The Trial

The prisoner’s shackles clanked to the floor, echoing in the courtroom. Buzzing of conversation ceased and all eyes turned to examine the prisoner. There I sat, in a room filled with scoffing faces. All watching. I turned and looked at all of the eyes around the room. Eyes that belonged to friends, coworkers, and schoolmates. Eyes that now looked on with pity and scoffing. Hundreds and hundreds of eyes. Probing. Questioning. Jeering—all here to behold the fate of one unlucky individual. Or perhaps lucky, should the judge determine their innocence.

I had been to this very room many times before. I had watched as dozens had been tried and sentenced. I had seen thieves and murderers and liars and cheats. And had felt little to no pity as they had received their dues. Neither had the rest of the crowds and a trial such as this always turns up a crowd. Always. Maybe it’s kind of morbid, but I think it’s human nature. Who doesn’t get curious when someone’s life is on the line? And let’s not forget the scoffers. Amongst a crowd this size, they were sure to be here, and cause the most intimidation possible to whatever poor soul’s life hung in the balance. Let’s be honest, I’d done it. Many times.

But not today.

Today was different.

Today it was my life.

A fly buzzed around my head in the sweltering heat, taunting. My hands were immobilized or I would have tried to swat it away. I shook my head, to no avail. Oh, what was the use? It would all be over soon anyways.

I turned my eyes away from the crowd and sunk down into my chair. There I was, in the middle of the room—vulnerable and scrutinized. I knew that all around me, people were placing bets on the outcome of today’s trial. I had a feeling there weren’t a lot of bets in my favor.

Then, the sound that I had been dreading: the two large oak doors at the front of the room opened and the judge entered. His grandeur was overwhelming; one glance and I was terrified, convinced that he knew EVERYTHING. My body was awash in hot and cold flashes, and I started to sweat.

The worst part about this whole ordeal? I wasn’t being tried for petty crimes. No, all my crimes were heavy. Not only that, they were committed directly against the judge. Let me restate—against the judge’s son. I gulped, taking the majesty of the judge. There was no way I was making it out of here alive.

Then, the prosecutor entered. He was handsome man, stunning really. Tall and well-muscled, with striking eyes, it was almost impossible not to look at him when he spoke. I was always amazed at the eloquence and passion in his voice; and his persuasive powers were overwhelming. When he spoke, the whole world stopped to listen. It was apparent to all who bothered noticing that he took his job very, very seriously and would do everything in his ability to make certain that lawbreakers received their just reward.

Lawbreakers like me. It was at that moment that I wished with everything in me that he wasn’t quite so good at his job.

As he began to list my crimes one by one, I found all shreds of hope shrinking, before disappearing altogether. Slowly, methodically, spitefully, he toyed with me, reeling me (and everyone else) into his tale of deception and trickery. The story he wove was stunning. It was impossible not to hate the criminal. If only that criminal wasn't me. He knew I didn’t have a chance, as the evidence against me was overwhelming. And every accusation was accurate. Painfully accurate. Besides, how could the judge—against whom I had done so much wrong—not sentence me heavily?

As I felt myself succumbing to the depths of despair, I heard the sound of another voice—one that I hadn’t expected. At his voice, a sob caught in my throat. Why was he here? I could have handled anyone—and I mean anyone—seeing me before him. I was certain that he had left, given up on me, forsaken me…after what I’d done. You see, he was the one against whom I’d committed so much wrong. All of my spiteful anger had been taken out on him. All of my hate and hurt and disgust had spewed fiery coals onto him. This man infuriated me and yet, more than anything, I wanted to please him. I don't know why I cared, I just didn't want him to see my shame.

I guess I should back up. This man had once been my closest friend. More than that, even—my husband. But when I made my vows, I never expected to fall for a handsome, doting coworker whose voice dripped flattery and empty promises. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was in way too deep. My insecurities, fears, and guilt all came out on my husband. It became my life goal to spite him. Why? Because he kept loving me. After all that I had done to him, he never stopped loving me, which created such passionate fury inside of me, I could hardly contain myself. And, well, didn’t. Sometimes, I just wished he’d retaliate. I had broken him, and I knew it. God, how I knew it. I guess it goes without saying that that was the start of all my other crimes.

And now, as I was being tried for these crimes, I realized why he was here. He was here to retaliate. What more perfect moment to spite me than in front of everyone?

