Now Playing: Nick Drake, "River Man".
The McCs are staying with us this week, which means that a holiday atmosphere has overtaken the house. I came downstairs at about nine o'clock. Of course, the adults had already eaten, so I proceeded to eat my breakfast quietly. I got about halfway through a P.G. Wodehouse story when Abe came sauntering down, yawning, and poked at the cereal.
After breakfast, the morning drifted by quietly. I think Abe, Peter, my mother, Laura, Stephen, and Lydia watched a Dr. Who episode. Uncle Scott ensconced himself in the living room with an enormous stack of my father's books on theology, while I sat on the sofa and worked on editing a friend's book manuscript. Lunchtime came along, and we had a picnic meal of leftovers and sandwiches.
We got lunch cleared away quickly. The afternoon was wonderfully cool and clear for Oklahoma at the end of July, just barely breaking 80 F. So Uncle Scott, who has a twisted knee from playing ultimate frisbee, and some of the boys piled into the minivan and drove over to Boomer Lake, while Laura and I collected Moochy, and we walked over to the lake.
The guys (Uncle Scott, Abe, Peter, and Stephen) decided to play frisbee golf, while my mother, Aunt Anna, Lydia, Laura, Moochy, and I walked around the lake. Lydia had never been to a wetland area before, and she and Aunt Anna were full of questions about the lake and its flora and fauna. We walked past a gaggle of geese, saw a green heron perched on a tree stump, heard a turtle plop off a log into the lake, and watched a pair of white terns (very far from the ocean!) zip over the water.
We walked around the northern end of the lake to the peninsula where the veterans' memorial is. Laura and Lydia ran out onto the peninsula with Moochy, who had to be coaxed by Laura to chase sticks into the water.
We turned around and walked back to the house. Laura ran next door and got a brush and shampoo from Mrs. O while my mother filled the wading pool in the back yard. Lydia ran and put on a swimsuit, and we all gave Moochy a bath in the wading pool. The dog put up with the process. We scrubbed away, and Lydia brushed her vigorously. Fur scummed the water. After two shampoos, Laura took the dog next door.
I took a cold shower, then came downstairs to bake a chocolate cake for tonight. The Bs were coming over for tea: Noah, Lydia, and their three small children.
My mother had organized an ultimate frisbee match at the OSU track at seven o'clock for the CY, and since we were running a little late on the meal, the youth and the Bs drove over shortly after the meal.
Once the dishes were washed, we drove over to the OSU track, where the match was already in full swing. As we walked towards the green grassy oval inset in the track, I prompted Aunt Anna on the names of the players: Sam, J.D., Elizabeth, Anna, Hannah, Logan, Jonathan, Stephen, Laura, and of course Abe, Peter, and Lydia, as well as Noah. Uncle Scott, my parents, Lydia B., and the three small ones set up camp chairs at one end of the track to watch. Aunt Anna joined Sarah and me, perched on a big tractor tyre that was sitting on its side near the long jump pads.
Sarah and I sat and chatted with Aunt Anna for awhile, with each other, and with Elizabeth when she took a break from the game. The huge blue sky opened above us. OSU's bulky brick buildings looked diminutive under the enormous evening sky as they caught the level rays of the sun. Other people were walking or jogging around the track.
Dusk deepened overhead. Wee Katie scampered over to show us her pink teddy bear. As it began to grow dark, my mother brought out the chocolate cake and served it to everyone. We all sat around on the long jump pads in front of the adults' chairs. Uncle Scott bounced Julia, the littlest B., on his knee and hummed the Purdue fight song to her. Anna and Elizabeth joked around with J.D. Sarah and I dozed on each other's shoulders. Aunt Anna and Lydia lay on their backs and looked at the stars.
We stayed there a long time, talking. People began to leave slowly. It was nearly dark, and the stars were beginning to flash like jewels in a hydrangea-colored sky, when my father started to move toward the car. Everyone lingered in the car park. We were home by a quarter to ten.
30 July 2009
26 July 2009
One very good book I've been reading lately is Lloyd-Jones's Spiritual Depression: Its Causes and Cure. Lloyd-Jones's prose could be condensed to about half its length, but his work is very valuable on a topic I find seldom addressed anywhere else.
One quote, which I found particularly appropriate to some of the things I've posted here in the last month.
"Would you like to be rid of this spiritual depression? The first thing you have to do is to say farewell now once and for ever to your past. Realize that it has been covered and blotted out in Christ. Never look back at your sins again. Say: 'It is finished, it is covered by the Blood of Christ'. That is your first step. Take that and finish with yourself and all this talk about goodness, and look to the Lord Jesus Christ. It is only then that true happiness and joy are possible for you.... Blessed be the Name of God for such a wondrous salvation for desperate sinners."
One quote, which I found particularly appropriate to some of the things I've posted here in the last month.
"Would you like to be rid of this spiritual depression? The first thing you have to do is to say farewell now once and for ever to your past. Realize that it has been covered and blotted out in Christ. Never look back at your sins again. Say: 'It is finished, it is covered by the Blood of Christ'. That is your first step. Take that and finish with yourself and all this talk about goodness, and look to the Lord Jesus Christ. It is only then that true happiness and joy are possible for you.... Blessed be the Name of God for such a wondrous salvation for desperate sinners."
You'd think it would be so simple: make a choice and stick with it.
But no.
Why is decision making always so hard? Does it have to be so hard? It seems as though every time I try to make up my mind about some big part of life, I agonize for weeks, choose the wrong things, agonize some more, and make another choice, which also turns out to be "wrong". If "what-ifs" were monsters that hid under my bed, I'd have been gobbled up in my sleep long ago.
I hate waking up in the morning and feeling vaguely as though I've stumbled into a nightmare. An endless, pointless succession of days, unrelieved by freedom from care. Unrelieved by certainty. I keep saying to myself, "If I could just be sure...." Or, if I am really ambitious, "If I could just be happy...."
