Destination Discipline

My tears have been my food day and night, While they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?” Psalm 42:3

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Psalm 42:5

I feel badly when I write sad blogs that feel like pity parties (Life in the cracks). But the truth is, I am stumbling toward God. I may feel bad emotionally, but I’m still praying, and hoping and believing that good will come. That is why this morning I sat down to read from a book that has been very helpful to me over the past year: Spiritual Depression, by Martin Lloyd Jones. It is a collection of transcribed sermons (which can also be downloaded online at Monergism if you’d rather listen to them).

The scripture being preached was Philippians 4:10-13:

I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that  now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Now it would behoove anyone struggling today with depression or sadness or grief to download the book and read it. That would be the best thing. But I wanted to share with the dear reader that when I read this sermon, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt, well, brand new. And I just had to share how good God is and how He met me in my need.

It’s good to know that every new story is really just an old story being retold. That is what I am considering today. The Bible is God’s love letter to us. It is the true story of our creation, the reason why we are alive, and the hope to which we can cling when life turns us upside down. It is the most beautiful story ever written. So when MLJ was preaching this passage, he was really just harkening back to the Apostle Paul’s words and Paul was always just telling the story of Jesus and the hope we have in Him. The story never gets old. And it’s worth considering that all the best stories in the world point back to the gospel in some way.

The gist of the passage is that Paul was in prison, and he wrote a letter to the Philippian church to thank them for sending Epaphroditus with a gift. He also wrote to tell them how to be content in any and every situation. MLJ says this better than I:

“So, he sets out in this mighty passage, with its staggering and astounding affirmations, to show the primacy of the Lord and the all-sufficiency of the Lord, while at the same time he shows his gratitude and his indebtedness and his love towards the Philippians for this manifestation of their personal care and solicitude for him.”

MLJ was British and therefore it sounds much cooler when he says it. But I digress…

“Paul is not indifferent to his circumstances. To put it positively, he is not mastered or controlled by circumstances. By all means if you can improve your circumstances by fair and legitimate means, do so; but if you cannot, and if you have to remain in a trying and difficult position, do not be mastered by it, do not let it get you down, do not let it control you, do not let it determine your misery or your joy.

‘Whatever my condition or circumstance,’ he says in effect, ‘I am in control. I am master of the situation, I am not mastered by the situation, I am free, I am at liberty, I do not depend for my happiness upon what is happening to me. My life, my happiness, my joy and my experience are independent of the things that are going on round about me, and even of the things that may be happening to me.’ I would remind you that Paul was probably chained to a soldier when he uttered these words. ‘My life,’ says Paul, ‘is not controlled and determined by what is happening to me; I am in a state and condition in which I rise right above them. These things are not the determining factors in my life and experience.’”

I want this. I want my life to reflect this. I want this kind of freedom and that is why I follow Jesus. He is the only one capable of giving such a gift. And I have it! It really is mine! Hallelujah! How can this not change everything? How can I continue to weep and mourn when such a marvelous gift has been given to me. I cannot. I will not.

There is so much “meat” to what Martin Lloyd Jones share in the sermon, but the big takeaway came at the end.

“Let me give you some of the steps of the argument which you can work out for yourself.

1) Conditions are always changing, therefore I must obviously not be dependent upon conditions.

2) What matters supremely and vitally is my soul and my relationship to God—that is the first thing.

3) God is concerned about me as my Father, and nothing happens to me apart from God. I must never forget that.

4) God’s will and God’s ways are a great mystery, but I know that whatever He wills or permits is of necessity for my good.

5) Every situation in life is the unfolding of some manifestation of God’s love and goodness. Therefore, my business is to look for this peculiar manifestation of God’s goodness and kindness and to be prepared for surprises and blessings because ‘His ways are not my ways, neither His thoughts my thoughts’.

6) I must regard circumstances and conditions, not in and of themselves therefore, but as a part of God’s dealings with me in the work of perfecting my soul and bringing me to final perfection.

7) Whatever my conditions may be at this present moment they are only temporary, they are only passing, and they can never rob me of the joy and the glory that ultimately await me with Christ.

