tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144978502024-03-13T12:04:15.696-05:00Beautiful GodA Blog by Amy Rachel PetersonAmy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-55341562989153176242020-04-02T14:36:00.004-05:002020-04-02T16:09:43.502-05:00"Though the Body Is Shut In" — An Ancient Church Father Weighs in on "Lockdown"<h2 style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">"Though the body is shut in, though the flesh is confined,
all things are open to the spirit. In spirit, then, roam abroad; in
spirit walk about . . ."</span></span></span></i></span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tertullian, the ancient church father, wrote a profound letter to Perpetua and the other young Christians with her in a Roman prison. He was coaching them through the imprisonment, the isolation, the upcoming martyrdom—so full of potential emotional and spiritual pitfalls. Odd as it seems, his letter rings true for us today, in our coronavirus lockdowns and our uncertain times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As we encounter fear for our families and futures, it seems that our fleshly tendencies toward selfishness, division, and lust are exacerbated and revealed. Perhaps we've had a first few days of staying strong, but at some point the Lord's purpose for our individual hearts in this lockdown will become apparent: up to the surface comes the dross, visible in all its slimy, grey grime. Mothers who are suddenly homeschooling may be the most vocal about it, but fathers who are contemplating losing their incomes and singles who are getting a bit too much "community" with their housemates and older folks who are becoming more and more isolated are all feeling the deep effects as well. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Honestly, we're surprised by our own susceptibility to irritation and fear, which bubble up and become visible inside this "lockdown" pressure cooker. It's even more surprising to find out that the "holy" persecuted Christians, already imprisoned and sentenced to death because they had tenaciously held on to their faith in Jesus, were discovering the VERY SAME PROBLEMS inside themselves. So, they had faced down the threat of death and stayed strong, but they hadn't arrived at the simple Christian maturity to handle the practical irritations/limitations with grace? Unbelievable.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tertullian coaches:</span></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Satan will try to set you "at variance with each other" (dissensions, fights, etc.)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't let "this separation from the world alarm you" (for "the world is more really the prison . . . you have gone out of a prison rather than into one.")</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You have "lost some of life's sweets", but even businessmen understand that it is good to "suffer present loss, that after gains may be the larger."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">According to Tertullian, there are massive pluses to being forced into one room instead of being able to walk around the streets freely. We don't see prostitution, immodestly dressed people, idolization. We aren't being persecuted or grieved by watching evil around us. We have liberty to pray. In his words:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"<span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">You
have no occasion to look on strange gods, you do not run against their
images; you have no part in heathen holidays, even by mere bodily
mingling in them; you are not annoyed by the foul fumes of idolatrous
solemnities; you are not pained by the noise of the public shows, nor by
the atrocity or madness or immodesty of their celebrants; your eyes do
not fall on stews and brothels; you are free from causes of offense,
from temptations, from unholy reminiscences; you are free now from
persecution too. The prison does the same service for the Christian
which the desert did for the prophet."</span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have friends who are angry about the economic devastation of what they see as government overreactions and are reevaluating their plans for the future, and others who are taking joy in more time with their children and less time obligated to "good" social/church events. I know some who are intensely fearful of falling ill or who are freezing up on the path God already set before them, and others who are pushing through fear to try to take joy in serving those in pain. We are a mixed bag . . . faith and fear fight for ascendancy in one soul, and the turmoil inside unsettles us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My pastor reminds us often that God is a master of 10-dimensional chess. The coronavirus is not about you — that's not why half the world's population is on lockdown and the global economy is shot overnight. It's God's judgment on the world's rampant bloodshed and perversion. It's Satan's attack on the human race and the growing movement of large Christians gatherings. It's God's invitation for His people to reset, reevaluate, and resume the core activities of life in Christ Jesus. It's nature's stingback at being genetically manipulated, poked, twisted, and misused. It's a humbling . . . potentially clearing the way for a revival. It's a pruning of the church and a shaking of the world. It's many more things. And while they all together form a perfect storm — one that could forever change the way life in our century is lived — you have not been forgotten on those waves. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Peace, be still." And even the wind and the waves obeyed Him. Remember:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">"The
prison does the same service for the Christian which the desert did for
the prophet."</span></span></span></b></i></span></span></h2>
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<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">So in the midst of the world's perfect storm and your refining-fire "prison" (a.k.a, home lockdown), when the outcomes are unknowable, we have an invitation from God, who calls us those "who do not live according to the flesh but according to the Spirit" (Rom 8:4). </span></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">There is a great invitation before us, the same one that was before every imprisoned Christian before us. "Life" is upended — but was that really "life", or was it merely existence? I believe we are meant to find REAL life in the middle of these days, on these particular pages of plot twists and unexpected disasters. It is there for the finding and the taking. But, as Tertullian coached Perpetua, it must be chosen . . . choose the Spirit and not the flesh. Who knows where God will take us! </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><b><i><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">"</span></span></i></b></span><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents"><i><span style="color: #38761d;"><b>Let us drop the name of prison; let us call it a place of
retirement. Though the body is shut in, though the flesh is confined,
all things are open to the spirit. In spirit, then, roam abroad; in
spirit walk about, not setting before you shady paths or long
colonnades, but the way which leads to God. As often as in spirit your
footsteps are there, so often you will not be in bonds. The leg does not
feel the chain when the mind is in the heavens. The mind compasses the
whole man about, and whither it wills it carries him. But where thy
heart shall be, there shall be thy treasure. Be there our heart, then, where we would have our treasure."</b></span> </i> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="ctlContentModules"><span id="ctl00_ctl00_cphBody_cphContents_ctl02_ctlDocumentContents">I encourage you to read the whole letter to the imprisoned — you'll be surprised how helpful an ancient church father can be in modern-day troubles. To read, <a href="https://www.saintperpetua.com/Groups/1000005173/Ad_Martyras_To.aspx" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a></span></span></span></span></div>
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Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-1046397117153862132019-07-15T00:27:00.001-05:002019-07-15T01:05:54.609-05:00Why Read the Last Chapter?—Caring about God’s Story in the Book of Revelation<h1>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">IT WAS A PRIVILEGE TO WRITE THIS BLOG ORIGINALLY FOR <a href="https://www.ihopkc.org/resources/blog/why-read-last-chapter-revelation/" target="_blank">IHOPKC.ORG</a>. REPOSTED HERE WITH PERMISSION.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">“U</span>gh, I’ve never read the book of Revelation.”<br />
<br />
“Oh,” I stammered, taken aback. “Why?”<br />
<br />
My mind raced, trying to generate the most positive
benefit-of-the-doubt explanation—she’d been a believer for years, but
maybe she just hadn’t gotten that far in her Bible reading yet. Her
offhanded answer silenced my attempted “spin”:<br />
<br />
“It’s too confusing and scary.”<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>She shrugged nonchalantly. She was positive she wouldn’t understand the last book of the Bible and had no plan to ever read it.<br />
<br />
I’d spent the recent months finishing the first draft of a new novel.
How carefully I had crafted the storyline! Threads that ran from the
very beginning of the first chapter were finally wrapped together in the
last. An astounding thought hit me: Was it possible a reader might
simply never read the end of the story?<br />
<br />
<i>Does anyone do that?</i><br />
<br />
Flabbergasted, a deep sense of solidarity with my Creator sparked
inside me. In that moment I saw God as an artist, a history teller,
writing an intricate storyline that is not only true but every detail of
which He’s carefully crafted over thousands of years. His life and His
heart have been poured into this book called the Bible—it’s His primary
way of showing Himself to those He loves most deeply, after all. More
than that, His future is in this book. As a novelist, I write holy
fiction, but He writes holy <i>truth</i>.<br />
<br />
From the point of view of an author, the book of Revelation is the
final chapter of a sweeping, beautiful saga. (And as C. S. Lewis
suggests in <i>The Last Battle</i>, that saga is the title page of
the Great Story itself, which will unfold for eternity.) The Bible’s
narrative encompasses the human story from its beginning to its end, and
all our moments from the mundane to the epic. I find my soul written
out in its pages. Not one of us is absent. Artists like Lewis have told
us much about ourselves, but no earthly wordsmith could create this
perfect revealing of the individual heart, illuminated by the context of
God’s Great Story. He has written us a book not only about Himself but
about ourselves.<br />
Like the best novels and true-life accounts, the Bible has a
conclusion that blows the reader’s mind and makes sense of the rest of
the story. This is reasonable since it itself is the cosmic, true story,
the structure of which forms the pattern for all substories and
parables and fables: good vs. evil (we couldn’t have made this up before
Eve ate—it wasn’t in our realm of knowledge); the hero and the beauty
(yes, love and rescue and self-sacrifice, all started in the Trinity’s
heart before Adam ever saw her); the final showdown; happily-ever-after .
. . you get the picture. What we know of story, we got from God’s.
Without His initiation of a beginning, a middle, an end, and an
eternity, we’d be stuck in lives of seasonless monotony.<br />
<br />
Young girls love to curl under their blankets and listen to Daddy
read stories in character. They even love when the slightly scary wolf
makes a wolfy growl in Daddy’s throat voice, and they can shiver
excitedly, all cozy because the safety of being the little one snuggled
next to Daddy’s gentle bulk is a delight beyond compare. How I love
watching violent thunderstorms from the cover of a deep porch. Mist
occasionally dampens my face; meanwhile, an arm’s length away, blasts of
wind and water are ripping leaves off trees and raging down the asphalt
road. It exposes life’s real situation: <i>the earth is in chaos, and I am safe.</i><br />
<br />
Why do we forget this when it’s time to dig into the troubling and
mysterious, literal and obscure, final chapter of the Word—The
Revelation of Jesus Christ? (That’s its full title, by the way.) It
might speak of frightening times and take intentional work to
understand, but isn’t love found there—in the searching and the resting,
in watching the chaos from inside the arms of a God who tells me His
secrets ahead of time, to keep my heart safe?<br />
<br />
Have I ever shied away from knowing about the danger “out there”?
