Our Right Response to Blessing
How do we respond to the blessings of God? Obviously with thankfulness. But what about the really big ones? The ones that are fulfillments of long-time promises, dreams come true, or answers to years of longing or prayer? More specifically, how do we enjoy the blessing of God without worshipping them? How do we keep our eyes fixed on the creator and not on His gifts?
It seems to me that while God is always the initiator of things, there is a portion that is our part to play in this and a portion that is God’s. For example, it seems to me that God divinely orchestrates the fiery seasons, the trials, the dark hour, the severe mercy, so that we will not become overly attached to the good things, the blessings, and things of this world. When are broken, we can become conduits for God’s blessings, letting them flow through us rather than hoarding them all up and calling them “my precious” like Schmeigel in Lord of the Rings. God breaks us so that we are safe. Unbroken people are unsafe recipients of His blessings. That is God’s part.
Our part then is to constantly be on guard for the subtle sin of letting things become internal. As soon as something becomes absolutely necessary for our life and well-being, it is threatening to be an idol.
I think Hannah from the OT is an excellent example to us in this regard. Here is a woman who truly longed for something–a child. This is the kind of longing I’m talking about-the aching yearning deep inside that is torturous. And, it might even be God-given, so it’s not like we can just forsake it, like a sin, and move on. So she longs and aches for this thing, and then, as God so often does, He brings fulfillment to this desire. Her son is born. Samuel the prophet. Not just any son, a son of promise, set apart for God. And what does she do? She kept the child with her until he was weaned (which could be anywhere from 2 years to 5 years), and then she takes him to Shiloh, and offers a sacrifice, and gives back her child to the Lord. And her famous words for us to follow are this:
“‘For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition which I asked of Him. Therefore I also have lent him to the LORD, as long as he lives he shall be lent to the Lord’. So she worshiped the Lord there.”
What an amazing response. I just weaned my son a couple weeks ago, at 20 months old. I cannot even imagine now having to give him up. In fact, I recently read this trilogy by Liz Curtis Higgs, a rendition of the story of Jacob, Rachel and Leah, and in it Leah has to give up her only son. I almost couldn’t even read the book, I cried so hard it devastated me, even comprehending the pain of giving over something I love so much. And that pain, that struggle is good, it’s real, but like Hannah, our response must always be that we commit all that God has given us back into His hands. As AW Tozer has said so perfectly, “everything is safe which we commit to Him, and nothing is really safe which is not so committed.”
So this is the secret, the part that is our part, the secret that we must take hold up and put into practice-the blessedness of possessing nothing. All things remain external to our heart, there is a single throne there, where only the King of Kings may reign, and though rival loves may fight, tooth and nail, to earn their way to the center, we battle more, harder, stronger longer, to keep our Lord Jesus securely on the throne.
Being Believed In
I can point to several specific points conversations that have shaped the entire course of my life. And I’m marveling today how influential teachers, leaders, coaches, and role models are in our lives. I can remember, as clear as if it were yesterday, sitting across a little table in JavaStop at OSU from my Writing 224 teacher, and going over the fiction story I had written. I was the only freshman in the class, my first semester of college, and scared out of my wits about writing for this man I considered a literary genious. I will never forget the comments he wrote. This is probably bad, but he wrote “*Explitive* this good!” on one portion of my paper and I will never forget that as long as I live, not because he wrote an explitive on my paper, but because I sat there in awe realizing that he really meant it. He really meant it was good and I was shell-shocked. He was seeing something, identifying something, calling something out that I was scared to show. His encouragment bolstered my courage enough to keep writing.
My Honor’s English teacher, Majorie Sandor, was the one who asked me to come see her in her office, and shared with me some of the most profoundly encouraging things, urging me to pursue an English degree (I started as a Psych major) because of what she somehow saw in my writing and literary discussion. This was another moment I will never forget–her tiny little frame and messy hair, over-sized glasses and cowl-neck sweater. I can still smell the old books in her office.
The President of Multnomah, Dan Lockwood, sitting across the dining table at Elmer’s across from Jeff and me, sharing words of encouragement that I still keep locked in my little heart because I don’t know exactly how God will fulfill or use them. I can still see his gentle eyes and feel the vinyl seat under my legs.
These moments are rare, I know, but when they come, they can be some of the most powerful things we will ever experience. It’s one thing to get encouragment from a parent or spouse or close friend. Those things are necessary and so powerful as well, but there is something about a teacher, a professor, an outside party who has no obligation to you whatsoever, nothing at all to gain by building you up (and perhaps even something to lose if you prove to be better at something than they are!), taking the time to set you aside and call out what they see in your life. And it is even more powerful when that person actually sets aside his or her own life in order to invest in yours.
I experienced a fourth of these rare moments yesterday, and probably the most significant one to date. It brought me to tears. I’d sort of got into my mind that I just needed to cross my t’s and dot my i’s in order to fulfill an internship and graduate in May with my Master’s. Pregnant, with a toddler at home, my only goal at this point was to finish my last class and settle down into mommyhood for, well for as long as I could see. And I’m still going to do that to a degree, but this professor, my beloved professor, who is what I want to be when I grow up :-), she set me aside and had this talk with me, and not only had this talk with me, but committed to walk with me along the journey. I hope to share more later, as the semester goes on, but I left her office and walked around campus, just shaking my head and marveling at God. “Why? Why me? Why are you so good to me?” My dreams and vision are so small, so limited, and His is so vast, so beautiful. His dreams are so much bigger than me, and yet He lets me play a part in the beautiful production. I feel like after a long season of disappointments, God is beginning to put some pieces into place, pieces that take all the brokenness, and miraculously form them into a beautiful picture that only He could have fathomed.
