His Father Said Trust

The son stood quietly in the mist of early morning. The sun warmed the air and the day stretched out before him.

“Why do I feel such excitement for this day,” he asked the Father, “yet such fear?”

There was silence as he awaited the response. The Father’s words were wisdom and truth.

“The excitement you feel is anticipation of My working in your heart, expectancy of My faithfulness to be proven yet again, the joy of your will becoming one with Mine. But the fear, my son? The fear is not of Me. You fear what is unknown, unwalked, unable to be controlled by your strength. But have you forgotten it is not you who goes ahead? It is not you who prepares the way. That is who I am. I am the paver of your steps, the mover of your mountains, the companion in your valleys. It is I Who walks the way first. All you must do, My son, is follow.”

And the son moved close in the mist of early morning and said, “Yes. You are provider and leader, paver and mover, companion and truth. My faith is small. Lead me, and with my whole heart will I follow.”

Ichabod

So often the things we think are for our good, the things we think we’re safe with, turn out to be the very things that destroy us. And so often it’s our own doing. It’s our lack of purity and reverence and sacredness when it comes to handling the deep things of God.

In First Samuel, simply having the Ark of the Covenant in possession was thought to be the goal. The Israelites viewed it as instant victory and carried it with them into battle. Not successful. The Philistines took it home thinking it would be a good luck charm. It wasn’t.

The ark was holy, it did grant victory, it did bring blessing, it did carry with it the presence of Jehovah. But only to those who handled it in obedience and righteous fear and trembling. Those who disregarded its utter holiness, treated it casually or reached out to steady it in careless disobedience experienced the opposite effect. Chaos and death. God’s justice instead of His mercy.

Today that ark no longer carries His presence. We have become His dwelling place. I have become His dwelling place. Do I take this lightly? Do I treat this with anything less than utmost humility and trembling reverence? My body houses God. In a way, it seems to have lost a lot of its incredible power. We’re no longer struck dead when we approach God with sin in our lives. We reach out with filthy hands to touch Glory and we survive. We go about our loose living.

We have passed by His Almighty God-ness but carried Him around like a good luck charm. We’ve brought Him home with us but still have idols standing upright in the same room. We like Him nearby in difficult situations but He’d better reward us with victory. We’ll take His mercy, please, but none of that harsh judgment we’ve heard stories about. We join hands and dance around the ark, singing songs about the ark, praying to be blessed by the ark.

But someone somewhere is weeping Ichabod. The glory of God has departed.

We don’t notice. We’re making too much noise trying to convince ourselves His presence is reality when really it’s His absence that is. Oh God forbid that we become golden boxes of emptiness. We need to have our pride turned to utter brokenness. We need to first beg Him to flood us with His very Spirit, then teach us to live in such a way that His holiness is not forced to vacate.

Holy God, I know I am not worthy but may You Who are indwell me. I know I am not a perfect habitation but may You Who are Perfection teach me to walk uprightly before You. I know I am not clean but may You Who are Purity wash and recreate me. I am Your ark. Be in me a glorious Example. Live through me Your life.

Cheating Glory

You know how certain verses sometimes mean absolutely nothing, then other times have a way of stopping you dead in your tracks? Take, for instance, last week’s revelation of Galatians chapter four.

The Scripture says that Abraham had two sons, one from his slave and one from his freeborn wife. The son of the slave was born in a human attempt to bring about the fulfillment of God’s promise. But the son of the freeborn wife was born as God’s own fulfillment of His promise.

Ok, Ervina. What do you want to be true of your life? human fulfillment (or at least a ridiculous attempt) or God’s own fulfillment of His promise? that you stocked up on manna or had it provided fresh each morning? that you dug shallow wells in search of water or were a firsthand witness to it gushing from a rock? that you crossed the Red Sea in a boat or watched God part it for you?

I don’t want to be so focused on my own strength and abilities (which I will say right here and now turn out to be fails… epic fails) that I completely miss out on the big things God wants to do for me and in me. What’s more thrilling: me making things happen, or God coming through for me in ways that blow my mind? Yeah. That’s kinda what I thought.

God getting the glory is cooler. Much, much cooler.

Father, the last thing I want to do is cheat You out of glory. Keep me broken. Keep me from taking control of my own life. Keep my heart quiet and my soul seeking. Help me to stand back and watch You work.

Of Beauty and Words

It’s just a fancy way of saying it, really. “Beauty and words” means the same thing as “white lace and poetry.” It’s the combination of two art forms by which the Father draws me into deeper places with Himself. Sometimes the beauty is looking into the face of a newborn niece. Sometimes it’s a bouquet of hydrangeas or in the smile of  an elderly woman passing on the street. Sometimes it’s overlooking a mountain range in China and feeling insignificant and awestruck.

Sometimes the words are a handwritten note that arrives in my mailbox at the perfect time. Sometimes they’re a passage in the sixth chapter of Micah where God tells me in a short sentence what He requires of my life. Sometimes they’re tucked in a Jane Austen story, over breakfast with dad, a phone conversation with my sister, or the sermon last Sunday.

Whichever way they come, I am refreshed and challenged and inspired through their influence. I want the beauty I encounter to bless others. I want the words I write to paint the light, to reveal deeper places of the Father’s heart. I would like, I think, for my life to reflect a bit of white lace and poetry.

“Let your repentance be a growing habit, your faith an increasing faith, your holiness a progressive holiness, your victory over the world a more decided victory, your love to the brethren a more hearty love, your watchfulness over yourself a more jealous watchfulness.” [ J.C. Ryle ]