Oh, God, why did he have to be here?

When he spoke, his was soft, yet passionate—not exactly what I expected. Then again, he never did what I expected.

“The evidence against her is overwhelming. Your Honor would be a fool not to condemn her for such horrific crimes."

Yep. He still loves me. Knew it.

"Your Honor is no such fool. According to the law, there is only one payment for crimes such as these.”

Say it. Just say it.

“Death.”

I clenched my teeth, waiting for him to gloat, to tower over me, to rub it in that I would finally get my just reward.

“Your Honor, the law states that judgment must be executed. It also states that another can take the punishment of one condemned. There is one who has offered to take her punishment.”

My head jerked up at this statement.

“Therefore, I plead for mercy. My life for hers. Let me take her place.”

At this, my whole body started shaking. I was quavering all over. He couldn’t be doing this. Surely he couldn’t. Not for me. Not after what I’d done. My head spun, and I struggled futilely to grasp onto a reasonable thought.

The crowds began to stir. This wasn’t what they had expected and they were quick to voice their protestations.

My poor forsaken husband caught my gaze and looked at me with the most powerful gaze of love I had ever seen. In his eyes were forgiveness and mercy and sorrow. No hate. No anger. No rejection. Just...love. I didn't understand, and knew that I couldn't. And perhaps never would. I shook my head, "no," but his face was set.

His voice cut through the crowds, murmuring, pleading—ever so quiet: “Please. Pardon her.”

Deafening silence filled the room.

"You would do this? For her?" The judge voiced the question that was on everyone's mind.

The man nodded, soberly.

The judge perused the face of my once-husband, searching, as if to see if he genuinely meant what he had said. His eyes scanned the room and the crowds and then fell on me. Up and down, he looked me over. He looked at his son and back at me. A mixture of sorrow and pride filled his face. He nodded, slowly. Once more he looked at me, with eyes of intensity and seriousness.

"You've been offered a second chance at life. Don't waste it."

And then the judge looked out over the crowds and spoke one word—one simple word that changed everything: “Pardoned.”

It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.
Romans 8:33-34

How's YOUR love life?

So, I was asked this question yesterday, "How is your love life?" I responded with a flippant, "What love life?" then jokingly, "Oh, ya know, there's always Jesus!" Their response? "Oh please! Tell me you're not one of THOSE people?"
Now, I said it as a joke. And I admit I think it's a little silly when girls say that their boyfriend is Jesus.
That said, I don't think being one of THOSE people is such a bad idea. MEANING: one of those people who is so totally and completely wrapped up in Jesus that the fact they have nonexistent love life is okay. And that they believe it when the Bible says, "Your maker is your husband, the Lord Almighty is His name." (Isaiah 54:5) and "I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, love and compassion; and you shall know the Lord."
So, even though it's kind of silly, when asked questions like, "How's your love life?" I can think I'm going to answer, "It's amazing."

Love, love, and more love

Dear God,
I confess that I sometimes don't believe You. You see, I get so caught up in me and my what I see with my incredibly nearsighted vision that I forget that You don't always see the way I do. And some days, more than others, my nearsightedness is just really off.

Today is one of those days.

So, instead of ending up way off course because I can't see straight, I'm going to close MY eyes and listen as You tell me what You see.

But now, this is what the LORD says -- he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel: "Do not fear for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name , you are mine." (Isaiah 43:1) 

I created your inmost being; I knit you together in your mother's womb. Praise me because YOU are fearfully and wonderfully made. My works are wonderful, and you can know that full well. (Psalm 139:13-14 paraphrase)

Though the mountains  be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed. (Isaiah 54:10)

I love the way the Message puts that verse:

For even if the mountains walk away and the hills fall to pieces, My love won't walk away from you, my commitment of peace won't fall apart." The God who has compassion on you says so. (Isaiah 54:10)

That picture of God never walking away, His love never leaving--it's so valuable to me. I think that one of my biggest fears is that God will look at me, throw up His hands, and walk away...because I'm too much work. But He's not like that. The fact is He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. He even loves me a LOT. Oh, did I mention He loves me?

Unlike Katelyn's kind of love which vacillates and teeters depending on the state of her emotions, God's love is unchanging. Micah 7:18-19 are some of the most beautiful verses EVER, in my opinion (I say that about a lot of verses though....)

Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea. (Micah 7:18-19)

Another favorite:

I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with lovingkindness. (Jeremiah 31:3)

And in the The Message:

God told them, "I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love!" (Jeremiah 31:3)

"I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love!"
It doesn't get much better than that.

Late Night Contemplations

You know that feeling when there's so much on your mind that you can't think straight? You can't decide if you feel overwhelmed, stressed, tired, lonely, happy, angry, depressed, unsure, or some other emotion you can't currently think of. Yeah, me too. It's moments like these when God often seems distant and far off. That's when I wonder, "God, does any of this matter to You? Do I matter to You? Really? Why am I even here?" I have, more times than I can count, screamed inwardly at Him these and other questions and demanded answers. Each time, He'll answer...it's just whether or not I will take the time to hear it.


A friend once prayed for me that I would be able to ask God these questions not simply in the heat of my frustration with an accusatory "prove it" attitude, but with a quiet spirit, while sitting at His feet. When she said that, I imagined a little girl crawling up on her daddy's lap with a sense of wonder and excitement. "Daddy," she says, "Do you love me?" "Am I beautiful?""Am I a princess?" "How much do you love me?" She knows the answers. She knows what he's going to say. But she wants to hear it. She wants to hear him say it.

And when she asks those questions, he loves answering them.

So tonight, I'm not going to do the whole temper tantrum scream at the sky thing. Oh, I'll ask the hard questions that have been plaguing my heart. But first, I'm going to crawl up onto my Daddy's lap, snuggle in close, and say, "Daddy, tell me again. How much do you love me?"

I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.  -Jeremiah 31:3 

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! -1 John 3:1

...how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ...this love that surpasses knowledge. -Ephesians 3:18-19

The Room

I carelessly tossed the piece of trash on the ground, as I disparagingly made my way through the piles of garbage. What had I gotten myself into? Surely...surely, he wasn't really going to come...here. After all, what was the point of trying to clean up a pigsty like this anyways? I had to think. I slowly made my way to the couch in the center of the room--if you could call it that. The thing was older than time, covered in a pattern long outdated, and with the springs poking through the ripped and faded fabric. It was both an aesthetic disaster and highly uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. No one was here but me...and I was used to it.

I tried to ignore the reeking and rotting mounds of junk--boxes filled with random trinkets, meals that never got finished, trophies from preschool, yesterday's homework. Half of the room was enclosed in a curtain--well, a sheet, that is--to make it look like less of a chaotic mess. It was the same with the piles, they were covered in various colored sheets, so that you couldn't really see what was underneath. Nevertheless, each sheet was labeled, so that I had an idea of what was there. Yes, this was my junk room. The room no one EVER came in. At least, no one ever had.

As I sat in the middle of my disastrous--yet oddly comfortable--room, I thought about what I'd gotten myself into. It had started with a conversation I'd had earlier that day, a conversation with a very dear friend. My friend had asked about this room of mine, that I never let anyone enter. I'd talked about it many times before--often flippantly, as if it wasn't a big deal. But there were a few times that I'd mentioned it not so flippantly. And he'd noticed. He tends to notice stuff like that. So, he brought it up. He asked if he could come see it. And if I'd wanted, he could help me clean it.

"Oh no." I'd responded, "You wouldn't possibly want to go in there."

"I think I would," He'd responded.

"But it's a mess! I mean...believe me when I say, it's a disaster."

"Oh, I believe you. I still want to come." Then--teasing, "you'll still be my favorite." He's been saying that to me for as long as I can remember. He says it whenever he's talking about someone he really likes...and he makes a point to always say it to me. But if I let him into that room, things might change.

I tried to convince him to give up on the idea, but when he gets an idea in his head, it's really hard to get it out. And somehow--after a momentary lapse of reason--I'd agreed. I'd agreed to let him in. Feeling sick to my stomach, I got up and paced, and attempted to make clean. But it was useless. Even if I managed to get all the trash out, there was still the matter of the broken rafters, the sagging walls, and the boarded up windows...not to mention the bathroom. We're not even going there.

And then, the sound that I had been dreading.

Knock. Knock.

Maybe if I waited, he would change his mind. Maybe he'd think I wasn't here. Maybe...

Knock. Knock.

