of emotions towards Him?

Am I prepared to suffer persecution for His sake, or am I too comfortable in my heated home with my flannel pajamas and the promise of vacations and entertainment and "stuff?"

Am I spiritually empty?

We have to ask ourselves these hard questions, especially when we hear stories of our brothers and sisters suffering persecution and deprivation and hardship in countries like North Korea and China and Belarus.

They care about Jesus -- they've been willing to lay everything down for him--even their very lives--

What am I willing to lay down?

What do I care about?

What does my heart seek?

And he who seeks to save his life will lose it, but he who loses his life for My sake will find it--

He is our Treasure; His Word our hope. Only in obedient surrender do we realize these truths--

And press His Word to our hearts -- as our salvation and glory.

 Photo Credits: 

wEnDaLicious / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

But for Grace . . .

"There is no pride so dangerous, none so subtle and insidious, as the pride of holiness." 

----Andrew Murray

"She wears A LOT of make-up." That was my first thought. 

I looked at her picture and I mentally judged her character based on the amount of mascara that she had on. A Godly woman. A woman who had proven herself a servant of the Father, a humble example of grace. 

What was I really thinking? What was my heart saying? "I would NEVER wear that much."

Did it matter how much foundation she had on her face? Didn't the Lord see through to the beauty of her soul? But here I was, judging by the outward appearance, thinking myself just a tiny bit better because I supposedly had a tad bit more "discretion," and because my lipstick shade was just a little lighter. 

We can become caught up in "secondary" issues -- things that don't ultimately matter in the light of eternity and lose sight of what is real and important. 

Is it right to pierce my ears?

Can I wear a skirt that is just above my knee?

How tight is too tight?

Is my hair long enough? Is it wrong to cut it?

We become encumbered in these issues and forget what the Lord requires of us--

To do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God. 

And there is a present pride that is real and rampant in each of us -- that needs to be subdued and crushed daily, through the power of the risen Christ. 

And that is the sin of rebellion.

The old, Garden-of-Eden transgression. 

We think of rebellion as those "obvious" sins -- drunkenness, swearing, premarital sex, open flagrant acts--

We forget about the "little," hidden things, the carefully polished piece of forbidden fruit that we conceal in our pocket, shining it until it is just ripe enough to bite. 

We forget that "rebellion" is more than drinking, swearing, disobedience to parents, premarital sex. 

Rebellion is any form of pride.

Because pride is rebellion against God.

And this is why the Pharisees and the Sadducees received Jesus' greatest rebuke. These "whitewashed tombs" were literally full of rebellion and hypocrisy. 

I can do well to heed the warning . . . It is only too easy to become a beautiful, marbled place of death.

Fairly recently, I was surprised (surprised, but not shocked; there is nothing "new" under the sun) to hear that the President of Vision Forum was stepping down. 

A strong advocate of the "Quiverfull" movement and a powerful influence within some conservative Christian circles, Doug Phillips was guilty of the sin of a "natural" man--he behaved "inappropriately" with a woman who was not his wife. 

And so he and his family suffered the shame of his indiscretion -- to a greater degree, I think, because of his strong, insistent advocacy of Christian marriage, the importance of the marriage covenant, the purity of his own sons and daughters, and (in my own personal opinion) a strongly legalistic, unbiblical approach to the whole issue of biblical "courtship" and childbearing, and a father's patriarchal role within his family -- and how these issues should play themselves out within Christian relationships and family structures. 

(I would add a brief note here that I believe that there are some very Godly individuals who subscribe to these and to other such movements -- It is my personal conviction that these individuals are misled in their interpretation of Scripture in these particular areas -- but some are otherwise very sincere and Godly individuals who love the Lord with all of their hearts.)

I've always felt uncomfortable with Doug Phillips and his teachings because they smacked of pride to me -- not overt pride, but always the undercurrent of it. 

And I see the same pride in my own heart and shrink back. 

I know from experience the power that it can wield. 

I know from experience the danger of thinking too highly of myself.

And I know how capable I am of it.

My husband and I saved our first kiss for our wedding day -- Were we any more "pure" than Elisabeth Elliot and her first husband, Jim, who shared their first kiss on the eve of their engagement?  