Sometimes I begin to despair. This whole business of "knowing God's will" and "glorifying God" is rather terrifying if one looks at it in an unbalanced way (which is usually how my brain works). I begin to labor under the delusion that God's will is completely impossible, a waste of time. Burdened by His command to use one's talents well, I become pinned down by fear that I will choose the option that glorifies Him the least.
And then what? A year of unmitigated sinfulness, being separate from Him because I didn't follow His will for me? Losing some of the joy I could have had in Heaven because I wasn't faithful in small things? Paul says that some people will be saved by the skin of their teeth, their works burned up, their souls barely saved. The fears mock me.
So I try to choose the thing that looks as though it will honor God most. But what if that option is not the thing that I prefer? Or love?
The more I consider the question of making decisions and knowing God's will, the more conscious I become of my sinfulness. Every motive is shot through with sin. Warped, no matter how righteous it seemed when it first occurred to me. Even when I think I have right motives, they are polluted with self-righteousness! Oh, the sweet, sweet, poisonous irony.
As soon as I am confronted with a decision, I plunge back into a prison of doubt and fear. Confronted more vividly than ever by my sinfulness, I am driven even more to despair. How can someone like this ever hope to choose what will glorify God most? Or glorify Him once they have made the decision? How can I ever be sure that He is pleased with me?
The need to rest in Christ's righteousness presses upon me as the answer to some of these questions. If every way I turn, I am confronted by sinfulness, I must remember that He is the one who has taken away those sins. For me to claim them as my own is, in an odd sense, stealing: they are His, and His righteousness is mine. That is what substitutionary atonement means.
Our assistant pastor preached a good message today about how those who recognize their lack of righteousness are those who are declared righteous by God. Some hope for me, anyway. No matter which direction life ends up heading, I will carry my sin into it. But Christ has already forgiven that sin and given me the power to overcome it. Because of Him, God is eternally pleased, well-pleased, delighted by me.
He is alive in me.
I still don't know how all of this will help me make right choices--or do a better job of entering the process of making decisions. Decisions are an enormous stumbling block for me, an area of sin that I need to recognize and deal with. But at least there is hope. I'm not walking into it alone. Far from it. The sovereign God is on my side, holding my hand, gently leading me. Whatever way I go, it will have been the way where His love could most clearly be shown to me and through me.
Anna and I were laughing last night about the end of the world coming in 2012, according to some people. Emily remarked dryly at one point that people are much more ready to believe Mayan calendars than the Bible. And I am amazed that we so quickly scoff at them for not trusting God with the end of the world, but we do not trust God with our own lives.
He promises that the righteous person shall be like a tree, planted by streams of living water, a tree that never fades, and that gives fruit in its season. He is the God of peace.
But no.
Why is decision making always so hard? Does it have to be so hard? It seems as though every time I try to make up my mind about some big part of life, I agonize for weeks, choose the wrong things, agonize some more, and make another choice, which also turns out to be "wrong". If "what-ifs" were monsters that hid under my bed, I'd have been gobbled up in my sleep long ago.
I hate waking up in the morning and feeling vaguely as though I've stumbled into a nightmare. An endless, pointless succession of days, unrelieved by freedom from care. Unrelieved by certainty. I keep saying to myself, "If I could just be sure...." Or, if I am really ambitious, "If I could just be happy...."
Sometimes I begin to despair. This whole business of "knowing God's will" and "glorifying God" is rather terrifying if one looks at it in an unbalanced way (which is usually how my brain works). I begin to labor under the delusion that God's will is completely impossible, a waste of time. Burdened by His command to use one's talents well, I become pinned down by fear that I will choose the option that glorifies Him the least.
And then what? A year of unmitigated sinfulness, being separate from Him because I didn't follow His will for me? Losing some of the joy I could have had in Heaven because I wasn't faithful in small things? Paul says that some people will be saved by the skin of their teeth, their works burned up, their souls barely saved. The fears mock me.
So I try to choose the thing that looks as though it will honor God most. But what if that option is not the thing that I prefer? Or love?
The more I consider the question of making decisions and knowing God's will, the more conscious I become of my sinfulness. Every motive is shot through with sin. Warped, no matter how righteous it seemed when it first occurred to me. Even when I think I have right motives, they are polluted with self-righteousness! Oh, the sweet, sweet, poisonous irony.
As soon as I am confronted with a decision, I plunge back into a prison of doubt and fear. Confronted more vividly than ever by my sinfulness, I am driven even more to despair. How can someone like this ever hope to choose what will glorify God most? Or glorify Him once they have made the decision? How can I ever be sure that He is pleased with me?
The need to rest in Christ's righteousness presses upon me as the answer to some of these questions. If every way I turn, I am confronted by sinfulness, I must remember that He is the one who has taken away those sins. For me to claim them as my own is, in an odd sense, stealing: they are His, and His righteousness is mine. That is what substitutionary atonement means.
Our assistant pastor preached a good message today about how those who recognize their lack of righteousness are those who are declared righteous by God. Some hope for me, anyway. No matter which direction life ends up heading, I will carry my sin into it. But Christ has already forgiven that sin and given me the power to overcome it. Because of Him, God is eternally pleased, well-pleased, delighted by me.
He is alive in me.
I still don't know how all of this will help me make right choices--or do a better job of entering the process of making decisions. Decisions are an enormous stumbling block for me, an area of sin that I need to recognize and deal with. But at least there is hope. I'm not walking into it alone. Far from it. The sovereign God is on my side, holding my hand, gently leading me. Whatever way I go, it will have been the way where His love could most clearly be shown to me and through me.
Anna and I were laughing last night about the end of the world coming in 2012, according to some people. Emily remarked dryly at one point that people are much more ready to believe Mayan calendars than the Bible. And I am amazed that we so quickly scoff at them for not trusting God with the end of the world, but we do not trust God with our own lives.