Probably. Has my ignorance kept me from appreciating the power God is
daily exercising in keeping me safe? Yes. If I knew that He’d arranged
for a reckless car to run out of gas before it reached my intersection,
I’d feel a lot of gratefulness at the end of the day. Could it be that
telling the vulnerable their real story is a gift to them, not an
assault on their fears? There are dozens of reasons to ingest and
understand the storyboard of the upcoming showdown between God (and His
Church) and Satan (and rebellious humans)—a.k.a. the end times as
revealed in Revelation—and this one undergirds them all: love.<br />
I wish my tongue-tied self could have shared this with the friend who doesn’t plan to study Revelation: <i>Dearest
one who doesn’t want to read the last chapter of a story that’s
actually about you and written by your Love, don’t you know . . .</i><br />
<br />
<i>Love tells you His whole story.</i><br />
<i>Love warns of danger ahead of time.</i><br />
<i>Love offers His strategies to save your heart’s life.</i><br />
<br />
In summer of 2001 my prophetic father, a pastor, sat me down
privately at the kitchen table and gravely shared that God had recently
spoken to him: in the autumn of that year something would happen that
would change our lives irretrievably (Americans’ lives, and possibly all
the world’s). My father had never told me a prophetic word of this
magnitude, or so directly, before. Several months later, on the morning
of September 11, my colleagues and I watched on our conference room
television as the twin towers fell and a new era began. I called my
father, telling him to turn on the news. “Remember what you told me? It
has happened,” I said.<br />
<br />
Why did God tell him, and why did he tell his daughter? I remember my
father saying, “I don’t know exactly what it is, but I don’t want you
to be afraid. I don’t want you to be surprised.” And when the day came:<br />
<br />
I knew God had not abandoned us.<br />
I knew His sovereignty had not been overturned.<br />
I knew His plans for His people would not be thwarted.<br />
I knew God was in control.<br />
I was not afraid.<br />
<br />
There were things to fear, yes, things to keep a watch out for—skies
to scan every morning as I threaded my way among the high-rise buildings
of downtown Chicago, a potential next target. But God had known, and
God had told His people ahead of time. Since then, I’ve heard similar
stories. Here and there God gave the heads-up to other normal people,
quite unlikely and unpowerful folk, and the church wasn’t taken
completely off guard.<br />
<br />
None of us can read the future history of Revelation and somehow fix
the world so it doesn’t happen. But that’s not the point of reading the
last chapter. If a Man who loves me wants to tell me His secrets, I want
to hear them. If a Man who loves me will explain to me how to survive a
coming danger, I will note it carefully. If a Man who loves me is ready
to share the great story of His heart, His people, and His future, I am
ready to listen all the way to the end. Not only that—I am ready to
join it.<br />
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A story’s great literary art is not complete without its conclusion. A
movie’s climax is never left on the cutting room floor. When a novelist
exposes his inner soul through the course of his crafted storyline, his
real fans don’t give him a congratulatory thump on the back with the
offhanded comment that they never finished the book, the middle was good
enough for them. Who would do that, particularly to a brilliant writer
they love and whose novel they are in? Most stories can be enjoyed in
their middle but only understood from their end.<br />
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And this Bible “story” is so much more than a novel to read—it is
life to live. The value of good theology notwithstanding, the primary
reason to delve deeply into Revelation is <i>relational</i>. If the
God who loves us has written down His life story and ours and wants us
to intently read the last chapter so it all makes sense—so we’re not
afraid, so we know His heart, so we can be His partners through it, and
so we understand how the eternal Great Story begins—<i>we will</i>.Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-34079391211086278072019-07-05T18:27:00.001-05:002019-07-05T18:27:31.260-05:00Author Edition of Perpetua — 50% OFF July 6 & 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm super excited to announce the 15th Anniversary Author Edition of <i>Perpetua</i>!</h4>
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<b>AUTHOR EDTION:</b></div>
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1 Restored Chapter</div>
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Multiple Restored Passages</div>
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eBook functionality (meaning, you can make the print larger!)</div>
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<b>KINDLE COUNTDOWN DEAL: JULY 6 & 7 </b></div>
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As an intro price that I particularly hope readers who already have a the print version will take advantage of, the book is on a special 50% OFF sale on Amazon July 6 & 7.</div>
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Price<span style="color: #990000;"><b>: </b></span><span style="color: #990000;"><b>$4.99</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RCDHG21"><span style="color: #990000;"></span></a><span style="color: #990000;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RCDHG21" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12pt;">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RCDHG21</span></a></span></div>
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Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-58000764614985988742018-09-24T17:35:00.000-05:002018-09-27T10:13:08.711-05:00Has the Truth Set Me Free?—The Missing Step to Gaining Freedom<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<b><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” </span></b><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">(John 8:32). </span><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">End of story, right? Jesus clearly laid out a two-step process here, one I memorized when I was a child. It’s probably on the tip of every Christian’s tongue. When friends have been struggling to overcome a sin or a painful thought pattern—perhaps self-hatred or an addiction—we have counseled them to seek out the truth, to study the truth, to believe and proclaim the truth. “It will set you free,” we urge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">We are right—the truth does free us. And yet . . . examples pile up around us of long-term Christians who have never gotten victory over their habitual sins, sincere believers whose lives are not characterized by joy, and our own inner souls that are barely staying above water. What is going on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">“I know the truth,” your heart cries, “why do I still struggle with these thoughts?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">“I know God loves me,” your friend cries. “I’ve read Song of Songs—He calls me lovely. Why do I still feel so ugly, so rejected, so unwanted?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">To be honest, none of us are entirely sure, and so we start talking about the difference between knowing and <i>knowing</i>; Greek-paradigm knowing and Hebrew-paradigm knowing; knowing in our heads versus knowing in our hearts. I have often seen agony inside an earnest woman’s eyes as she eventually grinds to a halt, wondering—“How on earth do I get my heart to <b><i>know</i></b>?” She feels she’s done all she can. Verses are memorized; truth is in her brain—if there is some magic way to make it travel down a few centimeters and end up in her heart, she doesn’t know what it is. Perhaps the only thing left to do is stand in the ministry line for prayer and keep asking the Holy Spirit to make the magic happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">I grabbed my Bible recently to look up John 8:32, and my eyes wandered upward…upward to verse 31 and the words Jesus said right before He told us the truth would set us free. Forgotten words, dismissed words, words we have completely disassociated from the ones following. In a millisecond I learned a lesson I will never forget—do not glide along on memory rather than searching for what the Scripture actually, specifically, says. Right there in plain sight was the first part of His sentence—the key to <i>how </i>to know the truth came right before my memorized snippet that promised we <i>would </i>know the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">What I remembered as: <i>“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free,” </i>actually says:<i>“<b>If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And </b>you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">A few translations have the words of John 8:31 in the same sentence as John 8:32, others begin verse 32 with “and” or “then,” making “you shall know the truth” dependent on what comes before it. It is clear that these two verses are not unrelated snippets or proverbs—<b>Jesus preached them in one teaching, one sentence, perhaps one breath</b>. Here it is again in the New English Translation:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">Then Jesus said to those Judeans who had believed him, “If you continue to follow my teaching, you are really my disciples and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (John 8:31-32)</span><span style="font-family: "avenir book";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">The Amplified Version expounds: “If you abide in My word [continually obeying My teachings and living in accordance with them, then] you are truly My disciples.” <i>Abide </i>doesn’t simply mean read it every day. It means <b>do <i></i></b>it every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Context is not always king, but the first half of a sentence is! It turns out becoming free is a 3-step process, not the 2-step one that’s easier to remember and frankly, easier to agree with. We love the idea that when we know the truth, we will be free. It’s not as enticing to hear that the promise starts with a big “IF”—that in order to know the truth, we have to <i>obey</i>the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">It’s helpful to note that Jesus wasn’t talking to unbelievers here but to the ones who already believed on Him. He wasn’t saying, “Get saved, then you will be my disciples and know the truth.” Instead, He was telling current believers to live in His Word like a fish lives in the sea—breathe in it, sleep in it, eat in it, think it, see it, stay in it. Abide. Make it your world. Obey it. Follow it. Do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">So the promise doesn’t go:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";"> KNOW the truth - - - - > be FREE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">It goes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";"> LIVE the Truth (the Word) - - - > then you’ll KNOW truth and - - -> be FREE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">This progression is reiterated across Scripture. James, such a practical and passionate teacher, tells us to receive the Word with meekness and then he cries out, “</span><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">But be <b>doers </b>of the Word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves” (James 1:22). Peter also makes the connection clear in a little phrase that rings often through my thoughts: “Since you have purified your souls in obeying the truth by the Spirit…” The Contemporary English Version plainly and beautifully translates it as, “You obeyed the truth, and your souls were made pure.”</span><span style="font-family: "avenir book";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">“Obeying” inherently includes the understanding that whatever it is we have to do <i><b>doesn’t come naturally to us</b></i>, wasn’t our idea originally, and may be a rather unpleasant choice for our flesh nature. Obeying is more than mental agreement—it’s always played out in our actions. This is why abiding can be explained as obeying—it means both staying and <i style="font-weight: normal;">continuing </i>in the Word. One can’t “continue in” Jesus’ teachings but not do them; the thought is oxymoronic, nonsensical. (The word <i style="font-weight: normal;">oxymoron </i>comes from a Greek word that means “pointedly foolish.” It’s a good description.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Such nonsensical images are all around us—the spiritual leader who says he loves Jesus but is ordaining homosexual clergy; the politician who says he is a Christian but has an ongoing record of adulteries; the doctor who takes the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm yet kills tiny humans, justifying it because they are not big yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Those examples are easy to see, but do we notice the ones closer to home? What if my list above had read like this: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Such nonsensical images are all around us—the woman who says she follows Christ but is stingy with her love or fearful about her finances; the boss who proclaims Jesus but pays workers late; the wife who says she forgives but keeps record in her heart of the times and ways her husband hurt her. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">The real story of abundant life begins with doing what God says. Freedom from the emotional, relational, physical, and even spiritual junk of our pasts begins with laying down our ways and agreeing with God’s. John 8:31 is paralleled in that famous promise of James 4 that when we resist the devil he will flee from us, a verse which also suffers from our inattention to the first phase of the process. “<i>Therefore submit to God</i>. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you” (v. 7). The power to send Satan fleeing and the power to be set free—both begin not with ourselves, but with giving up ourselves: Submitting to God. Obeying His Word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">I was talking to a girl recently, coaching her to do what Scripture says without waiting until she understood why it says it. “Obedience is the way to understand, as counter-intuitive as it seems,” I told her. I spoke of Samuel’s words, “to obey is better than sacrifice” [i.e., obeying God is better than giving Him all the religious things we imagine He’d like from us](1 Sam. 15:22). Embarrassingly, I couldn’t instantly point her to John 8:31 because while I knew the biblical concept, I didn’t remember where it was. But I knew that the pain she was crying out in, the agonizing disconnect between the joy God promised His people and the brokenness she was experiencing in her heart, would not be solved by talk but by her actually beginning to practice the Word of God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">When Jesus commissioned us to preach the Gospel—that climactic moment on the mountain in Galilee before He ascended back to Heaven—He listed two parts to our life-mission to make disciples:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "avenir book"; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir book"; text-indent: -0.25in;">Baptize them</span></li>
<li><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "avenir book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Avenir Book";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span></b><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Teach them to <i>obey everything Jesus has commanded us</i></span></b></li>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";"> (Matthew 28:19-20)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Teaching believers to obey (stay in, remain in, abide in) His words is the definition of making disciples (in other words, obeying is the definition of being a disciple, see John 14:15). So it turns out the first half of that sentence in John 8 is essential. If we don’t turn the car key to “on”, we can step on the gas all we like—it still won’t go. Step 1 is the only reason Step 2 works. Obeying/Abiding in His Word is the first step to knowing the truth. And then, yes—the truth will make us free! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">I’m ready to move forward in obedience, so that I can move forward in freedom. Who’s with me?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Check-my-heart List:<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">[ ] Where am I not physically and practically continuing in Jesus’ teaching?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">[ ] Do I hesitate to do what the Word says, waiting until I understand it first?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">[ ] Do I look for “cultural” reasons the Bible may have given a command, hoping that will mean it doesn’t apply to me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "avenir book";">Abiding unto Freedom:</span></u><span style="font-family: "avenir book";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">[ ] With the Holy Spirit’s leading, choose one Bible chapter or passage to prayerfully abide in each day for a week, asking God for ways to practice it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "avenir book";">[ ] At the end of the week, with the Holy Spirit’s help, assess what has happened in your heart. (There may be unexpected results. For instance, a woman who lives in the 1 Peter 1:22 – 2:10 passage, setting her heart to “love one another fervently” and to put away “deceit, hypocrisies, envies, and all evil-speaking” may discover she is less subject to the fear of rejection she used to often feel (see verses 2:4 and 2:9-10). This is just an example—God knows our unique hearts and the roots of our struggles, and will heal and free us in ways we may not anticipate.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-48908078761724075512018-05-13T18:05:00.003-05:002018-05-13T21:24:09.617-05:00Where is Your Family?<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: Normal;">“Where is your family?”</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My blond-headed nephew’s three-year-old voice cut sharp and
innocent. It was the same question a harried wedding photographer had shouted
out to me three days before on the lawn of the pristine church where she was
herding my parents, siblings, and the eleven grandchildren into family bunches
around my youngest sister, the glowing bride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I just shook my head, but maybe I mumbled, “I don’t
have one.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I took a few
deep water bottle swigs—an excuse to close my eyes just long enough for the
stinging tears to dissipate before they fell and brought any dark tinge onto my
dear sister’s day. My sister who is sixteen years younger than me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But my nephew, in his car seat, waiting with me for his mom
to come back out of the store, is too little to be hurt by seeing my
tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so he saw them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In truth, I don’t really have power over tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was given grace on the lawn, that’s
why they dissipated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
photographer backpedaled when she realized she’d probably called out the most
painful question she could have (not just to me, but in front of the thirty
onlookers watching the picture process). She rushed to say something about the
entire group being my family and herded me to stand next to the bride, right in
the middle of the shot. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was one of those terribly beautiful days where you get to
lay down your heart at the feet of Jesus, whisper that you trust Him, and
venture out to rejoice that another person is receiving the thing you’ve always
asked for. Not too long afterward, I turned forty. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That same sister is now pregnant with their second child,
and I am skipping church on Mother’s Day. Not because I’m ashamed or there’s
anything wrong with tears; I’m just unwilling this year to be exposed again by
them in front of the congregation. The church is too large to know everyone,
and why should the semi-strangers in my row see my most intimate wound? In
front of God, however, I’m always ready to split my heart open—because He is
safe, and kind, and can do something about it—so I watch the service online and
He speaks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The preacher’s sweet honoring of women, speaking of Ruth and
Mary and Rachel, turns profoundly insightful when he gets to Hannah. Hannah
somehow knew she was not simply longing for the fulfillment of her personal
womanly desire for children—she was interceding for a birth that would pivot
the entire nation of God and usher in of the age of kings. Her son, the last
judge of Israel, was to anoint the great King David, initiating the messianic
line that will culminate in the perfect Man ruling a perfect world throughout
the perfect years of eternity. Perhaps she didn’t know these details, but her
heart felt them—this desire, this need of a son, was not just for her own sake.