And finally:

”The big principle that emerges clearly is that Paul had learned to find his pleasure and his satisfaction in Chris and always in Christ.

We must learn to depend upon Him and in order to do that we must learn to know Him, we must learn to have communion with Him, we must learn to find our pleasure in Him. Then comes the test. Will you still be happy? Do you know Him so well that though you become deaf or blind this fount will still be open? Do you know Him so well that you can talk to Him and listen to Him and enjoy Him always? Will all be well because you have always been so dependent upon your relationship to Him that nothing else really matters!”

THAT is the question. I have been sad and depressed because of my life circumstances but I can find joy and freedom in Christ because of the deep and abiding love He has for me. And so can you.

I realize this post was a bit of borrowing from the great preacher, but it was poignant today. It helped me. I hope it helps you too.

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.” Psalm 42:11

“All my tears are falling on the floor,” she said. “I never felt it rain like this before,” she said. “I’ll sing these black-eyed blues into the storm instead. I’ve been waiting for the new eyes to arrive one breath at a time.”  – She Said, Jon Foreman

One breath at a time. That is how we live life. We have grand illusions that meaning is found in the shape of our bodies or in our career or in a new hairstyle. We buy a new pair of shoes and step out into the street and the heel breaks off. And we curse because we didn’t see the crack in the pavement even though it’s been there for years. But that is where life is lived; in the cracks.

”The wise person has his eyes in his head, but the fool walks in darkness. And yet I perceived that the same event happens to all of them. Then I said in my heart, “what happens to the fool will happen to me also. Why then have I been so very wise?” And I said in my heart that this also is vanity. For of the wise as of the fool there is no enduring remembrance, seeing that in the days to come all will have been long forgotten. How the wise dies just like the fool! So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind.”  Ecclesiastes 2:14-17

A lot has happened since I wrote last. I’ve lost several people I loved. They are gone and nothing I write will make them come back. I’ve been trying to protect my heart from the pain but that feels rather foolish. This has manifested in raw anger and hostility. No one can see it of course. I tuck it in like wrinkled shirt tails and throw on a snazzy jacket. But it’s there.

Several people I love are very sick. I’m not worried. I’m not anxious. I’m just mad. I’m in the cracks again. And I keep telling myself it’s not about me. “Have a little compassion,” I say to myself. But there is a blister on my heart that’s turned into a callous and I won’t let the pain rub me because I don’t want it to break open. Anger is easy. It’s a comfortable coat of armor. It repels the storm—or so I tell myself.

I’m not alone. The meme’s I see in social media are powerful indicators of what is lurking in the human heart.

People love “out” doors. They walk out of marriages, jobs, friendships, and out of difficult situations all the time. Things get tough and they skedaddle. Then they spend years justifying it.

I recently had lunch with a colleague. She was really upset about the Dobbs vs. Jackson decision and vowed to take on the fight for women’s rights. Halfway through her rant (for it was most certainly a rant) she looked at me and said, “Well, maybe you and I are on opposite sides of this debate because you are religious.” She said religious like it was a flesh eating bacteria I had contracted and I might accidentally get some on her. I hadn’t said a word and I empathized with her anger and frustration. She felt like something had been stolen and I know how that feels. But also I saw in my mind’s eye a friend standing at my desk years earlier with tears pouring down her face because she had scalding pain and regret from an abortion. She was absolutely shattered by that decision and there was nothing she could do about it. There is something very final about death. It leaves a gaping hole whether we like it or not.

I told my colleague that story and she shared with me her own abortion. She had gotten pregnant at 17 by “a stupid boy” and she knew her parents would never allow an abortion so she asked her sister for help. They went to the clinic and took care of the problem and she has never regretted it. Then she looked at me and said, “And I’m very happy now. I have a very comfortable life.” She is very proud of her “out” door. And even though I thought I had been gracious and listened and told her I loved her and would never judge her for that decision, she collected a new “out” door and walked right out of relationship with me.

Another death. Nothing I can do to stop it. And I write that knowing someone will stop reading because they feel I’m a monster for consider a baby in the womb a child that deserves the right to be born.