He promises that the righteous person shall be like a tree, planted by streams of living water, a tree that never fades, and that gives fruit in its season. He is the God of peace.
Now Playing: Brahms, A German Requiem, Track 7, "Blessed Are the Dead".
We came back from the Midwest Presbytery family camp at Horn Creek, Colorado, on Thursday. Since we used to go to Horn Creek nearly every year for family camp until about six years ago, I have very good childhood memories of the campground. It's probably one of my favorite places in the world, and this year it was especially beautiful. The Sangre de Christo mountains in southern Colorado have had unusually heavy rainfall this year, so the whole valley on the approach to the mountains was green. The mountains marched along the western edge of the valley, green to their peaks. Awesomely beautiful, yet vaguely menacing.
We arrived at camp in the early afternoon. Horn Creek Christian Camp is split into three campsites: Mountain Meadows, which has a lodge, a gym, a large dining hall with an upstairs meeting room, and a big circle of cabins; the Ranch, which has a couple of big meeting spaces, cabins, two small lodges, and a dining hall; and another resort area. We had the use of Mountain Meadows and the Ranch this year. About two hundred people from the midwest came to attend the camp, which was very encouraging since in past years attendance at the Colorado camp has been dwindling.
Philip, Laura, Stephen, Anna, and I started out the conference with one typical Horn Creek activity, a visit to the horse barn up near the Ranch. It was just the same as I remembered it, and, fittingly enough, an afternoon thunderstorm blew in, forcing us to take refuge in the barn. It always storms in the afternoon in the mountains. We watched the horses eating their hay and teased Anna after one of the horses sneezed on her feet.
Saturday evening, we had our first meeting with the entire camp, and afterwards, campfire in the meeting room above Mountain Meadows dining hall. The usual ridiculous songs and a pillowfight. Campfire used to be restricted to the CY, but these last few years, even the adults and small children have started to participate.
On Sabbath day in the afternoon, we had a Psalm sing in the arena at the Ranch--a long building, set into the ground, covered with a metal roof. When the requisite afternoon thunderstorm blew in, the noise of the rain drumming on the roof nearly drowned out the sound of a hundred fifty people singing.
Monday was pancake breakfast day, a Horn Creek tradition. It's always funny to watch the wee kids trying to catch pancakes on their plates as the chef flips them. Usually some pancakes end up on the ground, and the manager joked that if we get hit in the head by a falling pancake later in the week, it's probably because some squirrel tried to hide the extra ones in a tree.
In the afternoon, Laura, Philip, Stephen, and I went to the water slide with Will and Buck. Horn Creek has a really good set of three water slides, one short one for small children, and two long, fast ones that stretch down the mountainside. Walking up to the top of the hill from the pool at the bottom of the waterslide is very, very chilly work, and by the end of an hour-long stint, Laura was practically blue in the face. So she and I went down to the hot tub and soaked ourselves in there for awhile. We were joined by about ten small children, who'd all had the same idea and were cavorting in the bubble jets.
Tuesday, my parents, Philip, Laura, Stephen, Keith, Carla, and I went hiking up to a waterfall about ten minutes north of camp. It was a very steep climb, and my parents turned around about halfway up. The mosquitoes were absolutely awful on the trail. The wildflowers, though, were beautiful. So many different colors and shapes. For some reason, many of the flowers up here seem to have more vivid colors, seem to be more graceful and elongated, even though the climate can be much harsher. The waterfall was well worth seeing: a series of steep cascades over dark rocks into a black gorge, with pine trees growing stiff and straight up the sides. As we turned to hike back down, it began to storm on us. The trees were thick enough that we didn't get too wet, but down at the car park where my parents were, it hailed.
On Wednesday, Amelia, Laura, and I went for a horseback ride together for a couple of hours in the afternoon. That was probably one of the best parts of camp for me. I've always loved horseback riding, and we couldn't have had a more perfect afternoon. Just the three of us and the wrangler. Laura's horse was very sleepy and kept trying to graze while she was riding it. We rode through a big meadow with a spectacular view of Horn Peak on one side and the valley on the other. The sunshine rippled in lush grass and wildflowers, up to the horses' knees. We splashed through clear creeks and saw strip marks on pine trees where porcupines had eaten the bark.
Each day, Dr. G, from College Hill RPC, would give a talk in the morning to the entire camp. The theme selected this year was the church, so all of his messages were about some aspect of the church and our work in it. After the main message, we split up into age groups either for classes (for the smaller children) or for discussion times (for CY and adults). Then came lunch, followed by an afternoon of recreation. Usually there was some sort of program in the evening: New Song performed on Monday night; Tuesday night was the consecration service and CY skit night; Wednesday night was western night with square dancing and music.
With such a full schedule, I found it difficult to find time to spend by myself with the Lord. Quiet times are enriched in the mountains, though. When I sat outside in the early mornings, the woods were full of birds and big grey squirrels. Hummingbirds buzzed past my ears. At night, the stars were stunning. One night, Amelia and I walked out into the woods, found a clearing, and lay on our backs in the grass. So many stars that the constellations were lost in the blaze.
So Horn Creek was good this year: all the traditional activities, teaching, and fellowship. A lot of people didn't recognize me, and when I was introduced to them, they'd say, "Oh, yes, I think I know you! You used to have long hair, right?" Nice to know that the entire presbytery notices one's haircut!
And the week ended with one more traditional activity: getting sick to my stomach Thursday morning. At least it was at the end!
On the whole, though, very refreshing.
We came back from the Midwest Presbytery family camp at Horn Creek, Colorado, on Thursday. Since we used to go to Horn Creek nearly every year for family camp until about six years ago, I have very good childhood memories of the campground. It's probably one of my favorite places in the world, and this year it was especially beautiful. The Sangre de Christo mountains in southern Colorado have had unusually heavy rainfall this year, so the whole valley on the approach to the mountains was green. The mountains marched along the western edge of the valley, green to their peaks. Awesomely beautiful, yet vaguely menacing.
