Fatigue

It is late again, and once again I find myself awake. I am soooo sleepy, weary, desolate during the day, but once I lay down... an ache starts in my extreme lower back and soon this nagging pain drives me to find some other, more comfortable way to lay, to sit, to stand. . . anything. . .

And I am awake.

It is never in vain to be awake, however, if our God has something to say. Trouble is, I do not seem to understand it. I know my trust has been lacking lately. I have been so tired. Tired of the same old battles that never seem to be won, only fought endlessly and repetitively. Tired of pain. Tired of waking up. Tired. Funny, many of my earliest memories are of being tired. I remember being sleepy in school, groggy when we were dropped off, exhausted when we were picked up. In fact, I cannot remember a moment in life when I was not tired in some measure or another. Just the other day, my husband took a look at me during breakfast and sent me back to bed. I told him I didn't feel I could sleep, that I wasn't very tired. Then I woke at noon. From that point on, I realized that I was just regular tired for the rest of the day, not the bone-crushing, strength-sapping weariness that typically presses on me. I was merely sleepy, not borderline psychotic.

So why all this muttering about being tired? Well, the truth is that I do understand what God is saying to me. I have been discontent, but He calls me to focus on Him and be satisfied. I have been restless, but He calls me to rest. I have been angry, but He calls me to love instead. I have felt slighted, but He reminds me that apart from the slights Christ bore, I would receive wrath as well. I have felt despondent, but He whispers that my reward is not here on earth, my life is not for my own pleasure, and my mind must not linger anywhere but on the Author and Perfecter of my faith. Of course, He is right.

I have dwelt on my own sorrow and discomfort rather than on the One who laid aside glory to cloak Himself in clumsy flesh. Doing so, He gave up comfort for pain so that I may some day be free entirely, trade this perishable body for an imperishable one, and truly live. In coming to live and die as a man, He was willingly bereft of Something--some bond, some part of Himself--in a way that I can never completely grasp, just to pay the penalty for my crimes so that I can live with Him in eternity. He loved me, not when I was careful, sincere, and generous, but when I was reckless, false, and stingy. Not when I was striving to achieve the glorious purity of holiness, but when I was spiritually akin to a grime-layered, homeless junkie who cared only for the next fix. He called me to trust Him when I did not even trust myself, and I did.

Now He reminds me: "You came to Me, dear, and You believed. Belief must not waver now that your rags are patched and your belly full. Yes, little one, you are tired, but you must not give up. I have given you a task to do, and you must do it even if you do not think you can. Trust Me to use your little strength for My glory. Do as you are told, even if it doesn't seem to come out right just now. Leave the results to Me. For I have searched you and known you. I know when you sit down and when you rise up. I discern your thoughts from afar. I search out your path and your lying down, and am acquainted with all your ways. Even before a word is on your tongue, I know it altogether. I hem you in, behind and before, and lay my hand upon you. You are weary, but I shall give you rest. Just come to Me, know that My hand is indeed upon You, and rest in Me. I, your Lord, have the rest that no sleep can provide, the peace that no circumstance can offer. In Me you will find the life-giving Water so that you may never thirst again. I am your Rock, your Shelter, your Comforter and Guide. I am your Savior and your Creator. I AM. Come to me, lay your burdens down, and go about your work with a good cheer. I will be with you always... "

And I believe Him.

"I have said these things to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Insomnia

It is nearly midnight--a time I have only recently seen when a thunderstorm or nightmare wakes one of the children--and I am wide awake. Many thoughts have been careening through my head in the last few hours, and I am only just beginning to sort through them. Where do I begin? I suppose it would be best to begin with love. It was love that began me, after all.

When I speak so of love, I am not speaking of the rather clunky attempts humanity makes of the thing, nor do I mean to make a crude joke of the eros that was, nonetheless, certainly a fact of my beginning. I am speaking of Love as a Person. It is written that God is Love, and that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. So you see, Love began me long before my earthly parents met or were even born. My Father had already set in motion a staggering number of events that would eventually lead to the birth of the child that was me. Astonishingly and almost unthinkably, this is no less true for anyone, whether or not they believe.

In this same multitude of events, my Father had also arranged for the death of that child, just as He arranged for the death of His Son. Jesus died selflessly, bearing my sins. I died shamefully only when I began to understand the weight of what He had given for silly, selfish, petty me.

Today (or to be particular, yesterday as of two minutes ago), as I celebrated His resurrection with my blood family and my church family, I thought of Paul as he wrote, "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." True, my flesh is not dead, but a person is more than their meat. The part that is me is crucified--hanged by the sheer perfection of Love and my own unworthiness of it--and it is dying the slow death of crucifixion as each year reveals yet another layer of separation from God and yet another facet of the merciful Savior who stands ready to receive me into life--real Life--once this death is complete. This Savior without Whom I would have no chance whatsoever of seeing my way free of the absolute human bondage of sin; without Whom I would not even see the chains.