I am losing people I love one breath at a time. And suddenly my anger has morphed into sadness. What could I have done differently to make them stay? Could I change who I am? Would I want to? Should I stop being honest? Would lying help? But I’ve been that person and I didn’t like her very much. I know from experience that pretending for a living can get very confusing. Eventually, one doesn’t know who they are anymore.

I’m fresh out of hope and inspiration. My emotions are like the flood waters rising. I’m waiting for a boat but all I see is more water…and dead fish floating.

The other night I went down to the lake to see how high the water had risen. It was all the way up and over the gravel path. There was a woman there who had just been dropped off by a man on a Harley. She was untangling her fishing pole. She looked out of place. She was wearing spiked high heels and a skin tight mini skirt. She had a leopard print, cleavage bearing top and a face full of pancake makeup with blurred lipstick. I was concerned for her so I approached.

She said, “The fishing pole got tangled on the bike.”

”Would you like some help?” I offered.

”No, I can get it.”

And I stood there feeling this swell of loneliness. What had brought her to this lake at dusk with a broken fishing pole? Who was the man who drove away and left her? What would she do if she actually caught a fish? I don’t know why, but I wanted to save her. But did she really even need saving?

So I said, “Good luck” and walked away. Because I didn’t know what I was doing there either. I had gone to see the flood but it hadn’t changed me.

This is life in the cracks. Death and dying. Loneliness in the aftermath for those left behind.

Jon Foreman sang, “Don’t let your spirit die before your body does,” in his song, “Terminal”. Is that what this is?

I guess one has to die before they can really live. So today I mourn.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

But there is also a promise:

”Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4

I’m waiting, Lord.

“I’d been had all along by grasshoppers, muskrats, mountains–and like any sucker, I come back for more. They always get you in the end, and when you know it from the beginning, you have to laugh. You come for the assault, you come for the flight–but really you know you come for the laugh.”  Annie Dillard, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

What gives life meaning? What is my purpose? Where am I going and why does it matter?

Have you ever asked yourself these questions? Or were you too busy just trying to eke out a living? I often find myself in the hustle and bustle of life, moving from task to task in a flurry of activity. I don’t always enjoy my job, but I have to work to pay bills, and frankly, the paycheck doesn’t always stretch as far as I need it to. So, I rush and—not unlike a little house finch—I am fluttering from branch to branch trying to find a morsel of food or a place to shelter.

No mirrors, but we have cell phones with no service

But sometimes I get to slow down and ponder the meaning of life. I find myself with fewer distractions and a good book in my hand (such as “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” by Annie Dillard). And I wonder if I’m on the right path. Her keen observations of nature resonate, especially when read by a campfire.

There are no mirrors at our cabin in the woods. The closest we come to knowing what we look like is when we see our reflection in the windows. The older I get, however, the more aware I am of my body. Little twinges of pain flare and throb like lightening bugs at twilight. Other times, my joints feel like a rabid wasp got loose and started stinging me. But on a good day, the only warmth I feel is the sun.

It looks so pretty on the surface. It’s what lurks beneath that is so terrifying.

Last week soaring temperatures and humidity meant any amount of time spent outside guaranteed a sheen of sweat on my skin. At one point, we snuck off to the river to cool down. We found delight in crawdads, little fish nibbling at our legs, and peepers (little hopping frogs). But we also discovered, much to our horror, leeches. Once a leech attaches itself to one’s skin, it releases a toxin that prevents blood from clotting. Therefore, once removed, we discovered the blood just kept flowing; a brutal reminder of the invertebrate that was recently attached. We thought we had autonomy over our anatomy. The leeches proved otherwise.

Nature reminds us how little control we have over not only our bodies but our lives. The river provides a perfect metaphor in that there are forces—often beyond our perception—pulsing and writhing with one instinct: feed! This hunger drives every living creature because in order to exist, one must consume. While the leech thrives on blood, it will detach if life blood stops flowing. Other creatures, like horseflies, bite and devour and care not whether one lives or dies. Then, one need only look up at the ever circling turkey vultures if we need a reminder that death is always lurking.

