Redecorating

I.   Me

Captivating.

Am I?

How could I ever be?

I feel like a mistake.

I feel dirty.

I feel imperfect.

I’m such a mess.
I am nothing.

I just want to die sometimes.

I wish I was beautiful.

I wish I was good.

I wish I could be all that I should be.

But I make a mess out of life.

I fail.

All the time.

And I feel like it’s all my fault.

I shouldn’t expect anything.

Because I am not worth anything.

I never will be.

Because I will always be damaged.

I will always be second rate.

I should be ashamed.

Because I am covered by shame.

It is my dress, my veil.

My legacy.

Look at me.

Yeah, I wouldn’t either.

II.   Lies

No!

LIES!  All lies!

The devil, the enemy,

who whispers fondly in my ear—

you lie.

Your words are pollutants, poisons.

There is no grain of truth

or wisdom or kindness in them.

Your words cripple and enslave.

They keep me broken and weeping

in the corner of my cave.

Your words whisper to me

to not let them out.

Keep it to myself.

No.

Bring the darkness into the light.

Expose the falsehoods.

Recognize the strongholds the lies

have built so diligently in my life.

Where is the power in the lies?

When I believe them.

When I let them continue to

reside in me peacefully, undisturbed.

But I see them.

And they will rest and rule no longer.

They will be [brutally] disturbed.

III.   Truth

Because what could be more brutal

to a lie than to be ripped apart?

To be seen for what it really is.

To lose all the power of deception.

To be invaded and conquered

by the light of the truth.

The truth refutes the lies.

The truth invites freedom.

The truth brings back reality.

IV. Captivating

Yes I am.

Because the truth is that I have been redeemed.

The truth is that I am bought and paid for.

The truth is that I am covered and pure.

The truth is that I am claimed.

The truth is that I am entirely forgiven.

The truth is that I am eternally loved.

I am faithfully and unconditionally loved.

I am sought after.

The truth is that I am chosen.

The truth is that I am worthy.

The truth is that I am new.

I am remade.

Reborn.

With new and bright eyes.

The truth is that I have been given grace.

The truth is that I have been saved.

The truth is that I am raised from death to life.

The truth is that life is finally worth living.

Because there is someone to live for.

The truth is that I have been given joy.

The truth is that I have been given peace.

The truth is that every time I write the word ‘truth’

I feel that one more lie is decimated in my mind.

One more lie is brought to nothing.

Because the truth is that the lies are powerless in the light.

The truth is that the enemy has already been defeated.

The truth is that the Christ has already claimed the victory.

Because Christ has already conquered death.

And sin.

And the lies.

The truth is that He did that because He loves me.

The truth is that I am saved.

The truth is that I have hope.

The truth is that I am looking forward to eternity.

The truth is that it couldn’t come soon enough.

Goodbye, Rug

Whenever I feel like I have my feet planted firmly on the ground,

what should happen other than the rug on which I’m standing

is pulled right out from beneath my feet!

But there’s none of that movie nonsense.

I don’t stay in the same place

(neat and tidy and unscathed)

when the rug vanishes.

Get real.

The rug gets pulled out from beneath my feet

and I land rear first on the ground.

Usually pretty hard.

But no matter how many times I lose my rug

(and exclaim something about the end of the world and approaching doom)

a funny thing happens.

Life goes on.

At every turn when I look back on my extensive resume

of mistakes and failures and falsely declared Armageddon’s,

I find that my failures have displayed two life essentials.

1. I cannot do this.

2. God can.

Because in the midst of my mistakes

there is one thing that has remained the same.

There is one constant, one absolute, one mighty truth.

I am fiercely and sweetly and deeply loved

by the maker and creator of this universe.

That trumps impending doom any day.