Reluctantly I moved towards the door. "What am I doing?" I think to myself, "Surely this isn't necessary. He'll never want to be with me once he sees this. He'll hate me. If I let him in, he's just going to leave. He'll..."

Knock. Knock.

Gulp.

I open the door.

And there...there he is. And he is smiling. Oh that smile. Now I remembered, that smile was the whole reason I'd agreed to let him come. When I see that smile, I go senseless. In one hand he was holding a large black sack. With the other, he reached out and grabbed my hand, as if to assure me that everything was going to be okay. Then, he entered. He looked at the catastrophe. I mean, really looked at it. He walked around, perusing the whole thing.

And then he did something that I really didn't expect him to do. He began uncovering the piles. He pulled off the sheet "Busyness" to reveal a pile of loneliness and an old dresser whose drawers were overflowing with dreams I'd tried to forget. He pulled off "False Confidence" to reveal box after box of insecurity. He stripped off the one labeled, "Happy." Underneath were all sorts of sorrows and unhealed hurts, along with mounds of dirty gauze and band-aids that I'd used to cover up old wounds. Problem is, most of those wounds never fully healed...so the pile of band-aids just keeps growing.

With each pile I grew increasingly uncomfortable. And then he went to the side of the room that I was hoping he wouldn't--the curtain.

"No...please." I thought, "Anything but that."

If he went in there, he would see the one thing that I would worked so long and hard to hide. I hated--nay despised--this part of the room with an intense passion. Nevertheless, I couldn't get away from it. Going in there was like this neurotic compulsion for me--it was the only part of the room that was at all neat. Probably, because this was where I had spent the most amount of time...and now...now he was going to see it.

He looked long at hard the curtain. This curtain was the prettiest of them all and gave some semblance of order and beauty to the room...or so I told myself. It was labeled, "Perfection." He slowly but surely pulled it back to reveal just one old cardboard box, bland and boring. No big deal, right? On this box was the label, "Failures." He opened it. I couldn't watch. Now, he would see. He would see every time I'd hurt someone, every time I'd cursed someone under my breath, every time I'd let down myself and others, every time I'd sinned in my heart and with my hands...every one was in that box. I know, because I'd been through them over and over and over again.

And now, he'd seen them. He'd seen my room. He'd seen everything. There was no way he was going to stay, now that he knew how much work it was going to be.

He beckoned for me to come next to him, to where he was now sitting. He pulled out a failure and showed it to me. I choked back tears...I remembered that one as if it was yesterday. In fact, the page on which it was written was tear-stained, crumpled, and covered in shame. I had tried to throw it away many times before, but never could. It always ended up back in my box. Every. Single. Time. Throwing it away was pointless. Forgetting, impossible.

He then opened the large black sack, that he had carried in with him. I had forgotten about it until now.

"May I?" he asked.

"Oh you don't understand. I've tried...it never works."

He just grinned, crumpled the page, and tossed it in there. He didn't get it, did he? I opened my box, to show him that it would still be there, but when I looked for it, I discovered it wasn't. Stunned, I then opened his sack, to pull it back it. It wasn't there either.

"What...what's going on? How did you do that?"

"Do you remember that conversation, when I asked if you'd trust me?"

I nodded.

"Well, then, trust me."

I choked back tears as he pulled out another. This memory was more painful, the failure more apparent. We read over it and once again, he crumpled it up and tossed into his sack. Once again, it simply disappeared. Memory after memory, failure after failure went into that sack, and disappeared into the abyss. With each one, I could feel myself getting lighter and growing freer. As we went through them, I noticed, that some of the other piles of things began growing smaller, too. My insecurity pile was no longer as towering, my unhealed hurts were no longer as overwhelming.

Before I knew it, we had been through the whole box. I was unsure how to feel...I felt both exhausted and energized; terrified and terrific; free and frightened. In some ways, I felt frightened by my freedom. I had grown so used to the contents of that box, that now that they were gone, I didn't know what to do or how to feel.

He then turned to me and looked into my eyes--in the serious, probing way that only he can. "It's done," he said, "they're gone. You won't be able to find them again. So, don't try looking, because they won't be there. Forget about them. It's done."

I nodded, unable to speak. I looked around at the room, which was still messy, but different. I could see that the sun was shining through the window, as it set on the horizon. Spring flowers were starting to spring up outside that I hadn't noticed before.