It was for the whole world’s. It was that important.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Am I overstepping my place (after all, I am simply one among
tens of thousands) to say that my longing feels like this? Are you? To us it
seems less like a whine to get the dessert we want tonight, and more like an
epic battle that determines destinies. These woman-arms are wrestling, using
power beyond their natural ability, to bring the glory of God onto visible
earth. I feel like Jacob, wrestling God over what God had already promised. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My father liked to hide a penny in his fist and let my
sister and I try to pry his fingers open to get it. In the end we never had the
strength, but he always gave the penny. Those struggles were delightful but
didn’t ruffle my heart—even at the age of four I knew a penny would buy me
nothing. I simply loved wrestling his fingers. But some wrestles aren’t for
nothing, nor for the simple joy of touch. They are for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something very important. Something beyond ourselves.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It strikes me that the intensity of Hannah’s pain was
commensurate with the expansive destiny of the son she prayed for. Are the most
difficult, hard-fought, pain-endured areas of our lives that way because they
will be the most fruitful, eternal, and life-expanding gifts to not only
ourselves but the whole kingdom of God? We aren’t wrestling for a penny with no
buying power. Our hearts are troubled, wincing, and calling on every reserve of
strength to win this—because we are wrestling for the glory of the glorious God
to outshine all the nay-saying, doubting, fear-mongering, destiny-surrendering
words the world has surrounded our lives with.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband may not be the next president nor my sons usher
in the return of the King, but that marriage and those births will be epic
releases of the glory of God and explosive proclamations of His faithful
nature. You and I may not be Hannah, yet we are. Not only because every baby is
worth the whole world, but because the real God’s real glory is worth spending
a life on. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Don’t let go of His promises, whatever they may be, and
don’t lay down your birthright out of hopelessness. When you must weep, weep
with the power of a queen appealing to her king, of a Hannah interceding for
her messiah’s birthline. In the end, His promises and your birthright are more
about Him than you. The birth of your ‘Samuel’ will lift Jesus’ name high, for
every promise kept by God is a display of His true nature. It is that
important.</span></span></div>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-59046402582111149952016-01-27T20:20:00.000-06:002016-01-28T01:00:52.596-06:00Ruth's Secret Past<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>I was recently told that I am not a Ruth</b></span>. Words don’t normally bother me, especially
when they haven’t come out of animosity, but these remained in my mind because they labeled my core. The implication was that someone
whose heart is bound to the Jewish people will have shown it by a physical change of location and language.
The idea obviously mixes up a state of heart with a state of geography.
Yet it has made me contemplate again, as I sit by my south-facing, sunny
windows in Kansas City and not Jerusalem, Ruth’s long story . . . Who was she, and are we (who God has not yet sent over to the Middle East) anything like her?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The life of the woman we know as Ruth did not start on the
day that she insisted on following Naomi to the promised land. Her marriage to
Boaz the Jew was not her first marriage to a Jew. Her move to Bethlehem was not
her first embrace of Israel’s God or Israel’s culture. Ruth’s famous, heart-wrenching
cry, “Entreat me not to leave you!” was the result of a heart-knitting that had happened long before. For a decade
past she had been joined to Israel in the most intimate of ways, although she
was living in Moab.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>For a decade she had belonged to the family—married.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Bible’s description of her husband Mahlon is that he married Ruth and lived in Moab for ten years. In every translation the statements come in that order (the time-frame directly follows the marriage; it doesn’t precede it). The implication is very
different than our old Sunday-school impression that Ruth hadn’t been married
to him long, an impression we hold because she was beautiful, called ‘young’,
and she had no children. (In reality, Ruth bore a layer of shame beyond being a
Moabitess, a stranger, impoverished, and cursed by God with widowhood—she was
also barren. She had been married for perhaps as long as a decade, and had not
produced a child.)</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZiAffEadYGo/Vql1ItStm9I/AAAAAAAAA1w/Xtm4OgaXKx0/s1600/crossroads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZiAffEadYGo/Vql1ItStm9I/AAAAAAAAA1w/Xtm4OgaXKx0/s400/crossroads.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We modern Christians think most of Ruth’s beautiful moment
of declaration. We see the dust of the road and how she clung to Naomi instead
of running back to her own mother. . .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But that moment wasn’t a turning point in her heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">It wasn’t her moment of decision; it is our
moment of recognition.</span></b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s the moment at which it becomes clear who was a
sheep and who was a goat. The moment at which the outer layer of looks is
stripped away, and the real love in the core of someone is displayed—are you
Orpah, turning back to your old gods, or are you Ruth, truly and eternally
married to the God of Israel? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Ruth was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ruth</i> (and
all that name encompasses) for the decade before she ever stepped foot into the
Land itself </b></span>– the decade in which she was a Jew’s wife and daughter-in-law, in
which she was worshipping Yahweh, in which she truly loved her new family, and
in which she had bound herself in heart and body to the Jewish people. That day
on the road she simply showed the rest of us who she was inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The only reason Ruth ever entered Israel is because she had
long before bound herself in marriage and love to the God of Israel and her new family. The
entrance itself was not the binding. Out of the many believers who have loved
the Jewish people with all their hearts, in all the ages and places of the
world, Ruth was simply one of the few who was given the privilege of physically
displaying it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Can we perceive only the display -- the flashy, apparent moment she used the words we repeat in marriage ceremonies and then stepped across the Jordan? <b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">Or can we perceive the truth of a long love, a secret decade of devotion, a heart history that led her to easily take the dusty steps toward a place in history?</span></i></b> In that road-side conversation you can tell Ruth had already loved Naomi for a very long time. I can tell you that those steps toward Bethlehem felt to her like simply the logical next ones -- they weren't spectacular and they weren't out of character. There was little difference between them and the steps she had been taking every day of the previous 10 years. (We think martyrs are strengthened in a moment, but they're actually the product of faithfulness. We think cultures are adopted in a cross-world move, but it's actually a movement of heart that began long before anyone else could see it.)</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXLSp8vfAl0/Vql1zygUVYI/AAAAAAAAA2A/EnmRNemyHFQ/s1600/ruth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXLSp8vfAl0/Vql1zygUVYI/AAAAAAAAA2A/EnmRNemyHFQ/s320/ruth.jpg" width="164" /></a><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The real miracle of Ruth’s story is Boaz. This Jewish man <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">saw</i> – saw past the prejudices of his
culture, saw past her Gentile genes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saw</i>
– saw past the barrenness of her womb, saw past her stigma of being both
childless and widowed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saw</i> – saw past
the difficulties he and his children (if she bore any) would face in the
life-long scandal of having an accent-laden outsider as a wife and mother. </span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And when he looked past those things, what did he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i>?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He saw into her heart, and discovered a woman who in spite
of having lived her entire life in a different country was already <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knit</i> to Israel, who had long ago <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">married</i> herself into the family and into
the people, who already bore the image of the God of love and was demonstrating
it by a faithfulness he may not have even seen in the natural daughters of
Israel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He saw that her state of heart had preexisted—and had made
possible—her steadfastness during those moments on the road with Naomi.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She, of course, did not think so much of herself. She knew
she was a foreigner, not even like one of his lowest servant-girls. She knew
she had loved Yahweh from the moment she met Him and that she would give up her
old surroundings to remain a part of His people, but she had no idea that she
had become so virtuously beautiful because of it. In the true manner of
virtuous women, Ruth wasn’t seeing herself; she was seeing Boaz—his character,
his kindness, his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sight</i>—perhaps as
clearly as he saw her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So each regarded the other with incredulous surprise. While
she was incredulous that he actually saw and valued her, an outsider, Boaz’s
heart was so truly clear-sighted, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>was
incredulous that she would even consider him. Rightly incredulous. It’s a thing of beauty, this mutual incredulity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Without the other, neither Ruth nor Boaz would have their
place in history or King David’s family line. Only their outrageous marriage brought
either of them into the pages of the Bible. And that union only happened
because each was able to see past the outside, into the heart of the other.
Neither of their hearts were created by that moment of deciding to follow Naomi
or that moment of deciding to ensure the young woman had enough barley to glean.
