Tag: trials

Honesty

I am in the midst of a fierce struggle. I can’t seem to put anything together right now. I’m very eager for your prayers at this point.

Perhaps I’ll be back on line in a few days. There are almost 1000 posts on this site, and I encourage you to delve into them. I feel good about everyone, and I’m certain you will discover true blessings.

I am very tired, and yet have an inordinate desire to keep up a facade. But I can’t do this. If I can’t be honest with you, and myself then I’m in a bad place indeed.

I hope to be back in a couple of days. At least that is my “track record.” Psych issues are notoriously unpredictable.

“God began doing a good work in you, and I am sure he will continue it until it is finished when Jesus Christ comes again.” Philippians 1:6, NCV

Broken Prayers From the Edge

I lock the doors.  Close the curtains.  And let God have it.

I clinch my fists in a maddening rage as my hands tremble violently.  Within moments, my fingers ache from the intense, white-knuckle tightness.  And my forearms cramp up.  The blood rushes to my head.  And my eyes burn and burn and burn from the tears.

I speak, then shout — and scream.

My voice becomes raspy as I rant.  And soon, my throat burns.  My heart is aflame with grief and rage, so much so that my ears can no longer understand the words coming out of my mouth.  Before it’s over, I will blow my nose several times and wipe my eyes often and much.

I am broken — and I am praying.

I start with the loss of my friend, JD, a man taken far, far too soon.  A man who left behind a wife and two children.  I tell God that I do not think it is fair for his children to grow up without a father.  And then, I ask God why He didn’t take me instead, that I want to be with my children, that I don’t have any here for me.

“All I do is suffer and I am sick to death of it!!!”

And then, I rant about all the believers — never the broken — who paint a picture of life with Christ as a portrait of perfection.  Their grandiose testimonies have made me feel like God has something against me, like grace is a joke for people like me because my life has been so hard.  My brokenness is not the result of one trial, nor one tragedy — but a lifetime of unbearable loss.

“And it just keeps happening!!!”

I rattle off the names of those I’ve lost in just the past five years:  Jerry, Britany, Virginia, Rob, Terry, Nancy, Leroy, Art, Kim, Greg, Melody — and now JD.  I tell God that I am the anti-Midas.  Everything King Midas touched turned to gold, but I feel like everything I touch turns to dirt.  I am cursed.  “God has raised His fist against me.”

“How am I supposed to go on?  How?”

And then, in that moment, all of my rage and all of my grief and all that I am burns and burns and burns for The Almighty.  I am a man of faith — and, even in the midst of this monstrous mess my life has become, I know that He could end every ounce of this despair with a simple whisper.  A sign.  A something.  Anything.

“If You would just speak, this madness would end!”

With the last tissue, I tell God that I am convinced He wants me to suffer — alone, in this maddening agony.  I tell Him that I have given up on Him, that I cannot take any of this any more.  That I am broken.  And my heart is dead.  My pain is too great, my anguish too deep.  And that I will never serve God again for as long as I live.

“I can’t do it!  I can’t do it!  I just can’t do it!”

Three days later, God spoke to me through a dream.

“In my dream, I had a vision…”

To learn more, read “Safe in the Mouth of Danger.”

 

Love,

The NorEaster

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Joy Comes in the Morning

“I will test you
with the measuring line of justice
and the plumb line of righteousness.
Since your refuge is made of lies,
a hailstorm will knock it down.
Since it is made of deception,
a flood will sweep it away.”
                                   ~Isaiah 28:17

The ways in which our Father tests us certainly can seem clandestine to closed eyes.  Most of us familiar with our own trials and tragedies would agree that these excruciating circumstances are spiritual tests.  I know I’ve had my measure of the mire.  I have lost three children — one to an abortion — and I have also lost three precious people to suicide in three years, and several more as well.

There are times I can scarcely comprehend the magnitude of what I have lost.  Some days, it is a hourly struggle to remind myself of the goodness of God in the midst of my oceanic anguish.  I pray constantly for the blessing of relief — even through the maddening rage of my grief — and I have a handful of blog subscriptions (including this one) that help me stay focused.  Many times, the words I read provide the precise encouragement I need.