Oh, and all this is just a mote--just a speck that I am struggling to put into words! This is the second time I have been flooded with a love that was far too exquisite to be human, far too immense to be my own. Along with that pulsing, cascading, aching sharpness is the certainty that it is also but the merest breath of True Love. So much love, so much life, so much mystery rushes through my mind. . .

How I love each of my brothers and sisters in Christ... not only as brothers and sisters, but as members of the same Body. . .

How I love the gifts and strengths of each and long to see them finally unbound by that which is crucified . . .

How I am torn by the weaknesses of each--my own included--and weep at the frailty of flesh removed from glory by sin. . .

How I am at once exhilarated and frightened by the depth of this Love that is both an unquenchable fire and a rushing torrent of water. . .

How I am captivated by the wonder of it all, wanting at once to be consumed by it and yet still clinging to the old self out of simple fear of the unknown. . .

How even now as I sit typing, groping for words, I know that this Story is too expansive to be contained by mere words. I can only communicate in terms of my experience with taste, touch, smell, sight, emotion. . . I am captive of my senses, and yet I have the distinct impression that even sensuality is only "dirty" by the corruptive twisting of sin.

In contemplation of self or in love of others, it is often impossible to separate the sinner from the sin. My God, blessed be His name! does not share that problem, and in Him all things are plain, pure, undefiled, and Real. A child understands such simple and complete love without the complications or nuances added by a decaying mind. For we are born into decay, and the corruption grows as our bodies grow, infecting us more and more completely. It is only by opening ourselves to Love, by allowing the crucifixion of that which is perishable, that we can be raised one day imperishable. It is another seeming paradox. But what is paradox if not to show the fragility of human understanding? One breath of truth and it all comes tumbling gloriously down.

Growing Season

My, it has been a while since my last posting. My friends, I am hoping I have finally experienced the death throes of the proverbial old self (Ephesians 4:22, Colossians 3:3 ), although I fear there may be more to come. My old self is obstinate, and though it has been crucified with Christ (Romans 6:6), it will get up and put on a gruesome parody of life now and then. But for a time, the ridiculous spectre is quiet and there is peace. For a time...

I find it difficult to commit to words the internal struggle of the last several months. The Refiner's fire, the Pruner's shears... Are there even truly words for spiritual matters? I suspect that they can at best bring a murky sort of illumination to that which we see in a mirror dimly (1 Corinthians 13:12). It wasn't that anything particularly went wrong, mind you. One man's blessing is another man's curse. Just as metal ores are assayed by differing methods according to the type of metal the assayer hopes to prove, so my faith was tested in specific degrees and in select areas. There could be no truer test. The deliciously sweet bit--the part that I am now savoring--is that my Father has been there through it all, exactly as he assured me He would be one summer evening a few short months ago. Oh, sure, there were times when I gave in to anger and frustration, times when I questioned my own motives and even my own salvation. But isn't that just the point? What good is a test if it does not question the validity of the very thing it is meant to prove?

You may be wondering what this mysterious test was all about. It is all so silly... a simple point of will. I could say the words, "Not my will, but Yours be done," but I had such a time actually meaning them! My will, my plans for my life were oh, so very different from the life I live now. You see, my plans involved much for my own pleasure and comfort (which, I admit, is weirdly different from most people's way of viewing things. I am blessed with many worldly comforts, but less than I sometimes like of what comforts me). My Lord's plans are designed around shaping me to the likeness of Himself. That means laying down my life--completely--for others. Perhaps not literally dying for them, but if my life is lived for others and not for myself, is that not the same thing? And who knows that I may not be asked to die for someone in the future? It also means love as it looks toiling in labourer's clothing and not at repose with coffee and chatter . It means weary hours surrounded by people when solitude is my deepest desire. It means many things that are trifling to others but strike me at the very root of my selfish heart.

But no more of all of that. This afternoon as I walked into the backyard, a pileated woodpecker flew no more than a yard or so directly in front of me. He was stunning! I was able to feel the cool air and enjoy the promise of peas, spinach, and lettuce sprouts in the garden. I eagerly await planting time for the later crops. And as I held the gate to the beautiful new fence in place so my husband could retrieve a forgotten tool, I was brought full circle to that summer evening surrounded by birdsong and Creation's psalm to the Creator. A pair of robins flew by, chased away by a mocking bird, so close I could hear their wingbeats. The busy spring chatter of nest making and egg-making filled the chilly air as the sun sank below the horizon. In all of nature and in my heart I felt it: winter is over. Spring has begun.

Bland or Blind?