<b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">No, their hearts were set a decade or more before</span>,</i></b> when they had individually
bound themselves to God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve noticed multiple times in the last few years that
certain ones of my friends and acquaintances have used the same particular word
with me—when they have visited Israel, they say they have felt like it was
their real “home.” They are right. The entire Christian population of the earth
can’t all go live there at the moment, there isn’t room nor instructions from
God to do so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eKQRBgvd8ng/Vql5XQsnW4I/AAAAAAAAA2U/alH_jwXJcHY/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eKQRBgvd8ng/Vql5XQsnW4I/AAAAAAAAA2U/alH_jwXJcHY/s200/hands.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>But the fact that our bodies still live in Moab does not mean our
hearts are not Ruth’s and our home is not Israel and we have not fully,
irretrievably bound ourselves to the God of Israel and the people He loves.</b></i></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No matter where you happen to be living at the moment or what languages you speak, do not be discouraged; the things He has done in your heart are real, as real as Ruth's unmentioned decade of love, and they will bear the same fruit as hers did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">“Man looks on the outward appearance,
but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7).</span></i></b></div>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-32842614950147733832015-11-18T22:16:00.002-06:002015-11-20T10:45:36.075-06:00Can Paris Be Comforted?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TUs_0GSr9mQ/Vk1M1EeW9pI/AAAAAAAAA1M/XHqZVQMQft8/s1600/IMG_2628.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="411" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TUs_0GSr9mQ/Vk1M1EeW9pI/AAAAAAAAA1M/XHqZVQMQft8/s640/IMG_2628.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A friend recently
commented that they could only go to Yad Vashem, the intense Holocaust museum
in Jerusalem, every five years. My answer was, “Every ten!” It wasn’t because I want time to dim
the pain or because I want to avoid pain altogether, but because in my heart pain
actually doesn’t dissipate — just as the reality of what happened will never
disappear. It will be as fresh to me five years later as on the day I was
trapped in crowds of teenagers on that zigzagging path through memories not
mine, which are etched in my soul as if they are.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Paris is reeling today;
Israel feels tragedy often; Russia and Lebanon and Nigeria are suffering. In
our world and in our history lessons and in our own private experiences,
searing pain is rampant.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">Is it possible to ever truly recover? Is it
even right?</span></span></i></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some fear
forgetting, but constant (or even periodic) reminders of a sorrow aren’t often
necessary — because that pain inside us is from a reality that exists outside
of us. The truth is, nothing can undo something that has already been done (not
even time). Once the sword pierces a heart, the fact that a wound occurred can
never be denied, even if it heals — that’s what a scar is. Only Superman, in
the ultimate scene of furious love, was able to force the entire globe to spin
backward until time reversed and his dead love, Lois Lane, was alive again.
That’s not reality. And even Jesus has not promised to spin the Earth backward—back
to Eden. Instead He looks forward, and talks of comfort.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In one of the most
lyrical and heartrending passages of Hebrew scripture, Rachel, weeping for her
dead children, refuses to be comforted.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">A voice was heard in Ramah,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Lamentation <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">and</span>
bitter weeping,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Rachel weeping for her children,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;">Refusing to be comforted for her children,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because they <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">are</span>
no more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>(Jer. 31)</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I understand her.
Friends have at times prayed that I would be comforted, and I have found myself
resisting — fighting their words and their wish. People seem to long for
comfort to end pain; but time cannot go backward, things once done cannot be
undone, and accepting dullness in place of the stinging ache is to become party
to a lie — that it didn’t really matter. It did. The children are dead.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">Do you feel that “comfort” would be
disingenuous — pretending that all is well, that a death never occurred?</span></span></i></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What is dead is not
alive, and to feel otherwise about it would devalue that life and delegitimize
the pain of its absence. Some who’ve lost a loved one feel startled and guilty
when they find themselves enjoying the little pleasures of life again. We
resonate with the exiled Israelites who stirred up their remembrance for
centuries, terrified of slipping into complacence: “If I forget you, O
Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few years ago a
man described to me how through his own drug addiction he had lost the girl he
loved. He talked of a night, before he found Jesus, that God supernaturally
came to him. “I can’t explain it. The only thing I can say is that God somehow <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">comforted</b> me.” What had happened? What
did God do? This man didn’t have words for it. I’ve often remembered his story
and wondered. My heart aches when I think of him (who I barely know),
middle-aged and still alone. If I am still saddened, how was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> comforted? One thing is sure, it wasn’t
something that time did. God did it in one night.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pain is tricky. Time
does seem to dull it, even take it away. Then one small trigger brings it back
as sharp and cutting as it was the day of. That’s when we realize what we
thought was comfort didn’t change the past. That’s when we feel betrayed by our
own heart, which disconnected and deadened but told us it “healed.” That’s why
I have resisted the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort</i>,
feeling guilty all the while because I know God well enough to know that He
likes the word — He even calls Himself by it.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why is God’s Spirit
called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Comforter</i>, and what does He
mean when He talks of comforting us? Isn’t comfort a disingenuous dulling, an
invalidation of very valid pain, a dishonoring of the truth of the event (the
Holocaust, the broken heart, the missing child)? Why would He, a good God, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort</i> us over something as terrible as
millions of innocents unjustly and viciously killed, or 129 murdered in the
City of Love? Why would a good God <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort</i>
a heart that was raped or pierced or betrayed? I want Him to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">fix</b> it, not assuage me.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">God’s answer to
Rachel is profoundly unexpected. When she refuses to be comforted, because the
children are actually dead (“they are no more,” Jer. 31:15), He tells her two
things. Two very illogical things. And because of these two things He instructs
her to stop weeping and dry her tears (don’t try saying that to a grieving
mother anytime soon).</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> your
children are not dead (“<i>they shall come
back”</i>)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <b><i>your
work will be rewarded</i></b>.</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rachel had seen her
descendents killed on the streets of Jerusalem, her people exiled in chains to
Babylon to be a nation no more, and the baby Messiah’s playmates murdered in
every Bethlehem home. They were definitely dead. Yet God turns her accurate
physical perception on its head. He regards the situation according to His own
true identity, the “God who raises the dead” (2 Cor. 1:9), and speaks of them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">as if</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they were not dead.</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Did He not notice
the bodies? He did, but in His mind this is already a given: He has, and will, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">raise them from the dead</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therefore, they are as good as alive.
So much so that Rachel ought to stop weeping.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know this about
God. I’ve seen Him raise the dead before. It is His second unreasonable reason
for her to dry her tears that strikes me to my core:</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></i></span></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #666666;">Your work will be rewarded.</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Validated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Validated are all the
tears (for perhaps they are tears of intercession, and are doing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good and real work, </i>even while I think I
am simply mourning). Validated is all the effort I’ve put into believing in the
face of disappointment, into hoping against hope, into working for the freedom
and redemption of those who seem lost. Validated is the pain (for suddenly,
pain and suffering are gathered under the umbrella of Jesus’ own suffering, a
work of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">great importance</i> which I’m
participating in). Validated is the prayer (how much time we have poured into
lifting both family and strangers before God for help). Validated is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faith</i> (which is sometimes all I have to
offer, when I am helpless and strengthless and voiceless).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The hard work of
tears, of believing, of pain, of faith . . . these are not all lost in the
abyss of grief. These have been safely deposited into the hands of the God who
raises the dead, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He will reward them.</i></b></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So it seems this is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort</i></b>—</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">God
will reverse it (the dead will return)</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">God
will give me gifts (for laboring through it)</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Is this truly the
nature of comfort?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A short look at
the word, as used in the Hebrew and Greek of the Bible, surprises.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Job sums up his role
during his prime of prosperity as a “king in the army, one who comforts
mourners.” The entire passage (Job 29) describes the actions that receive that
summation. He was:</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> . . . eyes to the
blind</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> . . . feet to the
lame</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> . . . a father to
the poor</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> He . . . caused the
widow’s heart to sing for joy</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> . . . broke the
fangs of the wicked</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is not an
American description of comfort, which is more akin to the feeling we get when
a fluffy goose-down blanket is lulling us to sleep. (Not that there is anything
wrong with drifting to happy oblivion within a warm cuddle, but it doesn’t
bring back the dead child or cause victory over Islamic terrorists.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lest you think I
stretch the definition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to comfort</i>
as I connect it to kingly, restorative, enriching <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">action</b>, let’s look at the word:</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">the dispelling of grief by the <b>impartation of
strength</b> (International Standard Bible Encyclopedia)</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>to make strong; to invigorate</b>; to fortify; to
corroborate; to assist or help; to aid; to impart strength and hope to; to
encourage; to relieve; to console; to cheer (Webster’s)</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">to call alongside of</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is that last one
which, in Greek, is the premier title of our most beloved and relied upon
companion—the Holy Spirit of God.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></i></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #666666;">Comforter</span></i></b><span style="color: #666666;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Parakletos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>“One called alongside. Advocate.
Paraclete.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(John 14:16)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Comforter</i>
is actually the secondary, not primary, meaning. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Helper</i> encompasses it better.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And this, dear
hurting hearts, is where the power of God meets the tender needs of the human
soul. When Jesus introduces us to the Holy Spirit, He calls him <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Parakletos</i>, which means <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">advocate, helper, strengthener, called to
one’s side</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #010f18;">. </span></i><span style="color: #010f18;">I am deeply
comforted by having a faithful companion who will never leave — but also
immensely comforted by the truth that He has all power and He promises to use
it to advocate on my behalf (like a lawyer), to defend me, to strengthen me, to
restore to me everything that was lost, and to reward me for my work.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">And so I discover that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort</i>, the very thing I have resisted
and am uncertain how to give to others, means something entirely different than
I thought. It means God will <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fix what
shouldn’t have happened, reward me for my struggle, defend me against
accusations, strengthen me, </i>AND <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make
me free from pain and anxiety.</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">How? I can sort of see how a feeling
from freedom from pain might come from the promise of reward, of a
dead-raising-resolution, and of having the powerful God of all as my
strengthener and constant advocate. But God doesn’t leave it up to those kingly
actions to, simply as a matter of course, bind up my wounded feelings — no more
than He leaves it up to time.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">He is much more intimate than
that.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">Most beautifully, the “how” of a
comforter is sweetly articulated in the subtext of the Hebrew word for comfort,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nacham.<br /><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #010f18;">Nacham</span></i></b><span style="color: #010f18;">: weeping with one who weeps, sighing deeply with one who
sighs.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now I see it. Jesus, the Holy Spirit,
the amazing Father — not only seeing our pain and promising to fix the source
(as men like to do), but coming beside me to weep as deeply over it as I am
weeping.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #010f18;"><o:p><span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;">He <i>feels with us.</i></span><span style="color: #010f18;"> </span></span></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My tender roommate
was the first person this morning on the scene of a dramatic rollover. The one
occupant, a teenage girl, was pulled out miraculously unscathed (a few
scratches) but traumatized, and my roommate simply held this stranger — held
and held and held her while the girl cried and cried. Later, my own roommate
cried and cried over the girl’s pain. I told her that she had been Jesus’
emissary, doing what He does.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes I
accidentally teach myself things as I write. As I’ve been pondering comfort, a
memory has pricked me of a scene I wrote some time ago for an unfinished novel.
The protagonist is appealing to Jesus to comfort the heart of a man (T---)
whose brother has died without salvation . . .</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> “What is it you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked. He
always knew. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /> “Lord, when M---- was lost, the only thing that comforted me
was that your grief was deeper than mine.”</i></span></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i> He nodded, searching my eyes. “It is T---- you are concerned
for.”</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> “To be alone in grief, to be the one with the deepest grief—it
is unbearable. Your own grief is the only real comfort. Man of sorrows,” I
whispered.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is only when
Jesus himself weeps our weepings (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nacham</i>),
that those griefs are fully, validatingly, comprehensively experienced. I am
not capable of feeling the depth, extent, and ramifications of even one of the
deaths the families in Paris are suffering this week or the families in Israel
have suffered these months. But each life is intrinsically worthy, each sorrow
or loss or broken heart intrinsically valid. As our hearts and bodies scream
that the loss of any person, or any innocence, is devastating and must be
honored by being entirely felt, I discover that only God Himself has a heart
capable of fully feeling a loss like that. Only God can mourn a life as it should
be mourned. (My human frame cannot withstand the depth of that pain; my human
mind cannot comprehend the extensive ramifications of a life now missing, or a
heart broken, or a child abused.) Only God can feel the full pain of 6 million
</span><span style="font-size: large;">Holocaust victims, or 129 murdered Parisians, or one rape.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><i>Only God has the capacity to know and grieve fully. </i></span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just as He is
currently our comforter and intercessor, kneeling beside us and breathing
intensely with deep sighing over the things we sigh over, experiencing the
depth of grief that would physically ruin us to experience</span><span style="font-size: large;"> . . . there was one particular
day that Jesus did the unimaginable, the epic, the never-to-be forgotten.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">He felt it while a human man.</b> He did it when it would hurt Him most — when
it would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kill</i> Him:</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Surely He has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows. </i></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Isaiah
53:4)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Paris, grieve.