I think not -- I know not.  Each child of God is responsible before Him for their actions and in-actions. And the Holy Spirit convicts different Christians in different ways in these so-called gray areas where the will of the Father needs to be sought for each individual life--always within the guidelines of His Word, but unique to individual Christians as they seek His Spirit. 

And again these decisions need to be prayerful, obedient responses to His Word, applied in our lives through prayer and direction from the Holy Spirit.

It is when we cling to a "pet" idea, philosophy, or principle -- or even to our own moral goodness based upon our interpretation of Scripture, rather than to Christ Himself -- then, no matter how "good" or wholesome or "right" these things may be, we are in danger of succumbing to spiritual pride. 

He alone can teach us whether or not it is best for us to wear a skirt above the knee (and it may be "right" for some and not for others--the issue is the motive of the heart--not the exact length of fabric), when the "right" time is to share a kiss, what respect for our husband means for us Biblically, and so on.

Does it matter what term we use to describe the time that we spent with our life partner before marriage? As someone once commented, "I've known some very impure 'courters,' and some very God-fearing 'daters.'" 

And I won't say that the words that we use to describe things aren't important -- they are -- but they aren't the "end-all" -- rather, our heart's motives and the fear that we have towards God are. 

And there is much good--or at least, good principles--in many of the things that Doug Phillips, R.C. Sproul Jr. and those who are like-minded, purport.

For example, their "quiverfull" idea which springs from the truth that "children are a treasure from the Lord."

Their high regard for Biblical manhood and womanhood.

Their insistence upon purity before and within the marriage relationship.

However, it is when these ideas and truths are not joined with humility and a sincere searching of God's Word that things go awry and confusion sets in.

When, instead, the idea itself is clung to proudly and arrogantly, dismissing any other interpretation of God's Word -- within the realm of orthodoxy and legitimate interpretations of the Scripture.

We can strain out the gnat and swallow the camel.

And our own spiritual pride entraps us.

When I was a young girl, if someone would comment to my Mom about her parenting, she would always answer -- "It's only by the grace of God."

And her constant response made a strong impression upon me.

I knew, from my experience, that my Mom gave all of her heart and strength, poured every ounce of herself into raising us.

She literally went for years without buying new clothing for herself, made strong, costly sacrifices to stay home with us when we were very little, and was constantly, mentally and spiritually engaged in raising us up, to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion.

And yet, whenever anyone asked her what the "secret" to her parenting "success" was, she always answered, "only the grace of God."

Because my Mom believed that the Lord had given her a physical illness so that she would become closer to Him and pour everything that she had into her children.

Because she believed that He protected our family despite my father's constant backsliding and unfaithfulness.

Because she put her trust in God and knew what she was capable of without Him.

And I read about people who give all of the credit to themselves, with God as a sidenote, and my heart is disturbed.

I read about people whose children never (outwardly) rebelled, who never miss a church service, who glory (honestly) in their own goodness, in their own efforts.

And I think -- maybe they have forgotten that it is only because of the grace of God.

They think, we think, I think, "Oh, it is something that I have done -- some good thing, some right thing, heeded some scriptural principle -- that is why my family, my job, my dating relationship, etc., is flourishing."

And if anything goes wrong, if a child rebels, if the sink gets backed up, if my daughter won't sit still in church one day, that we have "messed up" in some way.

Not necessarily so.

Maybe -- and we definitely need to reflect, repent of things done and left undone, but the Lord at times allows trials such as these to test us, and to help us to remember that everything is grace -- that it is "only the grace of God" that touches what would have, could have been an ugly disaster and makes it beautiful through Him.

When we put our confidence in our own efforts, become enamored with our "correct doctrine," or parenting methods, or excellent child-rearing abilities, we forget the grace of God.

And again, I'm not saying that it it not important to pour all of our strength and mind and heart into the work that the Lord has called us to, whether it be parenting or some other vocation/ministry, but our spirit must be so knitted to Him, that we know that

nothing in our hands we bring; simply to His cross we cling.

It is His grace working in and through us to bring glory to Himself.

It is His mercy that makes everything beautiful in its time -- nothing that we have done.

We simply offer Him our obedient hearts -- or our desire to want an obedient heart, and we cast ourselves upon Him.

And when we look up, from a position of humility, His hand reaches down and blesses us--

The glory is all of His, none of ours.

We lay our crown at His feet--

And bless Him.