Then he spoke again, lightly this time, his face breaking into a huge grin. He leaned in close and whispered, "And guess what? You're still my favorite."

Isaiah 43:18
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. Behold, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up, do you not perceive it?

Psalm 103:12
As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

When God Says "No"

I was going to try and write something amazing and profound, probably relating to Valentine's Day and trusting the Lord and being content and all that jazz...but then I read this post from October. And it so very much fits where I'm at right now, that I had to share it again. So here it is:

Being the highly privileged (okay spoiled) American Christian that I am, I have this tendency to think that the world revolves around me. After all, I’m God’s kid right? My needs. My wants. My passions. They are of utmost importance. However, you might be surprised (as was I!) to find that this is not actually the case (shocker, right?).
This mentality has led me to (I’m ashamed to say) treat God as my own personal magic maker.
“Dear God. I want this, this, and this. Please deliver quickly. Thanks. Me.”
Now, if I’m going to be honest, I don’t say it quite like that. That sounds far too selfish and egotistical, which are definitely not traits that a good Christian girl like me should have. Rather, it’s phrased:

“Dear God. I understand that you are in the business of blessing your children and doing what is best for their lives. I think I could help you out on blessing my life! (Pats self on back) I have here a plan—of my own devising, even—that I think you will be quite proud of. All it requires are these few things from you (very large list follows). That’s it! Thanks God. I knew you’d understand. By the way, you rock.”

If you have ever found yourself praying anything like the above prayer, please keep reading. But be warned, you might not like what comes next (I can’t say I did either).
Lo and behold, things do not go according to my plan, God doesn’t provide exactly what I want when I want it, and I…well, I do what any sweet, loving child would—I throw a temper tantrum.
This brings me to the whole purpose of this essay. It’s really far too simple in my opinion. Two letters, actually. But put together, they cause such trauma. No. It’s only two letters—not even enough to get points for in a Boggle (yes, I’m one of those weird academic types who likes things like that, thanks for reminding me).
That’s it. No.
When God says “no....” Hmmm...when God says "no...."I know, you’re just dying to finish that sentence. When God says “no” all hell breaks loose. Or when God says “no” everything in my life goes wrong. Or when God says “no” it’s because He loves me.
Whoa there. That can't be right. Six months ago, I would've violently argued against that. But I’ve learned a lot since then.
When God says “no” it’s because He loves you. Because He loves me. Think of a two year old who has no idea what’s good or isn’t good for them. The ball is in the street. They want the ball. A car is coming. What do would you say if your kid wanted to run into the street after the ball? "Go for it, honey!"? OF COURSE NOT! You would say, “NO!”
There’s a hot stove. They want to touch it. What do you say? “NO!” There’s an extra slice of cake. They want to eat it. They have an allergy to wheat that causes them to have terrible stomach aches. What do you say? “NO!” Do you see where this is going? I'm putting this in green because you need to get this:

Parents are constantly telling their children “no” because it’s what’s best for them. Likewise, God—our heavenly Father—says “no” to us when it’s what’s best for us, because He loves us.

This past year, I’ve had to learn the hard way that when God says “no,” He means it. And when He says “no” it’s because He loves me. And if—as I’ve been asking Him for quite some time now—I truly want to experience His love, then I have to be willing to experience His “no’s,” even when I’m desperate for a “yes.”

“For the Lord disciplines those He loves, just as a father the son he delights in” Hebrews 12:6.

Having babysat a lot of bratty children, I can attest to that. Without a doubt, the parents I admire most are those who take time to lovingly discipline their children. It shows me that a parent really loves their kids when they take time to correct them properly, even when it’s unpleasant. They’re more concerned about the long term effects of their kid’s character then whether or not they’re popular with their kids at that moment. Does it really matter if they get that second piece of candy (or video game or night with friends)? Parents who love their kids don’t give them whatever they want just because they want it. They say “no.”
If that’s the case with parents, then it most definitely translates to God. Sometimes, one of most loving things God can do for me is to not give me what I want simply because I want it. In essence, when He says “no,” He’s really saying, “I love you and I'm doing what's best for me, so my answer is 'no'”
Who would’ve thunk?—that’s what’s really going on when God says “no.”