Our first day in the country, my husband found a dead bobcat on the road. The poor beast had been recently hit by a car and Eric couldn’t bear to leave the beautiful creature there to disintegrate. He placed it on the bed of his truck and—once off the main highway—took time to inspect it. He was intrigued by the markings, from its whiskers to its toes and its tail. This beautiful cat had been prowling and probably hunting before being blindsided by a vehicle.

Something beautiful had been destroyed and we felt the loss of it. Granted, the only intimacy we were allowed was surface level – namely we saw the body. We have no knowledge of her habits, her mate, or her young. We don’t even know what her last meal consisted of. We didn’t know this cat, but her life mattered if only because she was a valuable part of the ecosystem.

But was her only purpose “consumer”? I’m not sure what animal’s prey on bobcats. And if she was only a predator, was that all that gave her life meaning? Did she merely exist to reduce the population of vermin? When I look at such a creature, I find myself in awe of the splendor of her body. Had I hit her with my car, I would have stopped. Had she been alive, I would have wanted to help her. But I am also keenly aware of those teeth and those claws. Would she have wanted me to try to save her life?

Maybe it was not my purpose to have intimate knowledge about a bobcat. So, I spent time with my human neighbors instead. Those conversations helped me connect and know more about their lives. I walked away from each conversation feeling known and cared for. I hope they felt the same. This is the joy of the human experience: connection and intimacy.

When I consider these experiences, I am struck by something; intimacy has very little to do with anatomy. We stroked the fur of the cat, touched her toes and her face, but we didn’t really know her. In contrast, we little touched our neighbors but felt love.

How am I different than the bobcat? How am I different than the vulture or the leech?

My body implies that I am a 47-year-old woman. That is my anatomy.

My mind says I have autonomy. I have the freedom to govern my body.

But lately, my heart has been longing for intimacy.

Annie Dillard created within me a longing for intimacy with nature. I want to know the mysteries of rocks and flowers and bumblebees. There is so much beauty and I can’t take it all in, but I want to try.

I also desire intimacy with friends and neighbors. People. For all their messiness and hypocrisies, I want to know the inner workings of the human heart. I want to be shocked, amazed, and overwhelmed with compassion. I want to forgive and be forgiven. I want to know the comfort of my mother’s embrace.

More importantly (and mysteriously) I desire intimacy with the Creator. I find in myself longing to know and be known by a Being that made the toes of the bobcat soft and sharp, but who also made the jaws of a leech filled with venom. This creature that sucks blood has even been known to save lives. What kind of Being is this? And why do I feel within me this need to be known and loved by Him?

I am connected to something larger than my senses perceive. My body belongs not only to me but to the world and to God. Maybe that is why I feel pain when my neighbor rejects me. If part of my purpose is to be loved, it causes deep pain when someone rejects me. But I also know I have rejected people. I have caused pain. And that creates within me a longing to be forgiven.

People may laugh at me for these ramblings. “She is a fool,” they will say, “for posting such inanities. Who cares if people like or don’t like her? This is boring. I’m out.”

But it matters to me. I am trying to find my place in the world. Maybe the dear reader is too.

The wider culture would have us believe intimacy is touch, pleasure, passion. But those are fleeting. They are like the deceased bobcat after a few days in the woods; returning to dust. I long for deeper pleasures. A cool breeze on dew-drenched feet. The gaze of a friend who knows I regret the harsh words I said and says, “I still love you.” The sizzle of broccoli in butter on a cast iron skillet. The whispered words of truth when everyone around me is speaking lies. I want cotton candy clouds and great blue herons flying overhead and ferns that glisten in a random sunbeam. There is magic and mystery in the world around us if only we stop to observe and listen. There is truth if only we stop to consider and ask the right questions.

I am only a woman, but I am alive. And while I’m still living, I choose life. And life is not really lived unless one is loving and giving and experiencing the world both from the microscopic and mountainous viewpoint.

If the heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above declares His handiwork, I want to be His. I want to belong to Him. More and more every day. Therefore, I surrender my anatomy and autonomy to Him in exchange for greater intimacy. That is what gives my life meaning and purpose and ensures my final destiny. What about you?