We arrived at camp in the early afternoon. Horn Creek Christian Camp is split into three campsites: Mountain Meadows, which has a lodge, a gym, a large dining hall with an upstairs meeting room, and a big circle of cabins; the Ranch, which has a couple of big meeting spaces, cabins, two small lodges, and a dining hall; and another resort area. We had the use of Mountain Meadows and the Ranch this year. About two hundred people from the midwest came to attend the camp, which was very encouraging since in past years attendance at the Colorado camp has been dwindling.
Philip, Laura, Stephen, Anna, and I started out the conference with one typical Horn Creek activity, a visit to the horse barn up near the Ranch. It was just the same as I remembered it, and, fittingly enough, an afternoon thunderstorm blew in, forcing us to take refuge in the barn. It always storms in the afternoon in the mountains. We watched the horses eating their hay and teased Anna after one of the horses sneezed on her feet.
Saturday evening, we had our first meeting with the entire camp, and afterwards, campfire in the meeting room above Mountain Meadows dining hall. The usual ridiculous songs and a pillowfight. Campfire used to be restricted to the CY, but these last few years, even the adults and small children have started to participate.
On Sabbath day in the afternoon, we had a Psalm sing in the arena at the Ranch--a long building, set into the ground, covered with a metal roof. When the requisite afternoon thunderstorm blew in, the noise of the rain drumming on the roof nearly drowned out the sound of a hundred fifty people singing.
Monday was pancake breakfast day, a Horn Creek tradition. It's always funny to watch the wee kids trying to catch pancakes on their plates as the chef flips them. Usually some pancakes end up on the ground, and the manager joked that if we get hit in the head by a falling pancake later in the week, it's probably because some squirrel tried to hide the extra ones in a tree.
In the afternoon, Laura, Philip, Stephen, and I went to the water slide with Will and Buck. Horn Creek has a really good set of three water slides, one short one for small children, and two long, fast ones that stretch down the mountainside. Walking up to the top of the hill from the pool at the bottom of the waterslide is very, very chilly work, and by the end of an hour-long stint, Laura was practically blue in the face. So she and I went down to the hot tub and soaked ourselves in there for awhile. We were joined by about ten small children, who'd all had the same idea and were cavorting in the bubble jets.
Tuesday, my parents, Philip, Laura, Stephen, Keith, Carla, and I went hiking up to a waterfall about ten minutes north of camp. It was a very steep climb, and my parents turned around about halfway up. The mosquitoes were absolutely awful on the trail. The wildflowers, though, were beautiful. So many different colors and shapes. For some reason, many of the flowers up here seem to have more vivid colors, seem to be more graceful and elongated, even though the climate can be much harsher. The waterfall was well worth seeing: a series of steep cascades over dark rocks into a black gorge, with pine trees growing stiff and straight up the sides. As we turned to hike back down, it began to storm on us. The trees were thick enough that we didn't get too wet, but down at the car park where my parents were, it hailed.
On Wednesday, Amelia, Laura, and I went for a horseback ride together for a couple of hours in the afternoon. That was probably one of the best parts of camp for me. I've always loved horseback riding, and we couldn't have had a more perfect afternoon. Just the three of us and the wrangler. Laura's horse was very sleepy and kept trying to graze while she was riding it. We rode through a big meadow with a spectacular view of Horn Peak on one side and the valley on the other. The sunshine rippled in lush grass and wildflowers, up to the horses' knees. We splashed through clear creeks and saw strip marks on pine trees where porcupines had eaten the bark.
Each day, Dr. G, from College Hill RPC, would give a talk in the morning to the entire camp. The theme selected this year was the church, so all of his messages were about some aspect of the church and our work in it. After the main message, we split up into age groups either for classes (for the smaller children) or for discussion times (for CY and adults). Then came lunch, followed by an afternoon of recreation. Usually there was some sort of program in the evening: New Song performed on Monday night; Tuesday night was the consecration service and CY skit night; Wednesday night was western night with square dancing and music.
With such a full schedule, I found it difficult to find time to spend by myself with the Lord. Quiet times are enriched in the mountains, though. When I sat outside in the early mornings, the woods were full of birds and big grey squirrels. Hummingbirds buzzed past my ears. At night, the stars were stunning. One night, Amelia and I walked out into the woods, found a clearing, and lay on our backs in the grass. So many stars that the constellations were lost in the blaze.
So Horn Creek was good this year: all the traditional activities, teaching, and fellowship. A lot of people didn't recognize me, and when I was introduced to them, they'd say, "Oh, yes, I think I know you! You used to have long hair, right?" Nice to know that the entire presbytery notices one's haircut!
And the week ended with one more traditional activity: getting sick to my stomach Thursday morning. At least it was at the end!
On the whole, though, very refreshing.
24 July 2009
13 July 2009
Now Playing: Flook, "Haven", Track 7, "Padraig's".
Tonight Sarah and I were looking through my mother's photo albums from 2003 and 2006. It was funny to see the photos of music recitals, drama club performances, and back yard escapades. Chubby Philip, Stephen, Sam, and J.D.; Laura with her long hair; Dani and Ben much, much shorter than they are now.
I'm always bothered by what I see of myself in old pictures. Ridiculous skinny kid with rebellious hair and dark shadows under her eyes. Afraid, worrying, self-pitying. Not, of course, that those things have changed, but I've become better at hiding them. I hate being forced to remember because I inevitably remember all the things I did wrong: not only the things that were obvious to everyone, but all the secret mean childish mistakes that no one else knows about, that persist.