A Crucial Misconception

            My life is not about me.  I find myself often [constantly] completely focused on my life and what is going on with me and what I want.  This pride, this complete self-centeredness, this selfishness is the thing that keeps me furthest from God.  Because of my pride, I can prattle all day long about how important God is and how much I love him, when really I’m more concerned with what other people think when they see me.  When I find myself sinning and then begging for forgiveness, I find myself distraught because of the depth of my darkness—because I hate the way it makes me feel about me.  Not because I know that I have just, by sinning, grieved the very maker of this world.  Not because every sin that flows from me is another ounce of blood that must flow from Christ.

            Literally.  All the pain that Jesus endured on the cross was for the sake of the lost and the weak.  You.  Me.  And every precious moment that he hung there was to give grace to another sinner.  My sin, here and now, caused Christ the pain of the cross two thousand years ago. 

            How disastrous does it make me that I could run away from my God who adores me and into the arms of my sin that desires nothing more than my complete abandonment and death, all the while knowing that I’m causing the one who loves me the pain of death?  And then when I do beg forgiveness, my heart still is not aching for what my sin has cost God.  Behold the depth of my depravity that this human heart of mine—when given the chance—will always choose to run into the arms of destruction.  My heart in its natural condition will never choose God.

            As much as that knowledge is difficult and crushing to accept, I know that makes the beauty of the grace of God all the more extravagant.  I can look around me and see the endless destruction that the sin in this world has left behind and is currently carving, and I can see in scripture, in my life, in the actions and words of others, just how evil humans are on their own.  In the natural state of the human race, we fail. Epically. 

“The LORD saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.” 

Genesis 6:5

I read this verse and sometimes I say to myself, ‘That’s a little harsh. There are some moments when I’m not evil, right?’  Sorry Hannah, but no.  CS Lewis has a deeply insightful statement in which he says, “There is but one good; that is God.  Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him.” If I have ever experienced a moment where there was no evil in my heart, it was without a doubt the result of God invading me and working to change me.  It was not me as a human being just being good.  My heart either seeks to glorify myself or glorify God.  When I’m not seeking to know God and give him glory, when I’m not looking to Him as Lewis said, then I’m seeking my own glory.  I’m seeking to make myself into a better, more lovable person.  I’m concerned with lifting myself up. 

One word.  Idolatry.  

But when in the midst of my wholly depraved state, the sovereign God of the universe calls me to Him and by His Spirit in me helps me to seek Him and love Him (when I’m looking to Him, as Lewis put it), that is good.  In those moments I am good solely because God has made it so.  I am good because God is good and He has taken control of all the corners of my being.  I can be so caught up in myself that these moments seem few and far between.

Are we beginning to see how the grace of God is all the more extravagant because of the sinfulness of man?  In view of my complete imperfection, God is able and willing to offer His perfect grace.  Even though I am the worst of sinners, this glorious, mighty God chooses to make himself known to me and display his perfect grace to me. 

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you and my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” 

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

            I love thinking about this.  Because I can see all of the weakness and the sin in my life, and it just glorifies God more to know that He is enough.  His grace is enough for all of my screw-ups and mistakes.  His grace is enough, His grace is perfect, and His grace never ends.  That is a good promise.  Day after day, mistake after mistake, God will still be able and willing to offer grace.  And the depth of my sin makes the height of his grace overwhelmingly beautiful.  If I could be halfway decent on my own and God only had to offer me a leg up (as opposed to redeeming everything that I am day by day), I would miss out on so much of who He is and I would know His character so much less.  My sin is horrible, yes, but what a beautiful plan of His it is that the more that I fail, the more that I will understand that He never will.  God will never fail to love me completely, He will always be faithful to me, His love is unconditional, and no matter how many times I spurn Him and run away, He will never abandon me. 

            This life is NOT about me.  

Beautiful

“One thing have I asked of the Lord,

that will I seek after:

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 inquire in his temple.”

            Psalm 27:4

How does a person describe a definition?

The definition tells a person what a thing is,

but if the definition in itself is a great mystery,

how is the mystery described?