"...it might be true that the sun rises regularly because he never gets tired of rising. His routine might be due, not to a lifelessness, but to a rush of life. The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game or joke that they especially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony... It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we." --G. K. Chesterton

I ran across the above quote in an excerpt from G. K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy. What an excellent description of the pure, sweet energy of love and life when it is not beaten down by decay, sin, and sorrow! There is an obvious connection to such Scriptures as Matthew 18:3 ("...unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven"), but I wonder if this ability to take delight in endless repetition goes beyond merely youthful? Perhaps the adult longing for newness is more a symptom of our fallen nature than we realize. Just maybe our penchant for diversity is not a healthy appreciation of variety, but a sign of instability and restlessness of spirit. I believe that our distress at sameness stems not from the repetitiveness of the event but from a failure of concentration.

Consider James 1:2-4; "Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." Is it my imagination, or does the word, "endurance" have some connotation of drudgery? Do we not merely endure the ordinary far more than the extraordinary?

When initially reading these verses, I thought of these trials as being major events--change or testing on a grand scale. But what is more trying to the human spirit than monotony? Personally, it is not in the moments of great adversity that I find my faith most sorely tested, but in the day-to-day tedium of routine and repetition. The same old dishes, the same old faces, the same old scenery... Often, I fear, it is not our routine that has become tiresome but our attitudes. We trudge through glorious moment after glorious moment of our lives with dulled senses; soaking up the granduer and yet emanating the stale odor of death. However, my children positively revel in each reiteration of yesterday! They are alive in the moment, delighting still in the color of the dish or the depth of the scene. All of life is fresh and new to them. They have not yet been so damaged by sin as to grow bored with the sheer wonder of breathing in and breathing out.

What if we could recapture that quality? It is my prayer that each person who reads this will be granted the grace to see the beauty in sameness. Indulge in monotony today! Be alive and present in each task you undertake, each moment of your routine. After all, it is not the variety of color that makes the maple tree stunning in autumn, but the blaze of matching yellow-gold leaves. Our magnificent God, Himself, is steady and unchanging (see Malachi 3:6, James 1:17). So we see there is resplendence in monotony; it is up to us to take the time to relish it.

Transformation

Sometimes, I wonder if the process of metamorphosis is uncomfortable or even painful for the butterfly. I used to think of it as a kind of sleep from which it woke, stretched, and was surprised to burst the seams of a pupa case. More recently, I believe that there is an element of pain, struggle, and possibly panic involved. Imagine with me....



Suppose the caterpillar is simply going along about his day when, quite suddenly, he is seized by something he does not understand. He is compelled by a strong desire to leave off his munching and go to seek a quiet place, just the right spot, where he spins his chrysalis. Then he waits, there in the muted light. Does he feel pain as the transformation begins? Does he sleep, or is he at least partially alert as his body undergoes those remarkable changes? I imagine that no sleep would be deep enough to fully blot out the immense alterations that wrack his body. Regardless, he commits himself fully into the hands of his Maker, fasts, and waits. Perhaps he does sleep, wracked by torturous dreams. Then one day he wakes, not to the cozy chrysalis he had built, but to a confining, stifling agony of pressure. He is constrained on all sides, hard pressed. He cannot breathe! What is this? What is God doing, to bring him to this? He must get out, must! He begins to struggle, weakly at first due to his long fast. Then, perhaps, panic overtakes him and his struggles become frenzied, rocking the temporary home until, finally, the walls split. Abruptly, he struggles out; suddenly, he is free. Clinging to the old, dead bit of material he breathes in great gasps, not quite certain of what has happened. Maybe he hangs on to the empty shell for a bit, maybe he recoils in disgust and crawls away to find a new place to rest from his exertion. Does he realize right away that he now has wings? How does it feel to stretch them, to understand that the chrysalis was suddenly a prison because of them? What a wonder! All the difficulties, all the questions are suddenly brought to light. A transformation has taken place! It is well worth the trial, the suffering, the labor. It is worth so much more! No more tedious munching on leaves, crawling about on the stony ground, and hiding from predators. He can soar!



I think that, just maybe, my life is a bit like that. I have gone through much tedious drudgery, much ground-dwelling, many days of fear of what might find me. At some point, I was suddenly compelled to seek out the Lord and I did build a bit of a protective shell around myself. At this point in my life, I feel stifled and compressed. I should not feel surprised, for the Lord Himself said, "For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life..." (Matthew 7:14) I pray only that God would grant me the steadfastness to endure that He gave the little butterfly. I ask for that strength beyond my own means to squeeze through when the time is ripe. I hope that someday, like the butterfly, I will emerge on the other side, victorious.