Mistakes? Or sins? It strikes me that the main reason remembering disturbs me is because it reminds me that I'm not perfect. Sins are mistakes, are the foolish slip-ups that betrayed my deep dark secrets to my family and friends. To me, they look like mistakes, flaws in the flawless mask I try to build for myself.
I am always hiding my imperfections to win the approval of the people around me. Because underneath this skin, I desperately need to be loved. Because underneath whatever poise I manage to present, I'm insecure. I don't believe that I am loved.
This attitude toward sin is wrong in the first place. Sins are mistakes--the uncomfortable reminders that I'm not perfect and can't hide that imperfection from other people or from myself. But sin ought to be sin--offenses against the eternally holy God. Acts of rebellion that anger Him and mock the sacrifice of His Son. Not accidents that need to be smoothed over but flagrant acts of defiance against my Creator.
In the second place, this desperate need for approval is also wrong. Born from the knowledge of true evil living in me, it is itself a marker of my sinfulness. It betrays the fact that I know I am not worthy of being loved. I become willing to go to any lengths to hide that fact.
But: 1 John 2:1, "If anyone sins, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." Such a precious name of Christ! He is the righteous one, the one who loves perfectly, faithfully, patiently. His righteousness presents me to God. It pleads my need for forgiveness. It pleads my need for love, my need for approval, my need for security.
The righteousness of the Son cannot be denied by the Father. By His sacrifice, Christ has brought me into the eternal fellowship of the Trinity so that I share in the love of the Father, Son, and Spirit for one another. My Advocate establishes peace for me. Peace with the holy God, peace with myself, peace with people.
So now I have freedom to obey God. I am required to let my shame go: my mistakes are not mistakes, but sins against God. If He has forgiven them, I cannot hold onto them. I am required to let the guilt go because Christ has taken it. And I have freedom to love people without fear.
All very easy to write.... Now to live it out!
Tonight Sarah and I were looking through my mother's photo albums from 2003 and 2006. It was funny to see the photos of music recitals, drama club performances, and back yard escapades. Chubby Philip, Stephen, Sam, and J.D.; Laura with her long hair; Dani and Ben much, much shorter than they are now.
I'm always bothered by what I see of myself in old pictures. Ridiculous skinny kid with rebellious hair and dark shadows under her eyes. Afraid, worrying, self-pitying. Not, of course, that those things have changed, but I've become better at hiding them. I hate being forced to remember because I inevitably remember all the things I did wrong: not only the things that were obvious to everyone, but all the secret mean childish mistakes that no one else knows about, that persist.
Mistakes? Or sins? It strikes me that the main reason remembering disturbs me is because it reminds me that I'm not perfect. Sins are mistakes, are the foolish slip-ups that betrayed my deep dark secrets to my family and friends. To me, they look like mistakes, flaws in the flawless mask I try to build for myself.
I am always hiding my imperfections to win the approval of the people around me. Because underneath this skin, I desperately need to be loved. Because underneath whatever poise I manage to present, I'm insecure. I don't believe that I am loved.
This attitude toward sin is wrong in the first place. Sins are mistakes--the uncomfortable reminders that I'm not perfect and can't hide that imperfection from other people or from myself. But sin ought to be sin--offenses against the eternally holy God. Acts of rebellion that anger Him and mock the sacrifice of His Son. Not accidents that need to be smoothed over but flagrant acts of defiance against my Creator.
In the second place, this desperate need for approval is also wrong. Born from the knowledge of true evil living in me, it is itself a marker of my sinfulness. It betrays the fact that I know I am not worthy of being loved. I become willing to go to any lengths to hide that fact.
But: 1 John 2:1, "If anyone sins, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." Such a precious name of Christ! He is the righteous one, the one who loves perfectly, faithfully, patiently. His righteousness presents me to God. It pleads my need for forgiveness. It pleads my need for love, my need for approval, my need for security.
The righteousness of the Son cannot be denied by the Father. By His sacrifice, Christ has brought me into the eternal fellowship of the Trinity so that I share in the love of the Father, Son, and Spirit for one another. My Advocate establishes peace for me. Peace with the holy God, peace with myself, peace with people.
So now I have freedom to obey God. I am required to let my shame go: my mistakes are not mistakes, but sins against God. If He has forgiven them, I cannot hold onto them. I am required to let the guilt go because Christ has taken it. And I have freedom to love people without fear.
All very easy to write.... Now to live it out!
Now Playing: Flook, "Haven", Track 6, "Wrong Foot Forward".
Stolen posts! For more of these two writers, visit the links on the sidebar.
Peter, 7 July 2009:
Being lazy and being bored. Two things that should never be an issue by themselves, much less together. However, the society of "more now" has brought the idea that 1) I need to be entertained (boredom) and 2) I shouldn't have to work very hard to get it (laziness). Now what is immediately apparent in that? (the obvious questions are often the most enlightening)
Consider for a moment man's purpose. TheWestminster
God said there would be toil. From the day that Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, from the day that the ground was accursed because of our fallen nature, man has had to work to bring forth food from the ground (and by implication, any source of nourishment). Sorry guys, no free lunch.
Proverbs 10:4 "He becomes poor who works with a lazy hand, but the hand of the diligent brings wealth."
Ok, you knew that already, didn't you. And if you didn't, read it again. It'll be important someday.
But what is more imminent for the believer is the trap of apathy. When a man simply doesn't care enough to carry out God's will on earth, he's already sunk deep in. The intermediate temptations are rather obscure, making them easier to fall into than ever before.
So often there comes a time when our time becomes a daily drag -- get through the day, make it to the next. One day down, another to come. While many of us (this I freely admit) are quite willing and able to carry out God's will in some big adventure, in traveling to Mexico to minister, even just getting on the road again, it's the typical, the ordinary, routine, that our adversary can use against us -- unless we guard against him. (Be sober and self-controlled. Be watchful. Your adversary the devil, walks around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. -1Peter5:8)
What has become of us if we are no longer passionate for the gospel? People, pay attention.