 

Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, to me, to me,

As Thou didst bless the bread by Galilee;

Then shall all bondage cease, all fetters fall;

And I shall find my peace, my all in all.

Thou art the bread of life, O Lord, to me,

Thy holy Word the truth that saveth me;

Give me to eat and live with Thee above;

Teach me to love Thy truth, for Thou art love.

O send Thy Spirit, Lord, now unto me,

That He may touch my eyes, and make me see:

Show me the truth concealed within Thy Word,

And in Thy Book revealed I see the Lord.

--Mary A. Lathbury

This was a very good, unbiased  blog post that I came across while researching the Doug Phillip's affair--very worthwhile to read and to reflect upon- written by a homeschooling mother of 8:

http://www.kendrafletcher.com/kendra-fletcher/2013/12/6/what-doug-phillips-forgot

Photo credit --mascara
 Manuel Marín / Foter / CC BY

Publican and the sinner:
 Lawrence OP / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

Flower:
 Jason A. Samfield / Foter / CC BY-NC-SA

That They May Have Life ...

The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.
John 10:10

We drove to the animal hospital and I held death in my hands . . . 

A dying grass-blade of God's creation, her white breast quivering in the cavern of her ebbing life. 

A mourning dove, the representation of His peace, in the midst of the chaotic grip of pain and death. 

Her life sinking, he took the box and walked inside. 

And walked out later alone. 


And we had driven silently there; death is not a glib event, and I think of Legolas as he bowed his head and uttered that whispered benediction. 

A benediction of peace amidst the angry cacophony of death. 

I think of this desperate world, and all creation in bondage, and the inside of my soul weeps.

The dove, mourning, dying, attests to the bondage of creation--peace, life, in the grip of death. 

I think of how we choose death--and beautiful, sweet things are so casually mocked, manhandled, twisted.  

What is it about humanity that grips the ugly, that chooses the sarcastic and degrading and the despicable and gnaws on them like a filthy, greasy bone? 


What is it about humanity that chooses death?

That tosses aside the weak, that rejects what is physically or mentally unpalatable--the elderly, the retarded, the unwanted child? 

What is it that draws us to degrading humor and so-called "entertainment"? To 22-words-sardonism and conscience-numbing stupidity, to mindless cartoons that depict sweet, innocent animals and birds (part of God's beautiful creation) as "angry," sarcastic specimens that resemble the worst of what humanity is capable of, what I am capable of, without the grace of Christ? 

Death, clinging to us, clinging to our children, wrapping itself around our hearts through the media that we allow into our homes and lives for the sake of entertainment and a hollow laugh. 

We drain the cup dry like a cheap wine--and our debauchery chains us. 

I read about a man who enjoys photographing hawks in the city of Providence killing pigeons. 

And his "art" is  celebrated. 

Have you ever watched a hawk kill a pigeon? 

It's an ugly, slow process, the hawk's talons kneading the pigeon's body, while he struggles, still alive beneath the death-grip. 

Death is not a celebration--something to be delighted in, gaped at, fascinated by.

Death is what Christ came to abolish, why the nail-thorns were pressed into His brow--why He bled and ached and suffered. 

And hawks need to eat, but does someone need to take a picture of it?--just so that we can gape and gawk at a poor pigeon's agony? 

Gape at death. 

But sin, worketh death . . . 

Death of the conscience, death of the spirit, death of the soul. 

And death makes us callused and raw, manacles our souls--


Manacled my father's soul when he spit us out, rejected us, handed my Mom papers for a divorce. 

Did he care that he crushed us? That he left her with nothing--nothing but the mangled shards of a covenant that she faithfully held on to? 

Did he care?

Death had chained him, and he casually joked with his friends about "missing their lunch" when the court hearing dragged on too long. 

Death; death of the conscience, death of the soul. 

But Christ . . . 

  Came to give life, to free our souls from death--to crush the serpents's head and to silence the hawk's shrill death-cry forever. 

Came to give us life, life more abundant. 

So we choose life. 

Choose it for our homes, for our children, through what we allow into our lives and our hearts--

Things that make for beauty and peace and health of the soul. 

Clean laughter, the fellowship of the brethren, the joy-bliss of pure worship, the ache for our heavenly home, our hands free from clutching this wretched sinful world as our home--

Longing for the new heavens, the new earth--where the lion will lie down next to the lamb and the child put his hand in the viper's nest--unbitten. 