"For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven ... For the love of Christ controls us, having concluded this, that one died for all, therefore all died; and He died for all, so that they who live might no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose again on their behalf. Therefore from now on we recognize no one according to the flesh; even though we have known Christ according to the flesh yet now we know Him in this way no longer. Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come." 2 Corinthians 5:2, 14-17

Service With a Smile

At our community group tonight (Note to any readers not from our church: Read "community group" as "small group," "Bible study group," "bunch-of-Jesus-freaks-who-hang-out-eat-and-pray-together group," or whatever you are most comfortable with...), we were discussing service. Interestingly, and very likely not coincidentally, God has been dealing with me in this area recently. Specifically, He has been working on my heart in the service I provide to my family.

I will be honest, I have been chafing at the bit a little lately. There are so many unfullfilled desires--time to work out, a house that stays clean for more than 10 minutes, hikes I would like to take, time to write, conversations I long to have or people I would enjoy spending time with without having to break up a sibling argument or find a lost hair barrette... and plenty of others. I am ashamed to admit that my thoughts have dwelt far more on these things of late rather than on my husband and children. I must even confess occasional stabs of jealousy at my husband's workout time during his lunch hour. I turned these cares over to my Father in prayer, and He replied, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me."


This is not what I wanted to hear.


"But God!" I argued, "I am so tired! I need to somehow teach these children, manage my household, minister to my husband, and the list just goes on and on and on. I badly want to get back in shape, but for that I need time. And sometimes such and such a thing irritates me so. I just don't feel that I can deal with it anymore. Wouldn't this scenario be a better one for my life? I really think I would have more joy if only You would change ______."

"... let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me."

"Lord, I feel like that is all I've ever done is deny myself! Remember _____ and _____ and _____? Can't I, just this once ______?"

"...let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me."

"Oh, but it is so heavy! I want to serve You with joy, but my cross is too heavy for me and I feel I am just trudging ahead numbly."

"Heavier than the weight of all sins of all time, past, present and future? Heavier than My Son, who was with Me since the beginning, enduring separation from Me--not because He sinned, as you have--but because He chose to bear your sins out of love? Is your service weightier than His, child? Deny yourself, take up your cross daily and follow Me."

So here I am again, absolutely convicted and not really liking it; praying for the grace to follow Him and for the desires of my heart to be aligned fully with His.

Father, please turn my heart around and make me Your faithful servant. Help me to carry the cross You have given me, not because I must, but because I love You so. Grant me the grace to take up my cross daily with an attitude of eager privilege, participating in some minute way in the sufferings of my Lord and Master. Give Your servant a greater love for You and a lesser love for my own comforts and cravings. May I yearn only for more of You. I ask for this grace in Jesus' name, amen.

Perspective

Today started out like an ordinary day... I was feeling a little sluggish and behind in my morning schedule. You know, not quite ready to start the school day and all the chores... not dreading it, exactly, but not looking forward to it either. I sent birthday greetings to two friends on Facebook and found my ex-step-sisters and their families... in general, I was procrastinating working out and schoolday prep that needed to be done before the kids were up and school started. I admit I was feeling a little selfish and just wishing I could sit and write, have an extra cup of coffee, maybe read a little, maybe workout for a whole hour and simply not deal with teaching, disciplining, instructing, training, feeding, cleaning, cooking, bill paying, and so on. I wasn't excited about a few phone calls I needed to make, either. Whatever I was, I was not "doing my work heartily as to the Lord and not to men..." But I got up, spent what little time I'd left myself doing some stretching, ab exercises, and those maddeningly difficult 'advanced' judo push-ups, and got ready for the day.

Around 8:00, I had settled into Aria's reading lesson while waiting on Nate to finish up in the bathroom. Just as we were finishing, the telephone rang. As is my schooltime habit, I let the machine get it and heard the voice of an old friend whom I had not heard from in a while on the other end. Something in her tone told me to pick it up, so I did. I was in for a shift in perspective.

She had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She had surgery on August 19, and she was gracious enough in the midst of this heart wrenching trial to think of me halfway across the state and take the time to call and tell me personally. She had an amazing tale of God's provision of wisdom, help, and strength. He is there with her, very palpably with her, through this and her faith amazed and humbled me. Because of His guidance, the cancer was caught early and the prognosis is good. She is continuing to homeschool her children despite having chemotherapy treatments starting next month. She sounded incredibly positive and steady and as even-keeled as ever. I wanted to cry, then I wanted not to cry when she was not. I wanted to laugh that she has such a good attitude. I wanted to hang my head in shame that I had been so caught up in ridiculous self-serving thoughts just moments before. I wanted to get on my knees and beg forgiveness from God for not trusting Him in my petty, little trials. I wanted to praise Him for preserving her life and for helping me to remember that all things, all trials, all troubles will someday pass away. Thank You, God, for Lori and I pray that You will protect her heart through all of this and that she will be around to bless us all for many more years.