"Do I have any pleasure in the death of the wicked," declares the Lord GOD, "rather than that he should turn from his ways and live? ~Ezekiel 18:23
The wicked are many in number, and it brings glory to the Lord that they "turn from their ways and live"!
Stolen posts! For more of these two writers, visit the links on the sidebar.
Peter, 7 July 2009:
Being lazy and being bored. Two things that should never be an issue by themselves, much less together. However, the society of "more now" has brought the idea that 1) I need to be entertained (boredom) and 2) I shouldn't have to work very hard to get it (laziness). Now what is immediately apparent in that? (the obvious questions are often the most enlightening)
Consider for a moment man's purpose. The
God said there would be toil. From the day that Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, from the day that the ground was accursed because of our fallen nature, man has had to work to bring forth food from the ground (and by implication, any source of nourishment). Sorry guys, no free lunch.
Proverbs 10:4 "He becomes poor who works with a lazy hand, but the hand of the diligent brings wealth."
Ok, you knew that already, didn't you. And if you didn't, read it again. It'll be important someday.
But what is more imminent for the believer is the trap of apathy. When a man simply doesn't care enough to carry out God's will on earth, he's already sunk deep in. The intermediate temptations are rather obscure, making them easier to fall into than ever before.
So often there comes a time when our time becomes a daily drag -- get through the day, make it to the next. One day down, another to come. While many of us (this I freely admit) are quite willing and able to carry out God's will in some big adventure, in traveling to Mexico to minister, even just getting on the road again, it's the typical, the ordinary, routine, that our adversary can use against us -- unless we guard against him. (Be sober and self-controlled. Be watchful. Your adversary the devil, walks around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. -1Peter5:8)
What has become of us if we are no longer passionate for the gospel? People, pay attention.
"Do I have any pleasure in the death of the wicked," declares the Lord GOD, "rather than that he should turn from his ways and live? ~Ezekiel 18:23
The wicked are many in number, and it brings glory to the Lord that they "turn from their ways and live"!
(My note: Reading C.S. Lewis's essay "The Weight of Glory" would be an excellent follow-up to this one.)
~
Anna, 29 June 2009:
Sometimes what we need from the Bible is not the fulfillment of our dream, but the swallowing up of our failed dream in the all-satisfying glory of Christ. We do not always know the path of deepest joy. But all Scripture is inspired by God to take us there. Therefore Scripture is worth more than all this world can offer.
-John Piper
10 July 2009
While I was in Cyprus, I was thinking a lot about Christ as our Mediator since as a team we were studying Hebrews.
"But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, waiting from that time until his enemies should be made a footstool for his feet."
Hebrews 10:12-13
Christ came at God's command, so His work, His sacrifice, is completely pleasing to God. He gives God joy by His obedience, and because He is my Mediator, God sees me through Him. Thus, God is pleased by my obedience, though it is the obedience of Christ.
Christ offered Himself in my place as one final, complete, perfect sacrifice. God's anger is fully satisfied, and my sins are fully paid. He is so precious that He only needed to offer Himself once, and that one death was enough to pay for all the sins of all His people.
Christ then entered the eternal, immediate presence of God and sits there reigning. He presents us continuously before God because He lives continuously. Because God is pleased with Him, He welcomes us into His presence.
So the fruit of Christ's work includes acceptance with God for me. My sins are erased, covered with the eternally pleasing blood of the Son.
And I can obey God as Christ did. The author of Hebrews quotes Jeremiah, "I will put my laws on their hearts, and write them on their minds." My heart and mind are being remade to match Christ's, remade in His image. This enables me to obey as He obeyed.
"But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, waiting from that time until his enemies should be made a footstool for his feet."
Hebrews 10:12-13
Christ came at God's command, so His work, His sacrifice, is completely pleasing to God. He gives God joy by His obedience, and because He is my Mediator, God sees me through Him. Thus, God is pleased by my obedience, though it is the obedience of Christ.
Christ offered Himself in my place as one final, complete, perfect sacrifice. God's anger is fully satisfied, and my sins are fully paid. He is so precious that He only needed to offer Himself once, and that one death was enough to pay for all the sins of all His people.
Christ then entered the eternal, immediate presence of God and sits there reigning. He presents us continuously before God because He lives continuously. Because God is pleased with Him, He welcomes us into His presence.
So the fruit of Christ's work includes acceptance with God for me. My sins are erased, covered with the eternally pleasing blood of the Son.
And I can obey God as Christ did. The author of Hebrews quotes Jeremiah, "I will put my laws on their hearts, and write them on their minds." My heart and mind are being remade to match Christ's, remade in His image. This enables me to obey as He obeyed.
09 July 2009
02 July 2009
Christ is our Priest.
"We do have such a high priest, who sat down at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, and who serves in the sanctuary, the true tabernacle set up by the Lord, not by man." Hebrews 8:1-2.
No earthly priest would have dared to sit down in the temple or the tabernacle, but Christ is seated at God's right hand. He is so honored and so pure, so precious and so beloved to the Father that He can minister for us even as He rests in God's presence.
He has entered Heaven itself for us. Instead of ministering in a shadow, He ministers in the real thing, God's own presence, not a symbol of God's presence. Because of His human nature, He knows our needs exactly and knows how to pray for God on our behalf. His prayers for us are immediate, wise, faithful. He never pauses or stops in His ministry.
What does that mean for me? That He knows what I need before I need it. That His prayers are accepted by the Father, even are pleasing to the Father. I am welcomed there because He is the one who has invited me, even into the presence of the holy Creator.
Also, that whatever sins and mistakes I make, they are covered by His faithful ministry. God can never cast me out because His Son prays for me continuously. Peace.
"We do have such a high priest, who sat down at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, and who serves in the sanctuary, the true tabernacle set up by the Lord, not by man." Hebrews 8:1-2.