Israel, grieve. Russia, grieve. Nigeria and Lebanon, grieve. Gentle hearts
everywhere, grieve. Do not be ashamed that you cannot feel it fully or grieve
it adequately. And do not be afraid to eventually come to a state of freedom
from pain. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because, if you are willing to come to the Man and the Comforter, HE
will grieve it fully for you.</i></b> His comfort can be accepted, because it
is part and parcel with His restoration, His rewards, His justice, and His
promise to raise the dead.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our tragedies are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fully</i> grieved by a God strong enough to
do it. Our hearts will be fully accompanied through them by a God who is crying
as hard as we are. This is why we will be able to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fully</i> let them go, and receive our dead back alive again and receive our reward. All
of this together is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">comfort.<br /><o:p></o:p></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">[Jesus] breathed on them and said to them, "Receive
the Holy Spirit.” (John 20:22)</span></span></i></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #010f18;"><span style="font-size: large;">Receive the Comforter</span></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
<br />
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Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-35149885224680946242015-08-03T15:03:00.000-05:002015-08-03T15:27:16.366-05:00What Does a Bride Want?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RsqPSrVFBTQ/Vb_GQq6WdWI/AAAAAAAAA0M/Gn1RH_NDs4c/s1600/doves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RsqPSrVFBTQ/Vb_GQq6WdWI/AAAAAAAAA0M/Gn1RH_NDs4c/s320/doves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The church longs . . . but</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>
What are we longing for? </b></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The day of His appearing </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The New Jerusalem</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">An end to all pain</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">… yes. But why is the church that longs described as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does a bride long for?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True, she wants to be taken care of, be healthy, be provided
for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And true, she wants to be
rescued from evil, if she is being abused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So keeping our words on spiritual plains, we say the church
longs for the end of persecution, the end of wickedness, the end of sorrow, the
end of pain, the fulfillment of promises. And yes, these are all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">part</i> of the longing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But a true bride longs for something much simpler . . . <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">. . . and it’s right for us to identify this basic reason
that God calls the church a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i>.
He’s a physical God, and He uses practical imagery. There are other words that describe what marriage means, so when He says <i>bride</i>, He’s actually saying
something <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">—</span> and it’s not as complicated as we think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(We get all philosophical talking about
covenant imagery and blood and Nascar – sorry, just threw that in to see if you
were paying attention! Grin!). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Our culture is bleary-eyed with sex, and it messes with our
understanding of the church as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i>.
People think “sex” when they think of weddings and receptions, when they think
of love and relationships. Christians are occasionally more guilty of this than
the world, for it’s more likely they haven’t been prematurely reveling in the sexual
benefits of marriage. Though a healthy woman definitely desires sexual intimacy
with the groom, the true core of her desire is altogether more eternal and
transcendent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A bride longs for unending communion and companionship with an OTHER
who adores, and who she adores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That is what she wants.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So when God’s description of the church (men and women both)
is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i>, He is actually saying
something deep about Himself, about our hearts, about our future relationship
with Him, and about what our ultimate driving force truly is … to know and be
known — it’s a two-sided exploration, a two-sided delight. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stood at the women’s side of the Wailing Wall in
Jerusalem, watching the sincerity and grief as ladies of every age leaned
gently from their hips, pressing against the air toward the wall as if rocking, hiding their eyes in the pages of worn prayer books. Before them stood
immovable, impenetrable, ton-sized stone, hewn several millennia ago,
separating them from the Temple Mount where the presence of God had rested. And
they cried, seeking God there, up against the rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Lord whispered to me, breaking and opening my heart
at the same time, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I want them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inside</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wbXeI4R6a4g/Vb_GUutIWdI/AAAAAAAAA0U/p2yznjrnL7w/s1600/women%2Bat%2Bwall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wbXeI4R6a4g/Vb_GUutIWdI/AAAAAAAAA0U/p2yznjrnL7w/s320/women%2Bat%2Bwall.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">desired</i> their
presence on the inside of that realm called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kingdom</i>
and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">heart of God</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> ...t</span>heir presence with Him in the room where
the Throne sits, not outside at the Wall. He desired them as individuals, as
women, as His people, as heirs of His promises.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">How they wept on the outside; how He desired they be on the
inside. And between these two parties was the rock — impenetrable rock — made of
something so simple and dissolvable it shocks: <b>unbelief</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The answer to the heaviest, most effective barrier of the
world — the barrier actually between death and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">life </i>— is like the answers to most of the barriers we encounter in
life. The answer is light, simple, easy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Believe.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The most wounded woman or withdrawn man can be
whole with as little effort as those women could have passed through the rock,
into the Presence of God. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Believe My love</i>.
The hardest things are the simplest. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What keeps us from that two-sided exploration of each other,
that two-sided delight of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i> and
God?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And by trickle-down effect,
the possibility of two-sided delight in other men and women, for once a heart
is opened by God’s love, it is open to others as well.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Believe His Love.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He calls us <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bride</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a positional word, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it’s a relational one</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Long for Him freely – He wouldn’t use the word if He didn’t mean for us
to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">be</i> it.</span><o:p></o:p></b></div>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-67866112829491018402014-07-03T00:18:00.000-05:002014-07-03T00:21:25.470-05:00Authentic Prayer -- Not Anticipating His Answers<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Often I don’t pray in true helplessness. I go to God, already having formed (in
my mind or even in my felt expectations) the scenario of what and how He will
answer. It’s rare that I <i>ask</i>, not knowing the answer (or not
thinking I know <i>how</i> I should be
answered). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Do this when you’re a student, and you’ll be
recognized as a fool who thinks he knows everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do this as an adult Christian, in your relationship with
God, and your intimacy with Him will be disastrously stunted – for you aren’t
actually trying to know and discover <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Him</i>
(the one who, like a husband, thinks differently and comes up with very
different solutions than his wife would), you are simply superimposing your own
views of who He should be and how He should act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is treating Him like a non-existent person…an entity in
name only…not a living, breathing, delightfully other-than, independent Thinker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Why might I have a boring, boxed-in life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’m not willing to let Someone
outside the limited scope of my box (my intelligence, my experience, my vision)
make pathways for me that will go past the horizon of my sightline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why might I have boring, boxed-in
prayer interactions with Him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe I’m acting like He doesn’t exist as a separate person with
thoughts independent from me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For the first six months of an infant’s life,
they are not aware that their mother is a separate person from themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may be thirty-five years old in the
Lord, but am I still acting like a five-month-old infant when I pray?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Adobe Arabic;">Once we realize how different other people are from ourselves, they're fascinating. There are certain people I love to listen to (my siblings for example, or my teachers)--incredibly intelligent people, with worlds inside them I don't have. We each have lived whole lives, in whole realms, outside of any other's experience. I may not have been a missionary in Kazakstan, but if I listen well, I get to experience…I get to almost <i>live in</i>…the riches of all that has been deposited in my friend while HE was a missionary in Kazakstan. As soon as I realize how richly different from me each one is, I suddenly become heir to every land and life in the world. Only close-minded self-preoccupation can keep me locked in the poverty of my own personal and thus limited intelligence, experience, vision, understanding, wisdom… </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Adobe Arabic;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Adobe Arabic;">I also may not be God (actually, I'm most definitely and happily <i>not</i>). What an invitation I have to enter the world of His thoughts, His sight, His experiences, His wisdom… Only close-minded self-preoccupation can keep me out of that exhilarating wealth. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Praying is relating. Relate to Him, not to yourself. Ask, talk, and then listen. Listen, and be ready for a conversation that might surprise
you. He’s difficult to anticipate,
our delightfully-different-than-me God!</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Adobe Arabic';"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">C</span><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">all to me and I will answer you,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-size: large; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">and will tell you great and </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-size: large; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">hidden things </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">that you have not kn</span><span style="font-size: large;">own.</span></div>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">Jeremiah 33:3</span></h3>
</span></h3>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-83818741424276930142014-06-19T01:17:00.000-05:002014-06-20T12:11:00.475-05:00Love Transcends<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Only love does things that are impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It alters what was unalterable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It resolves every riddle and repairs
the irretrievably broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Knowledge, prophecy, philanthropy, passion … they won't last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as my sister so eloquently texted
me today: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">- love transcends</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Not in a rosy way</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">But it does</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eyYPBHMO9V4/U6Rqte8MQTI/AAAAAAAAAxE/3vLVoG6ryfM/s1600/butterfly+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eyYPBHMO9V4/U6Rqte8MQTI/AAAAAAAAAxE/3vLVoG6ryfM/s1600/butterfly+2014.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Everything of lasting good comes from love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And love, when you get down to its
core, is always between two actual people (often, one of them is God :)). It's
not between two nations; not between two people groups; not between a person
and an ideal, or a person and a place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Real love is personal, because LOVE HIMSELF is a person. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Other motivations for good works put up good fronts and seem to have good
results, but their fruit and their power will eventually fade (or rot). [1 Cor.