Where glory dwells,

And death is swallowed up in victory. 

He Lifts Us

The sky is ashy and pale as I back out of our slushy driveway. 

Alone. 

For the first time in weeks. 

I have a doctor's appointment--

Worried; thinking of Debbie, thinking of her little face as I left -- knowing that she will be safe and cared-for while I'm gone; my Mama is with her -- but feeling so strange without her little person following me here and there and everywhere . . . 

Frustrated; by situations out of my control, by the "clutter" of life, the "clutter" of anxious thoughts, the "clutter" of trying to neatly figure everything out--

Situations, beyond my control, rise up like serpentine phantoms and the tears come -- and I force them away. 

Frustrated, overwhelmed-

Drive down the familiar street, the street where I've lived, played on, ridden my bike up and down, for the past 31 years. The street that has been so familiarly comforting to me.  

But it's icy now, covered by a thick sheet of glassy laminate and I turn the corner and it's the same, so I creep along. I try to brake and the brakes don't take, so I slow down even more. 

Where has that old familiar pavement vanished?  

And I creep along until suddenly the ice is gone and I can drive again on clean pavement and know that the wheels are gripping something. 

My husband has a CD in the player -- I don't know what it is, but I turn on the volume and the sweet music fills our old car with grace and light. 

I'v never heard this CD before -- a collection of hymns -- Chris Rice -- and I listen. And the music ministers to my weary, hungry soul. 

It is well with my soul . . . 

How Great Thou art . . . 

Speak to me, Lord; I am listening now. I wasn't before. 

Too preoccupied with my own worries, fears -- and now the tears come again, but they are not tears of anxiety, but tears of rest and peace. 

The music speaks to my soul; He speaks to my soul. 

Refreshed. 

He has never failed us -- will He now? 

Rock of ages, cleft for me -- let me hide myself in Thee--

In Thee -- the All Sufficient One -- and sing--

Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea.
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart.
I know that while in heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.
No tongue can bid me thence depart.

When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end to all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.
To look on Him and pardon me.

Behold Him there the risen Lamb,
My perfect spotless righteousness,
The great unchangeable I AM,
The King of glory and of grace,
One with Himself I cannot die.
My soul is purchased by His blood,
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ my Savior and my God!

And this is what I've discovered in my life--that it's not so much that He meets me where I 

am, but that He lifts me up to where He is -- plants my feet on a "Rock that is higher than 

I," where I couldn't pick myself up, couldn't pick up my emotions, couldn't change my 

circumstances. He lifts me up to where He is--my great high Priest who is seated at the 

right hand of God-- and my name is written on his nail-torn hands. 

Praise His name . . . 

When You're Alone

The whole earth is at rest and quiet;

They break forth into singing.

Isaiah 14:7

The last day of duck hunting is over and 100 Acre Cove is quiet, serene. 

No gunshots, no wounds, no fear. And the Cove laughs, rejoices again. 

I rejoice. 

Tired of hearing the gunshots early every morning. Tired of wondering how many gentle, innocent ducks were slaughtered for sport, for pleasure.

In the new earth there will be no more death, and no more fear, and no more wounding of another living thing for pleasure's sake alone--not for food to feed a family, but because of blood-lust and slaughter for slaughter's sake. 

100 Acre Cove is silent. Peace and grace to my soul; creation laughs and sings.

Another day. 

My Mama stands by the side of the water and feeds her ducks, feeds them while the cold, aching wind whips her hair and her old faded coat. 

And she smiles with pleasure. 

She buys big bags of whole corn, which she says will "keep them warm." 

She feeds the sweet wild ducks and the farm ducks that some cold person "dumped" here, and she smiles and she worries over whether they have all gotten enough and how much longer the winter will be and when "they" will prohibit the feeding of ducks. 

And she throws the corn and the ducks come and they eat and are kept alive for one more day. 

Talk about the eco-system and the balance of life and death and the ducks becoming dependent. 

And we have built so many houses and crushed so much of their territory, is it really a big deal if my Mom keeps some helpless ducks alive? 

I'm not going to stop her. 

 And there is one duck who hobbles over to her, hungrier than the rest, with a broken wing that healed improperly. 

One lonely duck, making her way through life, trying to eat enough corn to survive, pitiful and helpless, totally dependent. 

Some people would say to let that duck die--would I?