Contemplations over ice packs and injuries

It's amazing how something as small as slipping and falling can mess up a whole afternoon. Or so it would seem. I re-pulled a muscle today that I pulled last month and it sent me into a fit of tears. But I was crying about a lot more than a bruised leg.
This past month has been an amazing month of the Holy Spirit's work in my life. He has been tearing down walls in my heart, opening up my spiritual eyes, and bringing me to the foot of the cross over and over and over again. As I've been growing in leaps and bounds, I've also been faced with struggles that keep appearing in leaps and bounds. Today, as I sat on the floor crying over my silly injury, my heart jumped at the chance to cry over all of the other things that were buried in there.
Yet, after all those tears, the only thing I can say is this: God is a God of faithfulness, even amidst struggle (especially amidst struggle!). He is faithful to keep His promises. As I've drawn close to Him over the past few months, He's given me a lot of promises and revealed a lot of truths to me. It has been a huge exercise in trust for me to stand on these promises. As I lay with an ice pack and a large amount of pillows under my leg, I kept thinking of all things that I'm struggling to believe God for. Doubts kept screaming at my mind, "Can God really love you that much? Will He really come through? Surely not. Why would He do that for you? Why would He actually care for you?"
The only answer I could find was the one thing that I've been standing on (albeit somewhat shakily, I admit). Time and time again, I find myself coming back to the simplest, most elementary--yet the most revolutionary--truth. God is love. And He loves me.
If I believe that God truly loves me then all of my fears are invalidated. Every. Single. One. As 1 John 4:18 says, "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."
He loves me, therefore He will do what's best for me. He loves me, therefore He will keep His promises. He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
1 John 4:10 "This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins."
I think that I just need to sit and chew on that for a very long time. It sounds like the perfect accompaniment to a blanket, a large amount of pillows and perhaps...an ice pack.

Just another opportunity to love....

A friend once described work as, “just another opportunity to love.” I thought that was cute. And kind of forgot about it. At the time, I was in a job I hated, partially because I was almost always all by myself. I love working with people and detest being by myself. So the whole “just another opportunity to love” didn’t really fit so much. It was more like “just another opportunity to not start belting out the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid to keep myself from boredom.” It required a great deal of self-control on a daily basis. Or maybe it was “just another opportunity to be thankful.” Hmm…it was one of those.
Well, all that to say, tonight I got to experience both of those (well maybe not Little Mermaid.)-- “just another opportunity to love ” and “just another opportunity to be thankful.” Long story short: it was a crazy, highly stressful night. Even though I’m “just a hostess” I busted my butt to help the highly stressed servers. I bussed tables, ran food, watered, set, polished silverware, seated people, apologized to angry guests that the food was taking so long…(none of which is actually in my job description, by the way). We had a huge group of people who ran a tab of about $1000, so I knew that the server I worked with would get an automatic gratuity of close to $200, plus there were other people in the restaurant. So it’s only logical for me to expect that she would give me a decent tip for helping her out.
Seven dollars.
That’s it. Didn’t even break the double digits. Now, I’m not trying to be greedy here, but I’d be lying to say I wasn’t rather put off. Did she really value my help that little? I should’ve just let her deal with the pissed off people by herself for that appreciation. I left work trying very hard to have a good attitude about the whole thing.
As I brooded while driving home, I very quietly heard the Holy Spirit whisper, “Who do you work for?”
“But did you see how she treated me?” I responded, avoiding the question. “Not to mention, she has this terrible habit of patronizing me so that I feel like I’m a seven year old and it’s making me crazy!” Silence. I knew He was waiting for my response, although I was still determined to get His sympathy for this malfeance. “I can’t believe she treated me like that. How selfish. I would be so much more generous. Maybe we should switch places. What do You say to that? I know I just got hired but I could get a promotion.”
Once more a tender, gentle voice, “Who do you work for?”
He wasn’t going to let this one go.
Finally, I begrudgingly answered, “You. I work for You.”
“In that case, who makes certain you get adequate recompense for your work? Who provides for you?”
“But you don’t -- ”
“Who provides for you?”
Sigh. “You do.”
At that moment I remembered Moshe’s quote, “work is just another opportunity to love.” I knew that God was asking me to love, even though that was the last thing I felt like doing. And I knew that He was asking me to let go and trust Him that I would get justly rewarded for my hard work.
I thought of that pathetic, measly seven dollars, a bitter reminder of the apparently low value placed on my labor. However, slowly my perception of those seven dollars changed. I suddenly realized that they weren’t meant to make me bitter, but to teach me, to train me, and quite frankly, build some desperately needed character in me. After all, work is just another opportunity to love.