With many words that will never be enough.

beautiful  adj.  1. having beauty; delighting the senses or the mind.  2. God.

The reasons and the depths by which God defines the very word beautiful are astounding, which no person can or will ever—not even in a lifetime of diligent effort—explain the fullness of.  The source that has best put words to the beauty of God is His own word.  As the creator of words and language, would it not make sense that He alone can use those words to describe with great truth the fullness of His beauty as it can be best understood by humans—who in fact don’t possess the understanding to absorb all that His beauty means?

The very first words the Father declared to be written as his word are a mighty image of how God defines beautiful, because He created all things that people look at and describe as beautiful.  God breathes out beautiful.  His very nature which produced all good things is beautiful.  God’s goodness and His beauty go hand in hand—He is good because He is beautiful and beautiful because He is good. 

And God is never limited.  His beauty is not limited to His goodness.  God is beautiful because of His every quality and every characteristic.  God defines beauty because of His perfection.  And the perfection of God’s goodness and love and grace and mercy and justice are beautiful.  Beautifully relaxing sometimes.  Beautifully terrifying sometimes.  Beautifully powerful other times.  But always beautiful.  Beautifully delightful, if that makes any sense. 

When I see the beauty of God, it becomes clear to me that there really is nothing better than to stare into and gaze upon all that this wonderful God is.

Creator and Sustainer.

Lord and Savior.

Father.

Lover.

Truth and Hope.

Judge.

Joy and Peace.

Author and Perfecter.

Strength.

Sovereign Ruler.

Victory.

Redeemer of the Redeemed.

My words will never suffice to describe what the Father speaks in his own word and has put on display day after day.  Because day by day He calls, He loves, He grants mercy and saving grace to those who seek it.  His presence satisfies.  His glory amazes. Faith in Him will never put one to shame.  He heals the brokenhearted.  He comforts all who mourn.  He makes beauty out of ashes.  My failures, my mistakes, my endless list of sins don’t surprise Him, and they aren’t too much for Him to handle.  There is no book large enough to hold the vastness that is God.  He gives life.  He makes everything new.  He proclaims liberty to the captives.  All my tears are in his bottle.  Yet for all these words and descriptions, He is still a mystery.

I know that words will never be enough to explain the beauty of my God. 

But the important thing is that I try.

The One with the Epic Ending

How do you like your box, God?

I speak the words every day that keep you limited,

safe and sound in my mind, in my boundaries.

Trust me God, I know what’s best.

I know what I need, what I want.

You should just give me what I ask.

No, no, don’t strain yourself.

I know you said in your Word that you have good plans for me.

But look at these good plans I have for me.

If you don’t give me what I ask,

I’m just going to turn it around on you

and let the whole world know that you don’t keep your promises.

No matter that it was never one of your promises

to cater to my every desire

and make me happy.

No matter that my desires

are temporary and flawed and most mornings

I can barely even decide what I want to eat for breakfast.

I still know what’s best in the long run.

Maybe if you slap me in the face with some form of hard matter [Like a chair. Or one of those ancient, hippo-sized televisions.] that will do me good in the long run?  Yeah, I’m pretty sure that would help.

Looking Forward

My lips burn as acid tears swell around them on every side,

drilling moats into the skin that landscapes my face.

Why, my soul cries out, must the dark grope for my hand at every hour?

Why does the Enemy exhibit persistence, such that my greatest efforts

appear to be merely the product of a bored child?

My mind is crippled in my head, rolling from side to side,

never stopping to imagine that the fluid encasing it is chains.

Rain falls so blessedly from the sky as my body shakes with the thought—

strike me down, take me away, save me from the torrent that overwhelms!

Every corner is a death trap, seeking my life, desperately trying to suck out

the very breath that the Creator pushes with his hands into my lank body.

This trembling form that finds itself so weak of mind and heart,

always captive to the very thoughts it wishes to be free of,

so idiotic that it overlooks the source of freedom.

