Sunday, March 27, 2016

Personal Fit

Peter turned around and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them. (This was the disciple who had leaned back against Jesusʼ chest at the meal and asked, “Lord, who is the one who is going to betray you.” (John 21:20 NET_FL)

Knowing that Jesus was God incarnate, he shocks my notion of a distant Creator. I’m astounded he took children in his arms, let his feet be stroked with a sinful woman’s hair, and invited disciples to lean on his breast. I didn't expect this penchant for intimate contact. It reminds me of the ancient stone architecture found in South America.

The Incas built walls using one-hundred-ton angular stones that interlocked like jigsaw pieces. How the Indians maneuvered, shaped, and fitted the monoliths so closely that a razorblade can’t fit between them remains a mystery. About four kilometers away, archeologists have identified the quarry from which the blocks were hewn in the rough before transport, final dressing, and fitting.

God found me buried deep inside the stone mountain of the world system. His generous eye measured out some potential in my raw form. By the work of the cross, he cut me free from the carnal mass in which I was forged. I was born anew, a being with a holy destiny, however, I was jagged and crude. Only God knew where I needed chipping and chiseling so I might one day fit against the Cornerstone with absolute contact.

My edges and corners still prevent me from nesting against my soul’s lover, and so the refinement continues. However, the Lord is not forcing me into some mass-produced cube so I’ll fit with all the others. He knows the exact dimensions and beautiful angles of his own stone, and he knows the true me will fit perfectly against that surface. 

Jesus wants every unique facet he created in me to completely interlock with him, for therein lies ultimate joy. He craves a heady surface-to-surface bond, so close no razorblade of un-fulfillment can slip between us. I yearn for that, too, and so I submit to the chisel.


Prayer: Thank you, Lord, for creating me for intimate contact with perfect you.


Sunday, March 20, 2016

Addicted

But whenever you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you. (Matthew 6:6 NET_FL)

I’m addicted and I need my fix. Everyday I sneak away for one-on-one time with the Creator of the universe. How could a frozen wanderer give up that patch of sunshine? Should I let deadlines, or travel, or guests invade our intimacy? Call me obsessive, but I’ll contrive a way to get what I crave.

It’s not that I’m disciplined—I’m desperate. When it comes to fighting temptation I’m as fierce as a trembling schoolgirl. Without a daily breath from the Lord, I’m sure to faint. So I draw near to him and inhale every morning, then I pray that puff will stay inside me.

Some years ago the Lord led me to two books by Christian role models who told how their lives changed when they had devotions at 5:00 a.m. I groaned and made a half-hearted commitment to try it. I didn’t set an alarm. The next few mornings I found myself awake at 5:00 a.m. and rose for my devotion time. Previously boring Scriptures now rang in my heart. On-my-face prayer emptied me of self then filled me with the Spirit. Abba Father honored a sacrifice of time set apart while the world slept.

After several years, a new threat crept in. My mornings became disciplined for discipline’s sake, not for the Lord. Jesus wants obedience in joy, not habit in drudgery. He knows I can’t live without our meetings so now he sets the day’s schedule, which sometimes includes more than one quiet time.

That’s the secret compulsion I can’t shake. Inside my prayer closet, God gets on his knees, puts his mouth to my ear, and whispers his message. It’s an addiction I’ll never fight.


Prayer: Lord, thank you for coming to me each day.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Pain Vs. The Presence

He will restore us in a very short time; he will heal us in a little while, so that we may live in his presence. (Hosea 6:2 NET_FL)

The cold tile of the hotel bathroom was poor consolation for being too sick to crawl back to bed. I had food poisoning extraordinaire. It’s a cherished memory, however, because as I curled up by the porcelain convenience, the Lord led me to an experiment. I invited his Spirit to join with mine. His presence spread across my heart and I leaned into it. As each wave of pain washed in, I matched it with exerted concentration on the nearness of Jesus.

That experience changed me. My heart declared my Savior was bigger than my pain. Suffering by itself couldn’t accomplish this. I had to take the beauty of God’s felt presence and force it into the teeth of suffering. It allowed me to witness love and pain in face-to-face combat, and to see love win.

That was a minor trial, but any hurt, big or small, will yield to the reversal. Everything, from rejection to the death of a dear one, can become time in the closet pressed against Jesus. In fact, an injury not processed in his presence will leave an open wound in the soul. Only an embrace of the Holy Spirit can cover our exposed nerves with scar tissue that is stronger than the original skin.

Where was my spirit molested? Through meditation I must re-live that moment and, at the height of the devastation, turn to the Lord’s presence. His peace wafts through my soul. Then I shove the victory of God’s greater love into the face of my memory monster. This exercise reveals a truth missed during the original trauma—Jesus, the Comforter, was with me. The force of his presence drives the beast out of my heart.

The event is a nightmare I can shake off because the love of Christ is my waking reality.


Prayer: Jesus, let me process every trial by the power of your presence.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Endurance

 For you need endurance in order to do Godʼs will and so receive what is promised. (Hebrews 10:36 NET_FL)

Fir, alder, and maple forest surround my father’s house in Washington State. Among the woodland critters are cliff swallows that, year after year, attempt to build mud nests above Dad’s door. For a while he allowed the birds to summer there, but it was a bad location for all the parties. The chicks were subjected to human traffic and the people were dive-bombed with objectionable matter.

Every spring, Dad goes on swallow-alert. A comical war is waged as he washes down any mud beginnings. Eventually, the birds relocate to the nearby sea-cliffs. It would appear Dad is more persistent but the swallows are driven by deep instinct and they’ll be back another year.

You and I have a deep instinct to unite with our Creator and be delivered from the curse. That hope drives us. No matter how many times our nest of faith is knocked down, we rebuild. We can’t give up on Christ, for as Peter said, where would we go? No one else has the words of eternal life.

Endurance, however, is more than maintaining the status quo. To stop running toward Christ on the treadmill of faith is to be swept backwards into unbelief. Even to stay in the one place of trusting Jesus requires an expenditure of calories. The longer we live with our heartaches the harder it is to trust because no answer appears to be forthcoming. Every day I wake up and say, “In spite of all that is wrong, I’ll trust the Lord,” I’m enduring more today than yesterday.

When I get to paradise I’ll be able to trade my endurance for the commodity my heart will most desire, victories with which to honor Jesus through eternity.


Prayer: Mighty Savior, help me trust you today.