Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Sometimes I feel like all I ever write about is plodding. One foot in front of the other. Keep on keeping on. Keep trusting, keep waiting, keep going.

Sometimes I get tired of saying the same thing to myself.

I thought this to myself as I prepped for Bible Study last week. Thought about how listless and lethargic I felt. Thought about how I felt like all the wilted and withered plants out in my yard, the ones all begging for mercy in this stifling heat.

Day after day they turn their faces up, to the sky.

And the sun beats them down, daily, relentless. 

I grabbed my purse and hesitated at the counter. The Heavenly Man, sat there. I’m slowly savoring its incredible story, chewing on each chapter.

Take it with you.

Something nudged me.

No, I pushed the thought aside. I wouldn’t have time to read, I was already running late and would arrive right when everyone else did too. I turned to the door.

Take it with you.

I looked back.  No, I already had my hands full, it was ridiculous to stuff another book in my purse, which already bulged with Bible study materials.

Take it with you.

Fine! I grabbed the book, called Heidi, and got into the car. We were first to arrive, so I sat down in the cool, quiet sanctuary. I couldn’t put my finger on my feeling, but it was just this: In certain areas, I felt ready to just give up. I feel tired of calling my mom and praying every single day and finding her exactly the same each day. I feel tired of watching the scenery never change on the spiritual horizon. I feel tired of this same monotony, the same document open on my computer, mocking me with its unfinished status.

I looked down at the floor where The Heavenly Man lay. I sighed, not sure how the remarkable story of Chinese Christian Yun would have any bearing on my own boring, uneventful existence.

Okay.

I had all of 30 seconds until the ladies would arrive. My eye fell on the page:

In Anhui Province more than two thousand people gathered for a meeting. Four people, who were considered possessed by everyone who knew them, were brought to the front of the meeting while I was speaking. For years nobody has been able to control them. Doctors and specialists had tried to cure them, but they only grew worse.

One of these men was a terrible scourge to the church. He frequently tried to murder the pastor and demanded that the pastor bow down and worship the demons inside him. He was considered dangerous so the police had handcuffed him during his worst spells. The believers had been praying for this man for some time, but he was no better.

When we prayed for these four afflicted people in Jesus’ name, three were instantly set free. The man with the murderous spirit, however, put up a great struggle. We continued to pray fervently for his deliverance until four o’clock in the morning, but he just continued to curse and shout out threats. He especially wanted to kill me. The powers of darkness inside that man taunted me by saying, ‘You say you have power over demons, but you can’t cast me out! This is my home and I’m not going anywhere!’

For hours we used every technique we could think of. We prayed many different kinds of prayers, but nothing worked. Finally, out of sheer frustrated, we all gave up.  We sat down and said, ‘Lord, we can’t do anything.’

Suddenly, while we were all sitting down in defeat, the Spirit of God came upon us and the demon-possessed man started shaking uncontrollably. We jumped to our feet and laid hands on the man. Immediately the demons left him.

We learned a lesson that morning. When we arrive at the end of our own strength it is not defeat, but the start of tapping into God’s boundless resources. It is when we are weak that we are strong in God. (p. 179-180)

And just like that, God’s peace settled. That strange strength that’s actually weakness but moves us forward, on, keeps us encouraged, resting, at peace.

We pray, believe, strive, struggle, and when desperation sets in, we can still rejoice, because God’s boundless resources begin flowing through our exhausted, empty lives. We give up, literally. We GIVE all UP to Him. We lift upturn-turned hands and offer Him our failed attempts, faults and faithlessness.

And He will show Himself strong. 

{Wherever you feel defeat, give UP to Him. Thank you for reading.}

I walked in just now dripping wet to get a drink. I don’t even want to dry off, the water feels so good, cool beads down my neck, my back, puddles at my feet. Now, I sip ice water and at the simple joy of thirst quenched. I can feel the water hydrating my cells almost immediately.

Refreshing can happen so fast. From scorched to soaked, in an instant. Such a picture of what’s happening inside:

A return to the well.

I’d been swimming around, still, in Psalm 63. Still struck by the imagery, the thirsting and longing, then the joy and deep satisfaction. I knew something had been off. Prayer felt forced, rote, tasks joyless, writing laborious, even my sacred mundane seemed stagnant, uneventful. All the needs around me, all those leaning into me, all the straws sucking me dry, I started to resent them.

We can return to the well in an instant, but how do we drink? How? Too often I  swing between “going hard for God” mode and then “rest and do what I want” mode. Rest is good, but selfishness leaves us emptier than ever. “Me first” will suck us drier than a thousand straws.

How do we drink?

I sat, out, in the sun, while the kids ran off to play. Something kept me from opening the laptop again. Although there are speaking notes to finish and preparations to be made, something urged me back to The Heavenly Man. I opened to my place, and could barely believe what I read:

“Because I’d been operating in my own strength for months, I was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted. My spiritual eyesight had grown dim and my hearing dull. Pride has sprung up in my heart like a choking weed. Instead of obeying God’s voice, I reasoned with human logic and based my decisions on my own wisdom. …

… Working for God had taken the place of loving God. … I was still getting up every morning at five o’clock and praying, and I was still reading my Bible every day, but I was doing these things out of obligation and habit, and not from a willing heart flowing from my relationship with Jesus. (184)

My eyes widened. I literally could have written those exact words myself. There is nothing like reading your own confession laid out by another honest, humble soul who’s brave enough to go first. It’s a gift to others when we confess our sin one to another, even through the pages of a book. Through it, we’re healed.

That was it. How to drink: It sounds strange, but you have to swallow.

Sure, for many of us, we never go to the well. We wander around looking for satisfaction in a thousand other places, never quite quenching our soul’s thirst because we never go to the Source.

But then, some of us, we go to the well. But we’re always going to there, subconsciously, for someone else. We fill our buckets and maybe even our mouths, and we lug those impossibly heavy water-cans all the way home so we can quench the thirst of someone else. We, like Mama birds, empty even our own mouth’s water into the tiny upturned souls of our children.

And then, the next day, we do it again. Endless trips to the well, lugging buckets of water back for the others.

And we forget to drink.

We forget to swallow. We forget to pause and lift the bucket to our own souls and drink, long and deep, as much as we can, until we can drink no more.

We don’t have to worry that there won’t be enough to bring home.

The well never runs dry. 

But if we never drink, we’ll die. Spiritually we cannot keep only fetching water for other souls.

We must stop … repent …

and drink.

Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. (Is. 55:1)

{Thank you for reading.}