Humility? Eh...

Confession:
Sometimes I hate it that the Lord knows me so well.
Sometimes it drives me crazy when He starts revealing things in my heart.
Sometimes I can't stand it that He's right.
Theme for the day? Pride.
I went on walk this morning, and the Lord started showing me that the reason I'm struggling with sin is that I have this unwillingness to truly submit to Him and submit to authority, even if it's just simple things. I keep wanting to do things my own way and am unwilling to change. Even though I want to change with almost everything within me. Twisted, I know.
I decided that I didn't really feel like dealing with pride today, so I ignored it and went along in my miserable little way, feeling sorry for myself that my life isn't so dandy. And then I did this Bible study online and what was the subject? Oh, yes. Pride.
I hate it when He does that.
And yet...the mere fact that He's bringing this up means that it's important. And it means that He loves me enough to not let me get away with that which is destroying my soul. So, even though it frustrates me that He exposes my heart and wants to deal with the garbage that's in there, it means that He loves me. The Bible says that the Lord "disciplines those whom He loves." It's an act of love, even if it doesn't feel like it.
And I guess the fact that I'm so resistant to this subject shows just how correct He is in bringing it up. Sigh.
Okay, Daddy, I guess this means that I have more to learn (go figure), and more to let You do in me (surprise, surprise). So, even though I feel virtually incapable of actually humbling myself, and so totally stuck in my prideful patterns...here I am. I want to be humble before You and I know that I need You. A lot. So...here I am. That's a good place to start, right?

Forgiveness

Confession #1
I have a problem with forgiveness.
Now, this problem doesn't manifest itself in the way forgiveness usually does. Most people have hard time forgiving others. For me, that's not usually the case. Rather, I struggle with forgiving myself.
For as long as I can remember, I have had impeccably high ideals. From the kind of person I would be to the kind of things I would do to the kind of man I would marry, I never once wanted to settle for second best. And while this--to some extent--caused me to strive for the best, it also had the opposite of the intended effect. When my striving didn't immediately attain the desired outcome, I'd throw up my hands and give up. And sabotage all the efforts I just went to.
As a perfectionist, that wasn't particularly beneficial.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that, the perfectionist in me refuses to die and let myself make mistakes. And the sluggard in me refuses to step up and let myself give my best. And I'm stuck in the middle somewhere, in this deadly mix of anger at myself and an overpowering desire to give up. Did I mention that this combination also knows just how to send myself esteem to the sewers?
So here I am with my sky-high ideals, disintegrating motivation, and vanishing self-image: your very own walking contradiction.
Now what? Shall I continue wallowing in the pit that I have dug for myself as I so often have done before? A lovely mixture of self-pity, self-loathing, frustration, and overall agony?
No thanks.
Been there. Done that.
It sucks.
I think it's time to step out of the slums and the best way I know how to do that is through Scripture.

Psalm 103:8-17

The LORD is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger, abounding in love.
9 He will not always accuse,
nor will he harbor his anger forever;
10 he does not treat us as our sins deserve
or repay us according to our iniquities.
11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
12 as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
13 As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
14 for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.
15 As for man, his days are like grass,
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
16 the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
17 But from everlasting to everlasting
the LORD's love is with those who fear him

I struggle with forgiving myself, yet the Lord forgives me. His Word says "He does not treat me as my sins deserve." Why should I hold against myself what God does not? Am I above God? God remembers that I am dust...why can't I?
He forgives me. Am I greater than God that I should dangle sin over my head, that I should withhold the grace of God from me? It does nothing but hurt me.
Jesus has chosen to forgive me. To love me. To continue loving me even when I do stupid things. And make choices that I know I shouldn't. As long as I wallow in unforgiveness, I'm blocking the work of the Holy Spirit in my life. Not cool.
So, Daddy, I'm sorry for the mistakes I've made and for choosing to sin. Forgive me, Lord. Help me have a new start. Help me walk in freedom and forgiveness. You forgive me, therefore I will forgive myself. It's a choice.