I have devoured The Book of Job many times, and God’s speech always gets me at the end.  But, recently, I realized that Job’s three friends not only failed Job, they also failed in the eyes of God, who tells Eliphaz, “I am angry with you and your two friends, for you have not spoken accurately about me, as my servant Job has” (Job 42:7).  While the focus of the book is obviously on Job, that verse made me realize something very significant.

When so many bad things happen to just one person, is God testing just one person?  Is The Almighty so short-sighted?  Wasn’t He testing Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite as well?

Is not the same true for us today?  When we see our brothers and sisters enduring their own fires, isn’t God testing us through them?  Do we understand the magnitude of our Father’s love so very well as to serve Him so gratefully by serving others?  The purpose of loss is not suffering, but to learn compassion for those who are suffering.  In that sense:

Injustice is the measuring line of justice,
and suffering is the plumb line of righteousness.

Such evidence demands a verdict.  For without injustice, we have no need to demand justice.  And without suffering, we have no means to express our faith in gratitude through service.  Through my many trials, the times I have experienced the greatest joy has not been when God has taken away my pain — but when I have ministered to others in pain.

Granted, serving others does not remove my anguish or my struggles, but it has been through my suffering that I have come to understand the suffering of others with profound compassion.

And that brings me a wonderfully excruciating joy.

“Weeping may last through the night,
but joy comes with the morning.”
~Psalm 30:5b

The Hard Stuff

“And he told them many things in parables, saying: “A sower went out to sow. 4And as he sowed, some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them. 5Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil.”

Matthew 13:3-5, ESV

 

Parables were one of the favorite ways that Jesus communicated the truth.  This folksy and imaginative bit of “story-telling” carried profound things.  In this peculiar parable they hear of a farmer “broadcasting” the spring seed. It says he went “out to sow.”  He went out (and not in.)  The fields were awaiting him and his precious seed.

There was seed that was incidentally sown on the hard path.  The sparrows and the wrens and robins came and ate all the seed they could hold.  And some other seed was sown into the gravel, and rocks.  There was really, very little good soil.

Amazingly, they grew.  The seed there managed to sprout, and show some real semblance of growth.  But, it was temporary.  It could not last, the conditions would not endure continual growth.  The young plants would soon shrivel up and die.

Many things happen, that reveal our heart rocky and hard.  Much traffic treading down the lanes of our heart, pack the soil of our hearts.  The soil compresses and will not allow the young roots to find the nutrients it needs. Things are hard, the soil is packed down–like concrete.

So many things roll through our hearts.  We discover that we have been trampled and stomped on.  What may have been soft and fertile, has been packed down and hardened by all the traffic.  We should-be been more aware. We turned to a “free-er” and more open acceptance of what we would take and tolerate.  Evil, which has taken advantage, moves deep into our thinking, and we “sign over” much that we will regret, but later on.

The seed though is the focus.  It is precious, and knowing this, we focus on its viability.  The seed that makes it into a tiny plant is valued incredibly.  We hover over it, trying to “will” it to grow.  (If that were possible.)  But it seems we can’t press through this point.  The “precious seed” is sown, and our hardness nullifies so much real growth.

The Lord’s gentle but deep awareness is focused on our softness.  How do we manage our hard hearts?  When his spirit reaches out to us (the other day it was a wonderful song on the radio); He was reaching to me, and than I shut it down.  I guess I know he’ll continue to reach for me, even if I’m so rude to him.

There is an old story, of a demonic horse rider who would ride through the country, and wherever the horse stepped there was a permanent deadness that would never let the seed to grow.  When we indulge sin, we enable sin to flourish, and we empower the “horse rider” to continue his advance.  Our lust, and greed, jealousy, pride and selfishness bring us a deep and shadowy darkness.  He moves through my life, and I am mostly saddened because I no longer reach to him, even though I think that I grasp for him.

But how will we manage the traffic through the soil of our lives.  Will we let it continue, or will we put up signs?  Signs create a “safety zone” and we turn to this draconian measures to keep things in a good order.  It seems harsh, but it gives us space to let what is soft to become eager to receive the seed.