No earthly priest would have dared to sit down in the temple or the tabernacle, but Christ is seated at God's right hand. He is so honored and so pure, so precious and so beloved to the Father that He can minister for us even as He rests in God's presence.
He has entered Heaven itself for us. Instead of ministering in a shadow, He ministers in the real thing, God's own presence, not a symbol of God's presence. Because of His human nature, He knows our needs exactly and knows how to pray for God on our behalf. His prayers for us are immediate, wise, faithful. He never pauses or stops in His ministry.
What does that mean for me? That He knows what I need before I need it. That His prayers are accepted by the Father, even are pleasing to the Father. I am welcomed there because He is the one who has invited me, even into the presence of the holy Creator.
Also, that whatever sins and mistakes I make, they are covered by His faithful ministry. God can never cast me out because His Son prays for me continuously. Peace.
The Cyprus team has been going well. It's been an intense three weeks, though.
Our first week was spent mostly painting the church hall. Technically, we were staining it, since it's covered in wooden siding. That was our first introduction to the blazing Cyprus sun, at least for Andrew and me. We would spend most mornings and at least part of most afternoons working on the building. For lunch, members of the Greek church brought us food, so we got to try Cypriot cooking. We also went to Finikoudes, the beach in Larnaca, one afternoon.
Every evening, we ran youth club for young people ages 12-18 at the church hall. The young people here are a wonderful bunch. Not very mature in their faith, perhaps, but full of energy and life. No cliques; everyone is friends with everyone else. They're all very talented, too, an artsy bunch. They love to act and ham it up, which makes youth club a lot of fun. We played games with them for about an hour-and-a-half each evening, followed by a talk or testimony by one of the team members.
During our second week, we ran Bible club for kids ages 5-12 at the church. On the day when we had the most, there were forty-five; on the day when we had the least, there were twenty-four. We began each day with opening exercises--singing, a story from the life of Joseph, and memory verse. Then half of the kids played games outside while the other half worked on a craft, and then they traded places. The kids had loads and loads of energy. Even after running around in the sun all morning, most of them were still active enough to chase Andrew all over the church property, laughing and screaming, while we cleaned up.
We continued to run youth club in the evenings during that week, which made the week quite intense. We would eat lunch at the house of someone in the church after Bible club, usually at about two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd get back to our house at about four o'clock, sleep for a little while, then go to youth club at about six o'clock. We wouldn't get back from youth club until at least half ten, sometimes later. But it was well worth it. We did activities with the youth: a photo scavenger hunt, a film night, a games night, a beach night, etc. They were up for the silliest things. For the photo scavenger hunt, one of the guys pretended to eat a live pigeon.
Last weekend, on Saturday afternoon, we went with fourteen of the young people (ages 16-18) up into the Troodos Mountains for youth camp. We stayed there until late Tuesday afternoon. The mountains aren't anything like the Rockies, but they smelled and felt the same. Pine trees thick on steep rocky slopes, blue ridges marching away into the distance. Our camp was on top of one of the mountains, and from the back of the kitchen, where we washed dishes, we had a lovely view of a long blue valley.
John George from Northern Ireland was our speaker for the weekend. He gave three talks on Ecclesiastes, which were really challenging. A call to put God at the centre of our lives: not to waste life, but to spend it pursuing Him. The young people were very responsive, and we had good discussion times after each talk.
Our days during camp were pretty free. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, playing games, going for walks, stargazing, sitting around talking, etc. A woman from the church and her daughter cooked for us, and we all helped with the chores. The tents were canvas pavilions set up on concrete pads with proper beds inside. We spent most of our time outside, though, sitting in the warm sunshine.
Yesterday, the youth group went on a trip to Waterworld, a water park about half-an-hour from Larnaca. Since it was the day after camp, the team and the young people who'd gone to camp were all still really tired. There were about thirty of us in the group, and we had a lot of fun. The water park was small enough that we could do most of the rides before lunch and then spend the afternoon either going back on ones we'd done or just relaxing. Lorna worked on her tan. I swam in some of the pools reserved for swimming and watched the young people go down the rides again.
Today we've been resting. It's been good to have some time to ourselves. Andrew has spent most of the day up in his room on his laptop, and Lorna, Kait, and I have spent most of it sitting in the living area, reading or on the internet, and listening to Lorna's iPod (she has an apparently inexhaustible music collection). Kait is making pizza for us tonight, and Chris and some of his friends are coming over to watch a film with us.
Cyprus is a lot like Oklahoma in many ways. Flat, with some big hills, and extremely dry. The fields are already brown, round haybales trundled untidily to bake in the sun. The houses are all white blocks, very square, with water tanks on top. Here, though, they can grow rhododendrons and bouganvillea, and there are palm trees everywhere.
Today I went for a walk along the big salt lake near the Mastris' house (we're staying with Adam and Jeanette Mastris, who are away in the States for their son's wedding at the minute). It's so barren. The salt lake is mostly empty at this time of year, one dead flat sheet of salt sparkling in the sun, stretching away with a tiny sheen of water in the middle. To the west, there are houses--square and white with red roofs--, and beyond them the vague blue bulk of the foothills rising against a bleached blue sky. Dead eucalyptus trees grew along the path with their bark hanging in shreds, and thick stands of bamboo grew ten or twelve feet high where the land was lower. I saw a fluffy cat playing with an enormous black snake that must've been four or five feet long--very surreal.
Tomorrow we're going to a nicer beach for the day with Chris and company (Alisia Burgess, Martha, a girl from youth club, and Alex, her college-aged brother), and then on Saturday to Paphos. Sabbath day will be another day of double church--first the English church, then the Greek--and on Monday I assume we'll be packing up.