13:1-3]<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was stunned when I read this morning that the High and Lofty One, who inhabits eternity, said <b><i>"I dwell in the high and holy place, WITH him who has a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Who but Love Himself would take sinners (sorry ones) up to
dwell in His high and holy place, so that He can revive their hearts and
spirits?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's not afraid we'll
soil His pretty temple, or sin again in His holy place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's concerned to heal and comfort us,
because He knows our fragility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And its not just about being present with us, for He didn't just come to
where we were (though He did do that) -- He's brought us to His high home to do
the healing and reviving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Isaiah
57:15]</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">No "sane" human would do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even a mother calls to the muddy child
to stay outside on the doorstep, until she can rush to him with a damp cloth
and shoe-removing hands. And she is the most loving of us all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Who but Love would carry me into His home, His land, without
concern for himself or the mess I might make?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love transcends—it is beyond reason and it overcomes every
objection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is selfless, and it
is powerful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I realized tonight that of the very few men I've ever been
seriously interested in, all had one thing in common.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marriage to any of them would have necessitated, at some
point, moving to a foreign country, learning a new language, and entering a
second culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is rather shocking – I’m not an adventurer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Or maybe I am more than I think!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are perhaps practical
explanations for this – I was always a fish-out-of-water, growing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall, white, intellectual …
raised in the inner city. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never
fully “belonged”, except within the family unit and my relationship with Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the in-between feeling of a whole
new culture wouldn’t be all that strange to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s not the real explanation for my willingness to
embark on such life-altering, hazardous journeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I know how to count the cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also know a few things about love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Song of Solomon says that a man could give all the wealth of
his house to gain love, and it would be utterly despised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once he has gained love, once he
loves, he will rightly give everything he has because of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God even gave His son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I couldn’t ever give my life in order to gain love, but I
would give my life because of love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The two are vastly different. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Here is a most helpful analogy for understanding faith and
works, by the way.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I know that my sister was correct:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>love transcends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It transcends the cost and it transcends the objections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why I am willing for love to
come with cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The value of the
love will be greater than the value of the cost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it would be that way in my “little story”, because it
has already been proven through my part in His Great Story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love has already transcended all reason
in the way God relates to me – He pulls me into His house, while I am still a
potential liability, with an indisputable record of sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because in His love He wants to revive me, and that’s
greater to Him than the price He will pay for having me there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have courage to go in, even when
I know I’m a potential liability and completely unworthy…because I know that in
the end His love will have (and already has—hooray for the cross!) transcended
every objection to my presence in His home and my place at His table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is the Great Story that overarches all other
stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It defines our lives, and
has determined our eternities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May
I live this Great Story in my little story -- the Love that never fails, never
ends, and transcends all else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eyYPBHMO9V4/U6Rqte8MQTI/AAAAAAAAAxA/_YMMppxM9Zs/s1600/butterfly+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eyYPBHMO9V4/U6Rqte8MQTI/AAAAAAAAAxA/_YMMppxM9Zs/s1600/butterfly+2014.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-91833327172613454372014-03-16T18:10:00.000-05:002014-03-16T19:10:37.363-05:00Esther and the Black Swan<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">One of the things I love most about Esther's heart is this…on the night she was sent to the king, "she asked for nothing except what Hegai, the king's eunuch, advised." Where is the pride, where is the greed, where is the human trust (confidence) in one's own beauty and strength? Our heroines today are smart, capable, and prepared for all possibilities. They think on their feet and creatively apply their knowledge and experience to the problem at hand—eventually gaining mastery over it. Heroism often consists of the bravery to creatively utilize and deploy resources (be they intellectual or physical) in the face of fear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Never, ever, do they step back and say: “I don’t know what to do here. Will you, who I consider wiser, please make the choice for me?” That, we all know, is not the definition of a hero.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But this Esther—she trusted one who was wiser than she, believing that he knew what would best please that king. It's this kind of trust we exercise when we lay down our own self-lives in favor of what the Holy Spirit says (even when, and particularly when, laying it down means real felt-loss). And it's this sort of trust that paves the way for Him to place us in positions of power (not only does it make the opportunity, it makes us the sort who could handle that power well). And it's only this sort of trust that creates a woman who will fling her life into God's hands and abandon herself, when the stakes are so high, and everything she’s gained is on the line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I had forgotten today was Purim when my thoughts slipped to Esther this afternoon. In fact, I had spent the last hour learning about Nassim Taleb’s concept of “antifragility” and wondering what God thought; was there scriptural basis for the idea that the best way to live is to <i>benefit</i> from stresses and chaos, rather than to just be resilient to them (which he calls being “robust”) or negatively impacted (which he calls “fragile”)? That we <i>need</i> these stresses, in order to fully live? And if he was on to something true, what was the <i>full truth</i>? Even if extraordinarily intelligent and perceptive, he is limited to the scope of human sight. What does Divine sight see? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It seemed there is scriptural precedent. This came to mind immediately: <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">“</span></b><b><span style="color: #0b5394;">For our light affliction, </span></b>[referring, ironically, to our bodies being abused and dying!] <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory,” (2 Cor. 4)</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5Cn_PFhW0w/UyY0GyR8lEI/AAAAAAAAAwA/JNpuOdXr3VA/s1600/Black+Swan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5Cn_PFhW0w/UyY0GyR8lEI/AAAAAAAAAwA/JNpuOdXr3VA/s1600/Black+Swan.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That doesn't imply just surviving, but <i>gaining. </i>How is it possible to actually gain from the “Black Swans” of history (unexpected and unprecedented events that change history) and the tragedies of life? (Or, for that matter, from the smaller "tribulations" that history wouldn't call Black Swans, but that definitely rock our personal worlds! Esther endured more of these than many of us ever will.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Businessmen reviewing Taleb’s book pointed out one great flaw: it’s great philosophy, but <i>how? </i>How were they to practically implement the concept of “antifragile” into their businesses and economics? You can’t just become antifragile by <i>wanting </i>to. You can’t just turn affliction into glory by wanting it. <i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What is the <i>how </i>in the equation? Esther answered me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Trust. Humility and trust in someone outside herself made it possible for her to turn the worst genocidal event of her lifetime into one of the greatest deliverances ever. The road to that victory was paved with small-scale personal-sized “Black Swans” of Taleb’s definition (improbable and unpredictable events), the “trials and tribulations” of ours, and it ended in a great upset (ethnically and economically) for that nation. A great Black Swan. How Esther responded each step along the way—with trust—is what defined the outcome of her predicament. Her life has become the story of an unlikely girl who rescued an entire nation, rather than a helpless girl who endured the injustice of human-trafficking. (After all, that’s how the first chapter of her story plays out—snatched from the possibility of a real life, to populate a pagan man’s sexual harem.) And it was trust that made the practical difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That scripture I mentioned above—it doesn’t stop where I ended it. It also gives a <i>how:<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>“…</b></span><b><span style="color: #0b5394;">while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen.”</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Anyone who’s ever done a trust fall will make the connection. Looking at things you can’t see is technically impossible. It takes faith. It takes trust. <b>It IS trust.</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Celebrating Esther and the great deliverance today with all my Jewish friends! And may God use our <i>trust</i> to perform miracle after miracle in the coming days--to make us not just resilient, but <i>anti-fragile</i>, thriving in the middle of the world's chaos, and using every Black Swan we encounter (for we <i>will</i> encounter them) to display God's glory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Thai"; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</div>
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Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-25965675423967457542013-09-02T21:28:00.002-05:002013-09-02T21:30:54.833-05:00"I Love Jewish"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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In honor of Labor Day I mowed half the lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front half, for the neighbors’
benefit (and mine too, I guess, as it sort of saves face, which has needed
saving for about 2 weeks now).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then off to more pressing and eternally important matters – attending a
panel discussion with visiting theologian <a href="http://www.davidstent.org/" target="_blank">Avner Boskey</a> about the roots of
anti-Semitism and its fruit in the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t sure if the questions were to be posed by the
audience, and out of all the many that have flitted through my head over the years,
only one kept coming to mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t get to ask it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it
was answered.</div>
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Let me backtrack.</div>
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One Sunday morning a visitor came to the church I grew up
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between songs and sermon we
often invited testimonies, and this tall, beautiful woman stood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was dark, vibrant, and around her
neck wore a cross and a star of David on the same chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She fingered these as she spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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With a lovely accent, in fair but imperfect English, she
haltingly told us she was from Iran, and had been saved very recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In her own language her words would
have flowed like music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through
the mask of the limited English vocabulary she had, I could still hear that
flow of heart, tender and deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She told how she had been raised to hate the Jewish people, and
how she always had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her testimony
was this, as she stood there in our Gentile congregation—that she knew her
conversion was unalterable and profound, for the Lord Jesus, Himself a Jewish
man, had done inside her heart a work that was impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tears and triumph and thankfulness in
her voice, she clutched her star and cross, and exclaimed over and over:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">“Now I love Jewish!
I love Jewish! I love…I
love Jewish!”</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart was leaping like a dancing lamb; my eyes were
weeping; my youth was struggling to keep both private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her proclamation was full of
power—unexpected waves like electricity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt true shock that I was given the privilege of hearing this on
earth—me, a simple girl in a podunk inner-city church—to hear this former
Muslim, shouting out her love for the Jews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, this was a proof of how real salvation and redemption
and restoration, and JESUS, are: “I love Jewish!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The English word, “Jew”, was just not in her vocabulary
yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, her endearing phrase
has stuck in my heart for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently I’ve been wondering about when to use the words
“Jew” and “Jewish”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is a
noun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It implies a comprehensive
definition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other is an
adjective—one descriptor out of many possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I’ve made more Jewish friends, it’s become apparent that
under the petticoat of culture and even orthodoxy lurks an anti-Semitism of
which we are almost completely unaware.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It comes out in our speech and thought patterns, and it is this
“outer-ring” anti-Semitism the panel was discussing (as opposed to the more
familiar inner-rings, which would include things like Nazism or an overt
dislike for the Jews).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t ask my question about “Jew” versus “Jewish”,
because it wasn’t really about words (word usage changes so over time, staying
PC isn’t our goal) but was about collective definitions being applied to
individuals, and whether that creates a barrier to the individual Jewish
heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the panel discussion
went there pretty quickly, confirming what my heart had been saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Relating to a person through
stereotypes, whether negative <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">or
positive</b>, does not convey the heart of Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember times I was labeled according to the college I
went to, or the country I was from, and considered to embody the stereotypes of
those places (usually good ones, mind you).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I’ve found is that even a “good” stereotype
marginalized me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For instance, in a discussion I cared very much about and
which would steer the direction of a many-year endeavor, I once had a manager
dismissively answer my opinion with: “Yes, but you’re from Wheaton,”
effectively eliminating my point of view from the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He meant that my ideas would be too
high-literature, too educated, to be useful in an attempt to reach the regular
reading population.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His words
worked – I realized later I could have left the conference table at that point,
and the team’s decision would have been unaffected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stereotypes are just that—assumptions that define each
individual according to a group label.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While the Jewish people are certainly defined by God in particular and
very beautiful ways, and corporately have been given gifts and giftings, to
view individual Jews <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> according
to that corporate identity is potentially a great injustice to the
individual—it is to marginalize him or her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t realize how often we do this, and when we do (as
Christians) we say with shortsighted relief, “well, at least my stereotypes are
all positive ones.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we talk about how to avoid accidental anti-Semitism in
our words and assumptions, the question doesn’t really come down to which words
are correct/positive and which aren’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It comes down to which words are spoken with love and knowledge of
individuals, and which aren’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
my father taught me: Love is always person-to-person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One country might say it “loves” another country, and one
Christian might say she “loves” Israel, but in the end, love is shown to be
real when it can and does manifest on a personal plane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">Is the individual <i>seen?</i><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Is the individual<i> loved?</i><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know the whole church should love me, and theoretically
does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my heart is melted by
those who take time to know more about me than that I go to the same Sunday
service as them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you love me
because I’m a Christian, or do you love me because I’m Amy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every human heart cries out for the
latter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do we love them because they are Israel, or do we love them
because they are Eitan and Fran and Avner and Sivan and Daniel and Hannah and
Joshua and…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that I don’t
know there are very special, very important promises made by God to all the
Jews (promises that benefit me, too), it’s that I know those promises have been
made specifically to Eitan and Fran and Sivan (et al.)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to their families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to their ancestors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to their children’s children…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>…and from one love of one person, I can love a whole nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and because I know Eitan has been promised the physical
homeland of Israel, I can understand the implications of that promise in the
lives of all his countrymen, too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and when he embraces me like a father, and
talks kindly, I suddenly know that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I too
will be welcomed </i>there, that he will gladly include me in what he has been
given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That this personal love
doesn’t just go one way, it goes <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">two</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And oh, that is the best sort of love!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all reminds me of what John the beloved said in 1st John
3:16-18: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us,
and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the
world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him,
how does God’s love abide in him? </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Little
children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #050f19; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><br /></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><br /></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In college
I had a friend from middle-America who had never met a black person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lest you despair that you know no Jews,