Not one sparrow falls to the ground apart from My notice . . . 

And some of our brothers and sisters are like that duck and I watch my Mom feeding the friendless broken bird and think of what she said to me--

"It's different when you're alone . . . " 


And some people are like that lonely duck, all by itself, a broken wing that will never lift it up in flight again, and totally dependent upon the mercy of someone to take pity upon it. 

It's different when you're alone.  

Grace and peace be theirs in abundance . . . 

There is a woman I know who lost her husband to cancer and she stills wears her wedding ring and she smiles joy and she sings in the choir and she serves. But it is different when you're alone. 

And she is freer than others to serve the Lord and she does with a beautiful heart and a kind smile and a sensitivity born out of loss. 

It's different when you're alone. 

And they are a little nearer to Jesus because nothing comes in between. 

He is their Portion and their Keeper.

  The sweet ducks chase the corn over the ice and the broken-winged duck struggles to keep  up. 


My Mom's corn is her mercy. 

And there are no more gunshots to fear. 

None now; none in the new earth. 

Praise Jesus. 

He prayeth well

Who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best

Who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God 

Who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

--Samuel Taylor Coleridege

(from The Ancient Mariner)

 

A.W. Tozer, The Ministry of Hymns, and Why We Chose the Name Elisha . . .

I run my fingers over the weathered old keys and poise my hands to play. They strike the notes, not as fluidly, gracefully as I'd like them to, but the music comes steadily, an outpouring of myself through the worn instrument. I'd never been good at the technical part, just at "feeling" the music and digging deep into the hush of the meaning - so my fingers stumble, but my spirit plays free. 

The old hymns. I begin with these, before the scales or the drills or the classics. The Watts and the Wesley and the Bliss and the Crosby. These are the melodies that my heart loves, longs for. 

This was why I wanted to learn how to play. So that I could play the music and press the words to my soul, the words saturated in the truths of Scripture, the words that dance and spin and stick and humble and bless. 

I love the old hymns. 

And some of the modern music that's been written lately is good, too--especially when its lyrics are embedded with those heavy ancient truths of the Word - but it's harder to find and so few and far between that I just pick up my hymnal and spiritually press it to my heart and feel its flames envelope me. 

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me; let me hide myself in Thee . . ." 

"'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take Him at His Word. . . "

"Depth of mercy can there be, mercy still reserved for me ? .  . ." 

And the Words bubble up inside of me and fill my flesh with a longing to be closer to the One with Whom I am one through the Holy Spirit of God. 

One of the greatest gifts that God had given to me has been the ministry of the hymns of His sons and daughters. 

In times of sorrow, in times of joy, in times of pain, in times of longing for my heavenly home - to be free from this world of pain, the old hymns have been some of my dearest friends and teachers. 

"Blessed Redeemer, Jesus is mine, 
Oh what a foretaste of glory divine
Heir of salvation 
Purchase of God
Born of His Spirit 
Washed in His blood . . ."

So grateful . . . 

Lately, I've been enriched through reading the biography of A.W. Tozer. I discovered as I read, that this faithful saint loved to sing and to read hymns and that they were a great encouragement to his ministry. His biographer, James Snyder, said of him, 

"Each writer has his or her own way to get the creative juices flowing. For Tozer, he would get his Bible and hymnbook from his desk, walk over to the sofa in one corner of his office, kneel there and begin worshiping God. He would read from the Bible and read or softly sing a few hymns. He especially liked the hymns of Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley. By his own confession, he sang - on his knees - one of A.B. Simpson's songs almost every day.

"Tozer was an ardent lover of hymns and had in his library a collection of old hymnals. Often on his way to an appointment, he would meditate on one of the old hymns. 'Get a hymnbook,' he frequently advised as he counseled people. 'But don't get one that is less than a hundred years old!'"

"After the Bible . . . the next most valuable book is a good hymnal. Let any new Christian spend a year prayerfully meditating on the hymns of Watts and Wesley alone, and he or she will become a fine theologian. Afterward, let that person read a balanced diet of the Puritans and the Christian mystics. The results will be more wonderful than he could have dreamed," said Tozer. 