I am the source—my Creator says—and one day you will see,

with new and bright eyes,

the radiance you have been missing since the day that I made you,

with all your flaws and desires and imperfections, so perfectly the way I wanted;

you will see the full splendor of my love, my grace, my joy (which is greater than 
you ever thought you had coming) on that day when your clouds part and

the rain stops and the wounds which were bare and bleeding are removed without

even the trace of a metallic scar.

This is home.

Because this earthly world, according to the holy and true word of God, is not and will never be my home, my homeland is the Heavenly kingdom which day by day is drawing nearer to becoming a reality.  And every day that I see my sin and the pain and the loneliness and the utter, complete brokenness of this earth, my heart nearly bursts at the thought of reaching a place so much better.  Like Narnia come to life, with my land and my Creator being so much greater than the beautiful words of CS Lewis could ever dare to paint.  My depravity is complete, as is my dependence on God even when I don’t acknowledge that daily.  My feelings do not change the absolute fact that my life is tied to the very hand of God.  Should I take another breath, then let me bring praise and glory to the one who deserves it.  Should I go to sleep never to wake up again, then praise upon praise be given to the Creator (for a time without measure and with no end).  For to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

Alphabet Soup

Learning to trust you

is more difficult than

I would expect, seeing

as trusting you should

be easier than trusting

anyone else.  Should is

the key word there.  It

should be easy.  It

should feel right.  It

should be like breathing.

But trust is a funny

thing.  I find that no

matter how hard I

want to, I cannot make

myself stir up feelings

of trust.  I cannot

force my mind to be

still and accept the

obvious conclusion

that of anyone in this

universe, it is most

logical to put my

trust in you.  And

I can say the word

over and over—

trust trust trust trust—

but no matter; my mind

is still as stubborn as

ever.  But why?  What

makes the concept of trust

so impossible to grasp?

Vulnerability? If I

give myself to you

in this way, it means

that I am putting all

logic on hold and

regardless of circumstance

or emotion, I’m banking

on my indisputable

belief that you are always

right in what you tell me.

I’m giving up the one

faint, broken, flawed

grasp that I have on

my own life.  And while

your perfect and true is

no doubt better than

my faint and jacked up,

the jacked up is mine.

How do I let go of mine

and become sold out

to yours?  I need yours.

I need to be completely

enslaved and captivated

by yours, but actually

getting from point A

to point B isn’t simple.

Maybe I’d be better

off looking at it as if I’m

traveling from point

A to point Z?  And

step by step you are

working on coaxing me

along.  Don’t focus on

Z right now—just make

the step to B.  Now C.

Good, just one more

right now, step to D.

My finding a real and

unbreakable trust in

you is more than turning

on a switch in my brain

that will allow me to

be wholly confident in

you, and you alone.  If

that's what trust really

is, then I could flip

the switch on someone

every day and become

indisputably confident in

and vulnerable to them.

When has any relationship

ever been built like that?

What is the worth of a

relationship that costs me

no time or effort to

cultivate?  Trusting you

with everything that is

in me hasn’t happened

yet.  But you will build up

trust in me bit by bit

as you carry me along

the way.  And one day,

I’ll take a look around

and it will strike me

as being real and true

that you have tugged

and changed me, and I

have finally stepped

from Y to Z.    

One art-that-you-wouldn't-consider-an-art-but-really-is-an-art

For my Psychiatric clinical the other day, I did some poetry reading with a few of the patients as a form of relaxation.  I pulled out one of my favorite poems, which I haven’t looked at in a while, and shared it with them.  Reading it again made me remember just how much I love it, and how much I cherish this writer’s insight.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch.  And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

 Elizabeth Bishop wonderfully describes the natural course of loss and recovery in life.  I think about all the people that have come in and out of my life, all of the different possessions that I have owned and lost over the years.  But yet, here I am—still living life with the world still turning.