let me give you a hint: you do!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His name is Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love
that Man like this, then love His sisters and brothers and parents, then love
His grandparents and His nieces and nephews…then love His whole people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as easy as it sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Course, it’d be great to find a few of
them and invite them over to dinner, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Remember, real love is person-to-person.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-19739376964003356632013-08-28T09:23:00.000-05:002013-08-28T09:23:00.160-05:00How To Distract God<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hands were raised, eyes closed, attention focused on the
Throne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Against my leg came a soft
bump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three-feet tall, a warm
little body gently pressed itself there and stayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My nephew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d
come down the row of chairs to greet me, to receive my affection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing incongruous about
dropping my hands, slipping to the chair, and cuddling him into me while the
congregation’s song continued over our heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was easy; this was right; this was worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wasn’t in the least offended over
being called to switch my attention from God on the Throne to a little one I
loved.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His trust had been well-placed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew he would be received…it didn’t matter whether his
aunt was visiting with his mother, talking to God, saving the world, or reading
a book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would welcome him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I realize, I wondered this morning, that the Father feels
the same about me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> saving the world, and working hard on
coordinating billions of daily details and circumstances, while strategically
placing whispers into human hearts that will germinate and bear life-long
salvations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I come up to Him,
just wanting to be looked at and touched, His receptive happiness over the
experience of being trusted and loved by me is open, quick, and genuine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Since He’s God, being distracted by me
doesn’t keep Him from doing all those other omnipotence-wielding things—which
is a comfort to the rest of you, I’m sure.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How does He feel when I do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> receive all this love and openness from Him?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a houseguest once who was extremely thankful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she didn't take anything I offered, except the bed to sleep in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My home is an open invitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has pleasant living and sitting rooms, with rocking
chairs and couches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the
morning the sun shines across the flowers in the back garden, where there is a
patio umbrella, bistro table, cushioned chair…everything to make a sweet
restorative place for contemplation and rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The refrigerator is stocked with healthy food, organic milk,
and the best ice cream in the freezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cool breeze comes through a window just behind the baby grand
piano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the birds are
chirping their species songs behind your back, and the window light is perfect
on the music, worship and love can be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are stimulating magazines and cool rooms; bathtubs and
showers and hot coffee in the pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Icy sun-tea and fresh lemons to squeeze into it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mint for water growing by the door; lettuce
and cilantro and ripening tomatoes in the vegetable plots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Chocolate and water in the guest room, and an antique dresser to unpack
into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But she only slept in the bed then scurried out the front door, thanking me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her towel was perfectly re-draped in the bathroom, as if she had never used it, as if she was supposed to be invisible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How I wanted her to enjoy all this—not for my sake, for
hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sharing something God
gave me, and I wanted her to feel the hospitable acceptance that belongs to her
just because she belongs to Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is a way of honoring Him, this honoring of brethren.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart ached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wished she had taken my things, and
left with a face shiny from the rest, the breeze, the avocados and coconuts and
olive oils; left with protein rushing to her cells to sustain them and a
scripture-song frolicking inside a watered heart, like a happy child in a cool
clear pond.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My bumbling, human heart sometimes does tell me a little
about God’s honest, purposeful heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Today it is telling me that the word He gave me a few months ago, when I
asked Him what He wanted me to do, was very real:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Receive.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wants </i>us to receive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what we’re receiving is His love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore
with lovingkindness I have drawn you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Jeremiah 31)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One thing I’ve noticed about receiving—it’s a constant,
because not only does it take willingness, it takes time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the late spring I planted all the
pots with seedling flowers and nutritious soil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve been watered daily, deadheaded, and generally
nurtured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But only now, two months
later, have the plants burst out into three or four times their original size,
with prolific blooms and cascading greenery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though everything was there for them from the beginning,
their receptivity needed to be exercised over time before it resulted in the
bower their little bodies have now become.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Practicing receptivity is more than important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span> lot of people will never notice what is at their fingertips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reasons are varied—feelings of
worthlessness, disbelief that something so good could be true, focus on self with
no real knowledge of how they’re designed to thrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some get distracted earlier in life than I have been, by
the actualization of having received a particular thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intense love—between man and wife,
children and mother—has come to them, and its resulting circumstances and the
maintenance it requires has sometimes dulled them to the actual <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">IT</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This realization encourages me, giving context for my own
little life dramas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What looks
like delay and dryness to myself and others—my long wait to receive certain of
God’s gifts—in brief moments of clarity shows itself to my soul for what it
really is, a chance for undistracted receiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had time to soak Him in and become a full, blooming
plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t hold my
circumstances up as particularly better or more conducive than anyone
else’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Acts 17 says He chose the
times and boundaries (life circumstances and locations) that would give us the
best chance at seeking Him, feeling for Him, and finding Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe this is played out on an
individual basis, and the same strange (often unwanted) gift that singleness
has been to me, early marriage might be to another. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, as we learn that there is such a great love, and
that we are supposed to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">receive</i> it
freely, we move into the second half of that revelation that banishes
loneliness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We discover the second
commandment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our job in the world,
as alive beings and beloved of the King, is not just to wait for and revel in
the final love, and have a little something here on earth to tide us over until
then—but to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">create</i> love…swim in it,
rejoice in it, call it forth; to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expand</i>
love...its experience, its expression, its extent in those around us; to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">receive</i> love…revel in it, celebrate it,
watch for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Be</i> love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I easily see the struggle side of things, the giving up, the
sacrifice, the beautiful laying down of self even when the enemies take that
love and despise it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see how all
this clarifies and purifies the soul until it is like crystal, transparent and
pure and brilliant all the way through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is because, for some reason, my soul understands sorrow and God has
shown me the truth that is found in the Man of Sorrows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that is only a fraction of the
story—just as the cross was only one day, and the struggle is only seven
millennia, but the unending peace will be years reaching beyond the eternal trillions
humans can conceive of measuring. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a small, short birth-pang our world and our hearts are
enduring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then comes only
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now, in the middle of
it, three things are most important:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>faith, hope, and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
greatest?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Receive it today - you just might distract God...and something tells me He loves that kind of distraction!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
p.s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lest you
think my house is a palace—it’s not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a simple, small, quiet place, whose beauty and rest are only perceived
by a heart that is looking for and receptive to those things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Designers and spa-goers alike would
rightly overlook it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Far-off
freeway noise actually wafts through the windows along with the breeze!</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-55364003747864207802013-08-26T23:45:00.001-05:002013-08-27T11:13:21.498-05:00Make Her Willing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He laughed at me, incredulous and kind. "Use your
imagination."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But where do you tell them to go if you don't have a
bed for them?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The answer came again, with a defensive edge this time:
"You're gonna have to use your imagination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where would YOU go?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe sleep in your car."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hang
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should help her, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've
been through all the options, and I just can't figure out how.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pray</i></b>, whispers the Father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I start and
a thought pops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call the place
she said she was getting kicked out of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They shouldn't, but they do…they talk to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I sound kind and sweet; too kind and sweet, they
think, to be scammed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, I’m not actually surprised…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hang up, the angst of confusion gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did need to know the truth, but it’s
a more unhappy truth than her lie was, and my avenues to help her have not only
shrunk, they’ve entirely disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because now it’s apparent, she didn’t want help.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The angst over what to do tonight is gone, but the ache is
even deeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A human soul, with
layer upon layer of delusion and deception, lie and manipulation, wounds and
accusations…only real conversion of that soul can peel back the layers deeply
enough to find the image of God, to awaken the core girl who was created to
know Him and respond to Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can’t force a heart to be willing for God to start His peeling and digging and
healing and redeeming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh –
sometimes I wish I could!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried,
standing there talking to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
tried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Only the Holy Spirit can do something so deep and impossible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">What makes my heart sink is this knowledge that many people, perhaps this girl, won't ever be willing. Revelation 9 came across my dinner table tonight: "</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">A </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">third of mankind was killed</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">...The rest of mankind that were not killed by these plagues </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">still did not repent</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"> of the work of their hands; they did </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">not stop worshiping demons</span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">...</span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Nor did they repent</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"> of their </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">murders</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">, their </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">magic arts</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">, their </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">sexual immorality</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"> or their </span><span class="style228" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">thefts</span><span class="style210" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to lay her down to Him and give up the idea of being the one to make sure she becomes new, and when I do I realize that’s what He intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pray</i></b>,
He whispers, so that when we turn to Him, we find out His thoughts rather than
our own ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to know what
He wants me to do – this is obedience, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obedience isn’t doing what we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think </i>He’d like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
doing what He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">says</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And tonight He said, be at peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I shall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> What I was supposed to do, I did: a cup of water in Jesus' name. The rest is up to Him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus, make her
willing to come to You.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make her
willing…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-44860003309905139522013-03-30T23:35:00.000-05:002013-03-30T23:35:09.476-05:00A Big Hoax on our Little Human Race
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever encountered someone to whom your existence
truly didn’t matter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t
hate you – no, nothing so passionate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nor do they love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are
simply indifferent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve met a
few, and it unsettles me in a way hatred doesn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watch them walk away and everything inside me wants to cry,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m real!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I matter!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
should matter to you!”</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cold snowstorm hit recently and my back door warped
slightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The neighbor I asked
wouldn’t help me push it closed enough to lock it—he told me later he was
calculating how much he would normally be paid for doing “work”, and knew that
my request for the help of his strength came with no money attached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the night in an unbolted
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Not a great idea in my
neighborhood.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man doesn’t
hate me – he just didn’t care.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m told that some men are just like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t annoy them, and don’t
inspire love or lust in them, it’s said they don’t have the attention span or
emotional capacity to engage in the meaningful exchanges of personhood, one valuing
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re not trying to be
mean – it’s just the way they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A fact of gender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This isn’t true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God is not indifferent, which means he didn’t create Adam
(or Eve) with the trait either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where it exists, it’s a product of sin-nature, not gender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big hoax has been played on our
little human race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, one of
the worst and most effectively pervasive accusations against the character of
God is that He’s indifferent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forget
angry God or judgmental God – uninvolved God is Satan’s optimum lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It works better than the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a deep, even if unarticulated,
knowledge of sin, the average man feels God would be a little justified if He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> angry or judging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, having had the breath of the
Creator breathed into our lungs at the very beginning, each of us knows that in
one way or another, we are of value – and that an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">indifferent</i> God is a travesty against all that is natural and
supernatural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God himself hates our own indifference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wishes, in Revelation, that we were
either hot or cold … but this wishy-washy lukewarmth that doesn’t really care
one way or the other – this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">indifference</i>
– is disgusting to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He calls
that sort of a person shamefully naked, a blind man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Rev. 3)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know a “blind” man or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After interactions with them I feel general confusion and
sadness - it takes a while for me to realize my soul is reeling from one of the
most powerful darts of all – the lie that I don’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few years ago I had a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The setting: the Great Tribulation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The characters:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me and a bunch of bad guys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As these men loaded pallets in a
warehouse for shipping (the cargo was WMD or something as terrible) I calmly repeated