Right now, I sit in my room and I listen to hymns, hymn after hymn quietly playing, and I write - and the words encourage and nourish and feed my soul and my little Debbie sleeps peacefully to the sound of hymns. Not to whales in the deep or to a fan blowing or to the sound of manufactured rain, but to the beautiful, tender hymns with their strong-as-steel doctrine and their prayerful comfort that feeds the heart like a shepherd does his flock. 

I want my Debbie to know that her Shepherd will supply her need, that peace like a river will attend her way as she trusts in the Lord through her trials, that there is no sorrow that Jesus cannot bear. 

I must tell Jesus!
I must tell Jesus! 
I cannot bear these burdens alone--
I must tell Jesus
I must tell Jesus
Jesus can help me--Jesus alone. 

And this hymn is the reason behind our new baby's name . . . 

Years ago, I went through a series of heavy trials, trials that felt "unbearable" to me. I had been misunderstood and crushed, my reputation attacked by some who thought me vulnerable and a frustration to them. 

I cried out to the Lord and He brought me over and over to this hymn - "I Must Tell Jesus" - written by a man named Elisha Hoffman. 

I must tell Jesus all of my trials;
I cannot bear these burdens alone;
In my distress He kindly will help me;
He ever loves and cares for His own.

Refrain

I must tell Jesus! I must tell Jesus!
I cannot bear my burdens alone;
I must tell Jesus! I must tell Jesus!
Jesus can help me, Jesus alone.

I must tell Jesus all of my troubles;
He is a kind, compassionate friend;
If I but ask Him, He will deliver,
Make of my troubles quickly an end.

Refrain

Tempted and tried, I need a great Savior;
One Who can help my burdens to bear;
I must tell Jesus, I must tell Jesus;
He all my cares and sorrows will share
.

Refrain

O how the world to evil allures me!
O how my heart is tempted to sin!
I must tell Jesus, and He will help me
Over the world the victory to win.

Refrain

Over and over, "I must tell Jesus;" He alone knew my sorrow; He alone could help me and defend me and cause my heart to leap and to sing for joy. 

Shortly after these events, the Lord miraculously brought one of the greatest joys into my life - my marriage to my dear husband and friend after a long (5-year) engagement. 

My Lord and Savior faithfully protected me and allowed me to stand in the midst of my trials through His grace. Then, He lovingly restored me, and lifted up my face, just as He did with His servant Job after a time of severe suffering and anguish.

He is faithful. 

And so we chose the name "Elisha" for our son, after the name of that hymn writer, to the glory of the Father . . .

And for the sake of remembrance of the Lord's mercies.

Because His mercies endure forever, His faithfulness through generations. 

The words of the old hymns remind me.

And I am glad. 

Perseverance, Plodding, and the Father's Pleasure

"For we must all appear before the judgement seat of Christ, that each one may receive the things done in the body, according to what he has done. whether good or bad."

II Corinthians 5:10

 

I think of my teabag, soaking, drenched in the steaming water and I think, "That's how my life, my moments should be--steeped like a teabag in prayer, saturated with the heaviness of petitions uttered, silent groanings, deep cries to the Almighty from the depth of gratitude and sometimes desperation. 

Because sometimes we are desperate. 

And sometimes we are grateful and our thankfulness pours out like a gurgling, bubbling joyful stream, and we just can't contain it. 

I remember moments like these--slow brimming tearful moments, silent, heavy praise to my Father of mercy--

The day that our five-year engagement suddenly snapped closed in what could only be a miraculous triumph of the Father's kindness and faithfulness. 

The morning in the garden when I realized and felt the Father's love for me.

The day that my baby came into the world and lay in my aching arms. 

Those days . . . 

And there are those times when all of a sudden, after long hours, days, months, years of plodding and praying and fearing and wondering and listening, when the Lord breaks through and we see His hand working where we hadn't seen it before. 

Some area of obedience, where we have listened to the Spirit's voice, maybe in praying for an unsaved loved one or friend, maybe in an area that we are learning faithfulness and self-control, maybe a breakthrough in our prayer life--our Baal Perizim where we suddenly "see" the hand of the Lord in a fresh way blessing the obedience that we offered through His Spirit. 

A moment like this came quietly for me a little while ago. Not like a gust of power or wind, but quietly and I saw the Lord's hand.  One of my favorite quotes is of the Baptist missionary William Carey. When asked about the "secret" to his "success" with missions, he answered that he "could plod." He could continue year after year after year in a given pursuit without "giving up," (even when there were no visible results) when he knew that the work was of God. 