Church here is quite an experience. Both the English and the Greek groups are small, though the Greek group is slightly larger. During Greek church, we sit at the back, and one of the elders interprets for us. Thus there's a constant low muttering undercurrent during the service of Greek being turned into English. Both churches, however, sing Psalms, so when the Greek church sings a Psalm to a familiar tune, we just sing that same Psalm in English.
Andrew and I fly back to the States on Tuesday. Our flights leave at the joyous time of 5:00 a.m. We go from Larnaca to Heathrow, where he takes a plane to Kansas, and I take a plane to Houston, and then to Oklahoma City. It's going to be a long, long day.
Our first week was spent mostly painting the church hall. Technically, we were staining it, since it's covered in wooden siding. That was our first introduction to the blazing Cyprus sun, at least for Andrew and me. We would spend most mornings and at least part of most afternoons working on the building. For lunch, members of the Greek church brought us food, so we got to try Cypriot cooking. We also went to Finikoudes, the beach in Larnaca, one afternoon.
Every evening, we ran youth club for young people ages 12-18 at the church hall. The young people here are a wonderful bunch. Not very mature in their faith, perhaps, but full of energy and life. No cliques; everyone is friends with everyone else. They're all very talented, too, an artsy bunch. They love to act and ham it up, which makes youth club a lot of fun. We played games with them for about an hour-and-a-half each evening, followed by a talk or testimony by one of the team members.
During our second week, we ran Bible club for kids ages 5-12 at the church. On the day when we had the most, there were forty-five; on the day when we had the least, there were twenty-four. We began each day with opening exercises--singing, a story from the life of Joseph, and memory verse. Then half of the kids played games outside while the other half worked on a craft, and then they traded places. The kids had loads and loads of energy. Even after running around in the sun all morning, most of them were still active enough to chase Andrew all over the church property, laughing and screaming, while we cleaned up.
We continued to run youth club in the evenings during that week, which made the week quite intense. We would eat lunch at the house of someone in the church after Bible club, usually at about two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd get back to our house at about four o'clock, sleep for a little while, then go to youth club at about six o'clock. We wouldn't get back from youth club until at least half ten, sometimes later. But it was well worth it. We did activities with the youth: a photo scavenger hunt, a film night, a games night, a beach night, etc. They were up for the silliest things. For the photo scavenger hunt, one of the guys pretended to eat a live pigeon.
Last weekend, on Saturday afternoon, we went with fourteen of the young people (ages 16-18) up into the Troodos Mountains for youth camp. We stayed there until late Tuesday afternoon. The mountains aren't anything like the Rockies, but they smelled and felt the same. Pine trees thick on steep rocky slopes, blue ridges marching away into the distance. Our camp was on top of one of the mountains, and from the back of the kitchen, where we washed dishes, we had a lovely view of a long blue valley.
John George from Northern Ireland was our speaker for the weekend. He gave three talks on Ecclesiastes, which were really challenging. A call to put God at the centre of our lives: not to waste life, but to spend it pursuing Him. The young people were very responsive, and we had good discussion times after each talk.
Our days during camp were pretty free. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, playing games, going for walks, stargazing, sitting around talking, etc. A woman from the church and her daughter cooked for us, and we all helped with the chores. The tents were canvas pavilions set up on concrete pads with proper beds inside. We spent most of our time outside, though, sitting in the warm sunshine.
Yesterday, the youth group went on a trip to Waterworld, a water park about half-an-hour from Larnaca. Since it was the day after camp, the team and the young people who'd gone to camp were all still really tired. There were about thirty of us in the group, and we had a lot of fun. The water park was small enough that we could do most of the rides before lunch and then spend the afternoon either going back on ones we'd done or just relaxing. Lorna worked on her tan. I swam in some of the pools reserved for swimming and watched the young people go down the rides again.
Today we've been resting. It's been good to have some time to ourselves. Andrew has spent most of the day up in his room on his laptop, and Lorna, Kait, and I have spent most of it sitting in the living area, reading or on the internet, and listening to Lorna's iPod (she has an apparently inexhaustible music collection). Kait is making pizza for us tonight, and Chris and some of his friends are coming over to watch a film with us.
Cyprus is a lot like Oklahoma in many ways. Flat, with some big hills, and extremely dry. The fields are already brown, round haybales trundled untidily to bake in the sun. The houses are all white blocks, very square, with water tanks on top. Here, though, they can grow rhododendrons and bouganvillea, and there are palm trees everywhere.
Today I went for a walk along the big salt lake near the Mastris' house (we're staying with Adam and Jeanette Mastris, who are away in the States for their son's wedding at the minute). It's so barren. The salt lake is mostly empty at this time of year, one dead flat sheet of salt sparkling in the sun, stretching away with a tiny sheen of water in the middle. To the west, there are houses--square and white with red roofs--, and beyond them the vague blue bulk of the foothills rising against a bleached blue sky. Dead eucalyptus trees grew along the path with their bark hanging in shreds, and thick stands of bamboo grew ten or twelve feet high where the land was lower. I saw a fluffy cat playing with an enormous black snake that must've been four or five feet long--very surreal.
Tomorrow we're going to a nicer beach for the day with Chris and company (Alisia Burgess, Martha, a girl from youth club, and Alex, her college-aged brother), and then on Saturday to Paphos. Sabbath day will be another day of double church--first the English church, then the Greek--and on Monday I assume we'll be packing up.
Church here is quite an experience. Both the English and the Greek groups are small, though the Greek group is slightly larger. During Greek church, we sit at the back, and one of the elders interprets for us. Thus there's a constant low muttering undercurrent during the service of Greek being turned into English. Both churches, however, sing Psalms, so when the Greek church sings a Psalm to a familiar tune, we just sing that same Psalm in English.
Andrew and I fly back to the States on Tuesday. Our flights leave at the joyous time of 5:00 a.m. We go from Larnaca to Heathrow, where he takes a plane to Kansas, and I take a plane to Houston, and then to Oklahoma City. It's going to be a long, long day.
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