What I take from this, and what I hope you will hear, is this: We will never know how much our words mean to others, especially those who look up to us (and you never know who looks up to you!). I’ve also had a few conversations that were devastating. I had one last year that almost made me never want to share my heart for ministry again. But yesterday I did, for the first time since that discouraging conversation, and risked again being vulnerable. And I will tuck yesterday’s conversation away in my heart, to cherish and remember during times of discouragement, just as I have the others along the way that have so shaped my life.
Please hear this: What you say to others can change the course of history. Speak life! Speak encouragment. And if we are in a position of authority, don’t be threatened by those underneath! It is our responsiblity as leaders, parents, teachers, mentors, to raise up the younger generation. Our goal is that they would be better, smarter, and more influential than we are. If our goal is simply to protect our status, to guard our carefully constructed identity, we will miss out on raising up the next generation of leaders who will change our world for Christ. As a youngster, who has just received one of the most encouraging talks of my life, I can attest to the fact that being believed in is one of the most powerful things in the world. I pray that we would look for ways to encourage, build up, and call out the valuable gifts we see in others. You never know how God might use your words, and who He might raise up in the process. And don’t forget to thank those along the way who have believed in you.
My Last First Day of School
This morning was bittersweet. This is my fourth year of seminary. I’ve officially spent more time in graduate school than I did in undergrad! Almost all of the students that Jeff and I started school with have graduated and are long gone. New faces have popped up, really young ones, and I notice a few small changes around. There is a new microwave, which is a huge improvement on the old one which took five minutes to warm a bowl of soup. There is a plant shelf in the woman’s bathroom, and a pump of Trader Joe’s lotion by the sink. I know, not a big deal but I notice these things. The biggest change in the school is not visible-they’ve gone from Multnomah Bible College and Seminary to Multnomah University. Doesn’t affect me that much. Tuition has gone from $407 a credit to $423 a credit (which does affect me, unfortunately).
For the most part though, nothing is new. I am pregnant, but I’ve done that before too. Two years ago I started a fall term pregnant as well. And this isn’t my first time as a seminary mom, we did that last year as well. I guess the one thing that’s significant is that this is my last first day of school…I think (more on that later). As I look around, waves of memories roll over me. The smells, the sights, the familiar voices. I have too many memories of throwing up in the bathrooms when morning sickness overtook me that first spring term. I remember hysterically crying in the stairwell when a traumatic family event took place. I remember first meeting my friend Liz, and awkwardly conversing about degrees and programs. I remember (and am beginning to even feel) laboring up the staircase 8 1/2 months pregnant, wondering how they they seemed to add more stairs every week. I remember the first day I went to school without Jeff, crying in my car trying to muster up the courage to go it along. I remember hundreds of trips driving to and from McMinnville. In many ways Multnomah University has become a second home to me. The professors are friends, mentors, spiritual parents. The students, though perhaps not many are close friends, are familiar, sharing the common goal of desiring to serve the Lord, and sharing the common struggle of work schedules, homework loads, obscene school loans, and family commitments.
But this Monday was my first last day of school. Strangely though, I don’t really want to be done. I’m not sure what lies ahead, but more on that later. Tonight I’m just reflecting on what an amazing place Multnomah has been for me. More than an education, it’s been a place of refuge, growth, challenge, safety. A place where I can risk, fail, hurt, be vulnerable, ask questions, doubt, challenge, and love. It’s been a place where I feel valued, invested in, and cared for. I could never ask for anything more than what Multnomah has been for me. So tonight I just say thanks, thanks to the professors, counselors, janitors, president, and people who have made Multnomah home for me. On my last first day of school I’m thankful.
The God Who Grieves
Today I’m out at Riversong (Mom & Dad’s), as our home is shown as an Open House today. It’s a sweet retreat, and we all agree that it’s way more fun now that we all don’t live together. 🙂 Really, in the best sense, it feels like a treat to be out in the boonies, Dutch is like a kid in a candy store playing with Oma and Papa, and Jeff and I are getting some much needed studying done.
So I’m studying for the retreat, and struck by the shortest verse in the Bible, one that I’ve always marveled at, but see again for the first time today. John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” Lazarus is dead. Mary and Martha have placed all their hope in Jesus to come heal Lazarus, and instead He wastes his time (it seems) and shows up 4 days too late and all hope is lost. Lazarus is dead. Now Jesus, who deliberately disappointed these women by delaying His arrival (more on this later), already knows that He will soon raise Lazarus from the dead. But what does He does first? Does he say, “Silly ladies! Can’t you just trust me? I’ll raise him up. Settle down and quit crying!” No. “He groaned in His spirit and was troubled.” And then: “Jesus wept.”
I have alread asserted that God deliberately disappoints us. But here is the remarkable truth: If we think that God is aloofly and distantly watching our pain from afar, we are tragically wrong. That is not the God we serve. The God we serve and love and worship chooses to experience every ounce of pain that we experience, with us. If you are hurting, God is hurting with you. God weeps with you. God has wept with me. He wept with them. He weeps with you. If God chooses to disappoint us, allow us to hurt, send us through the fire of tragedy and pain, He goes through it with us. He weeps with us. This is the God we serve. He is the God who grieves.