After my baby was born and when I began to bring her to church, I felt led to keep her with me through the worship service--to teach her slowly from when she was very little to be able to eventually sit quietly in the worship service with the intent of worshiping together as a family through the entire service. (I bring this up as a situation in which the Lord taught me to "plod" in an area that I felt He desired for me to obey Him in--not as a form for every family/person to follow. Although I believe that worshiping as a family is important, the Lord can lead different families in different ways in this area, and it is between them and the Lord to determine the individual course that He would have their family take. The important thing is that a family is walking with and listening to the Lord and that their desire is toward true worship. Obviously, this may take a different form for a larger family or for a family with a toddler and an infant, for a single mother, and so on.) 

At any rate, I believed that the Lord had laid this particular course of obedience upon my heart in my individual circumstances. Week after week I sat in the back of the church and kept my baby and now toddler with me during the time when the worship service was held. At first, I had to go in and out of the sanctuary many times when she was fussy, noisy, etc. But as time wore on, she began to sit for longer periods of time through the beginning of the service, before the sermon was given. When the Pastor began speaking (usually a good 45-minute sermon or so) I took my daughter into the foyer, right outside the sanctuary and sat there on a folding chair with her as if we were still sitting in the worship service and where I could faintly hear the sermon. Again, at first, we could only sit outside for a few minutes, but as the weeks wore on, we have been able to sit quietly for longer periods of time (aided by a snack, and the Lord's mercy--with quite a few "ups and downs" :-)). 

It struck me the other week, that Debbie finally seemed to understand (in her age-appropriate way) that we are quiet when we worship and that different behavior is expected of us in church than during playtime, time at home, etc. She is becoming more interested in the hymns as I point them out to her and direct her focus on what is going on around her. She looks at the Bible when we read it and understands that something "different" is happening. She is increasingly more attentive to the different parts of the service. 

When I am no longer able to keep Debbie quiet in the foyer, we go to a quiet room somewhere else in the church and again I speak softly to her and we do "quiet" activities together until we hear the last hymn being sung. I'm trying to impress upon her the "spirit" of worshiping the Lord with other believers in the way that I feel that the Lord has led me--and of course, He may lead someone else in a completely different way.

But I say this to illustrate the principle of "plodding" in an area where the Lord is drawing your heart toward some particular step of obedience. Many weeks, I felt like "Why am I doing this? Why am I putting so much energy and effort into this?" And some weeks my daughter is not as attentive and sometimes she's distracted, and I've felt discouraged. But I want to teach her this principle of "worship," and so I plod on . . . 

And then, all of a sudden, it seemed, the Lord showed me that He was blessing this obedience. I noticed a small change in Debbie, and my heart was glad in Him and in what He had done through simple, plodding obedience. 

For some reason, the Lord has continually impressed that principle on my heart, that is, the principle of "plodding." For years I walked for exercise, day, after day after day in sunny weather or bad, usually going along the same route for months and months. This, in some kind of a "practical" way taught me how to "plod," something that I've needed to learn in my life. The simple act of day after day doing the same activity was building not only a physical, but also a mental endurance and stamina in my person that has helped me in my walk with the Lord.

My Mom was talking to my sister and me in the car the other day and she said something that stuck with me. She said (in reference to how we as Christians can become complacent in different areas of our lives and more and more like the world), "Be fanatical! Don't be normal like everyone else!" Her words strongly impressed upon me the urgency of walking, plodding, living my life as a follower, a lover of Jesus Christ. And she meant it not in the sense of being a misfit or a fanatic just for the sake of drawing attention to oneself, but in the sense of determinedly obeying the Lord even when others were choosing a "wider," "easier" way. 

And it's so easy to be "normal," to be a little bit spiritual and a lot like the world--distracted, shifty, our hearts set on things that are passing away and rejecting what is eternal.

How well I know . . . 

And when everyone else forsook Him, He turned to His disciples and asked them if they would also go away (implied--"like everyone else")  And Peter answered, "To Whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life!" (John 6:67-68)

To whom shall we go? To pleasures, to more and more entertainment? To friends or food or pets or work? Or to the One who has the words of eternal life?

To Him I go . . .


 This has been an extremely useful article for me, written by Noel and John Piper:  
http://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-family-together-in-gods-presence