to the foreman, “What you are doing is wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you are doing is wrong.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ignored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, annoyed that a droning voice had been bothering him for too
long, he turned and sent me to the ground with one solid, emotionless blow
across the face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay still,
unable to rise as they continued loading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He hadn’t hit me in anger, or out of frustration at the content of my
message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I was about as
important as a fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply
wanted the noise to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great
realization came to me on that concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d always thought persecution would be overt, direct, and
angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But indifference… what an
entirely different world this was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even hatred directed at a human acknowledges their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">humanness, </i>their <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">substance
and existence as a soul</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> At the end of the dream a</span>n
old friend entered and passed me by, ignoring my injured state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But her 12-year-old daughter walked in and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">saw,</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stooped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, I was a human
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">saw</b> me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re well-rehearsed in our expectation of persecution and
tribulation during the End Times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yet, we will still be surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For it may not be hatred that rounds us up and tosses us overboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may be indifference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is a very different blow to
our psyches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hatred I might meet
with bravery, or anger with peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But before indifference my soul forgets it is a soul and my existence
forgets I exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart forgets
it is loved and my thoughts forget they are important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if I am known or am worth
knowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If today, when the sting
of one man’s indifference to me can only be eased from inside the affirming
arms of my Creator, what will the planet’s indifference do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For indifference is injustice at its
deepest – more so than hatred is – an injustice that disaffirms the essential
value of existence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We who think we’re so ready to remain loving under
persecution may have a whole different arena of sanctification to go through
when indifference hits us instead of hatred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our wills are strong enough to stand up to hatred on their
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But without real intimacy
between us and the Lover of our souls, we cannot come warm and unfrozen through
the long tundra of indifference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“The opposite of love is not hate,
it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The
opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is
not death, it's indifference.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">― Elie Wiesel</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suppose Satan’s great victory would be to convince us, not
to slip to hate, but to linger in that cold world of indifference, and become
indifferent ourselves to all who would be indifferent to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God’s answer has always been clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is not indifferent, and neither are
we designed to be. And the only thing that will keep us alive and joyful is not a hardened indifference to persecution or enemies, but a vulnerability-producing love for those enemies. Yes, it will make us more "hurtable", but in the end, it will save our souls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we are not indifferent - when our hearts ache every time we offer love and have it boomeranged back at us - then we may become a bruised but living answer to a world that has actually believed God Himself indifferent to their own souls. He isn't, and neither are we!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(ouch)</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-77217824369706790972011-12-21T14:51:00.000-06:002011-12-21T14:51:50.466-06:00The Thorns we GraspI went exploring the woods this morning in my new neighborhood and pricked my thumb on a thorn. <br />
<br />
1.) Who knew there were thorn trees in Missouri?!<br />
2.) I think I may have the princess-and-the-pea syndrome. I'm so unused to sharp pain it seriously bothered me the rest of the walk.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I'm beginning to think it may have been a grace. A little object lesson. Not too painful, but just painful enough. We reach out to grasp things we think will help, as I thought the angled tree limb would help me cross the creek, but if it's not what God would have us grasp (only what is wholesome, noble, courageous, and beautiful) it could harm more than help. I didn't cross the creek. My thumb was aching and the sun seemed less shiny and the mud muddier. <br />
<br />
There is some writing I want to do today - some "creek crossing". I need an aware spirit and a ready mind. But over the last 24 hours my attention has been pulled, without too much resistance from me I'm afraid, to "comforting" things that in reality, not being God's for me to grasp hold of, may actually dull my sharpness for today's task. I have been pricked, and like the fairy-tale Beauty my niece loves dressing up as, the thorn's poison might lull me to a dull sleep. How can I write with a slumbering soul? (To be fair, I think she pricked her finger on a spindle, not a thorn :)<br />
<br />
What we grasp onto with our hearts, even in the most cursory of ways, can become a brilliant tool or a stumbling block. A rose, or its thorn. Today's prick reminded me of that. My thumb is amazingly sore - perhaps because the thorn went in right over the joint. I don't want the same to happen within my soul. Thank you, God, for Your corrections - they are life to me! <br />
<br />
And hmmm, just in case the thorn trees in Missouri are even stranger than they seem...<br />
<br />
3.) If I suddenly look very drowsy, somebody please come kiss me. I'd rather be either alive or dead, than asleep! :)Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-32488901060063114812011-11-19T14:24:00.000-06:002011-11-19T14:24:39.994-06:00To all that shall be - Yes!Packing your stuff out of house you've spent almost three years integrating into can be a discouraging activity. "This is mine, that is yours..." It seems endless. I've been doing it for a few weeks, and today is the big push. (Mostly because a few men are coming over to carry heavy things this afternoon, and I want to have as much as possible ready for them. Thank you, Father, for giving half the population extra arm strength! I like the way You think :)<br />
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It's been a cloudy sort of activity, this packing up of life. Particularly as everything I own is going to go into storage except for my clothes and the food from my pantry. The new place is too small to hold anything else, and I only plan to be there a few months as I look toward the future, and hopefully a home of my own.<br />
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Yesterday I suspect my sister(s) were praying for me. After coffee with Jesus and Annie, I had such joy. All day. Anticipation, even. I have always struggled with fearing the unknown. In fact, when Ravi Zacharias gave the commencement address as I graduated college, I know the Spirit specifically gave him words just for me. I watched his back from the stage and let his quotation of "The Gate of the Year" settle in deep:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And he replied:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”</span></div><br />
I remember if every once in a while. Sometimes with a little guilt that I still need to hear the same thing, that my soul still hates the unknown. At its core, this seems a distrust of God. I have been feeling this distrust again, as I've looked into the unknown days ahead and sometimes quaked. A lot of prayer has been going into this area recently, in the private sharings from my heart to His. Yesterday's joy was a real victory.<div><br />
</div><div>This morning, unbidden, Dag Hammarskjold's words slipped into my mind. I think God dropped them there, and I found that they really did reflect my heart - a miracle of sorts coming at the end of what has been a difficult process and the beginning of months that seem potentially dreary:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For all that has been - Thanks!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To all that shall be - Yes!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>Oh - my heart really said this! Thank-you God! But, was it just my mind? Would I feel differently tomorrow? Was the comfort brought by yesterday's whispers from Jesus in Luke just a temporary thing? I need more assurance that He is really working inside - and I don't feel guilty about it. He never minds when we want to be sure of what He is saying and doing. Still, I set the thoughts aside and began packing.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Can you resist old photo albums and journals? I can't. But I was determined to be disciplined with my time and not get caught up into reading old things when I should be packing them away. So I didn't. But in an instant of forgetfulness my fingers just slipped open an old album on its way down into the box. On the first page was a quotation, beautifully written out by a dear friend long years ago. What do you suppose it was? Of course.</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now. When I have overcome my fears - of</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">others, of myself, of the underlying darkness:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">at the frontier of the unheard-of.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here ends the known. But, from a source</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">beyond it, something fills my being with its</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">possibilities.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here desire is purified and made lucid: each</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">action is a preparation for, each choice an </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">assent to the unknown.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For all that has been - Thanks!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To all that shall be - Yes!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> -Dag Hammarskjold</div><div><br />
I'm joining you, Dag, and to God I can honestly say:</div><div><br />
</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">For all that has been - thank you! To all You will do - <b>YES</b>!</div></div></div></div>Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-89284225391967302962011-10-31T16:34:00.000-05:002011-10-31T16:34:34.937-05:00The Day of the Seven Billionth<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>898</o:Words> <o:Characters>5121</o:Characters> <o:Company>Last Days Ministries</o:Company> <o:Lines>42</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>10</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>6288</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Sunday Morning, 10:57 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> -- </span>Hands rise, voices crescendo, the two-thousand-strong congregation has become one single choir of unified worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But not to God’s ear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An exhilarating flash of understanding strikes me – the pleasure He is receiving, while we sing how much we love Him, is not solely the pleasure of having one great, huge, unified Body honoring Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is far more than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the pleasure of having one intimately-known friend express her deep love – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">multiplied two thousand times over.</i><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We don’t have the capacity to experience more than two or three earth-shattering loves in our lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We never imagine that the words “omnipotent” and “omnipresent” and “omniscient” might mean that when He is in a room of two thousand or twenty thousand, He is receiving and interacting with each soul as deeply and enjoyably as if they were the one person with Him in a two-person universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The world is screaming today about how many people there are alive, torn between a feeling of the milestone’s momentousness and a deep misgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seven Billion!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seven Billion!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She who loves self more than others</i> is quaking with the fear that today’s seven billionth baby will plunge everyone, including herself, into spiraling poverty and resource-poor living.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He who loves creation more than the Creator</i> is angry that the Father’s burgeoning family will encroach upon the pristine but temporal land he values more than he does an eternal soul. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spirits who hate the Father</i> are writhing in eagerness to take down that seven billionth, and billions more with her, into eternal separation from Abba, and to keep any more from being born – since that seems the best method to injure the untouchable God.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And she who truly loves living people</i>, but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">misunderstands the living God</b>, mistakenly believes each person’s life will be better if the number God has to take care of is kept to a minimum. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In it all, our attention (even that of loving, believing Christians) is being diverted from what has really happened today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">God is rejoicing over the seven billionth life!<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the last two centuries we have hit the tipping point – due to the principle of exponential growth, the Industrial Revolution, medical breakthroughs, and agricultural advances our population is rapidly increasing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between 1801 and today (about 210 years, a small fraction of the years since creation) we’ve grown from one billion to seven billion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minus a “Malthusian catastrophe” or natural and man-made disasters that could dramatically reduce the world’s population, the number of human souls on the planet will continue to explode - to the dismay of many overpopulation-fear-mongers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even Christians look at aerial photographs of the teeming markets and streets in places like Manila and feel their hearts sink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The number of synapses in our cerebral cortex is finite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You discover this when you try to imagine the existence of God before creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can go back a thousand years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hundred thousand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A million.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when it exceeds that and billions upon billions of years of His uncreated existence tumble into our minds, piling high, we pull up hard - dizzy and overwhelmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t go that far back and wide in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The same problem – a limited physical capacity for imagination and understanding – rears its head and brings me to a screeching halt when I imagine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knowing and loving</i> each and every soul walking those overcrowded streets in India or Bangladesh or China, or even Chicago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And because I can’t possibly know each of seven billion intimately, it doesn’t seem to me that God can either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are many things that cannot be understood with the mind (if even for the simple fact of the physical limit on the size, speed, and firing capacity of our grey matter).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must, instead, be perceived with the spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is one of those.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can love many, but to be intimately involved with each of my children probably requires that I have less than twenty (and that’s if I’m a super high-capacity person, which I’m not.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to assume it is the same with the uncreated Father is a highly egocentric perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is the one who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“fashions their hearts individually”</i> and to whom we can confidently say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“every day of my life was recorded in your book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But to love SEVEN BILLION people that well?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without thinking it, we think:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not even God can do this.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without saying it, we say:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His capacity to love and know has a limit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These are the heresies we imply when we mourn the advent of the seven billionth; or shrink from the challenge of feeding, clothing, and housing them all; or simply do not celebrate today’s births.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are making God in our own, tiny image.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, we are stating what we really think of Him, stating how little we understand about a Father whose essence was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father</i> before He ever created children.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That sort of a Father, the one God IS, is completely capable and completely committed to caring for each child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made it clear in scripture that He rejoices in godly offspring, that He created us to multiply, that His greatest natural gift to humans is the gift of a child (as His greatest spiritual gift is the gift of a Child).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hoopla of dire projections, and fear, and counting then recounting available global resources has at its core a deeply imbedded sin that is found festering like an absorbed thorn in the fleshly heart of every one of us – the sin of unbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I do not believe who He is and what He says He will and can do, then I too will not rejoice – with dancing and shouting and celebrations of heart – over today’s birth of the seven billionth, and over the bean-counters’ projections of another billion or two to quickly follow. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I don’t count beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I count He who has promised faithful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that faithfulness is inextricably linked with the giving of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hebrews 11:11<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: #050f19;"><i>By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #050f19;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today is a good day in the Lord’s book – the day of the seven billionth!</span></span></div><!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-23643110896639960602011-07-18T10:58:00.000-05:002011-07-18T10:58:12.950-05:00Tormenting Righteous Souls<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">A few weeks ago another one of our states registered into the written law of the land an official determination that what God has called evil is actually good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By human decision, it has been decreed that this evil will be sanctioned by the government, elevated to the status a sacrament has in the church, and taught to children as a higher good.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had already been grieved by a much more individual sin – the discovery that a person who calls himself a Christian, and believes he is both in relationship with God and seeking God, was directly and blatantly lying to others about a particular event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of repenting when confronted, he justified his actions and made clear his determination to continue in them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was when my heart was grieving over the number of Christians who don’t obey Jesus (or even the rules of basic morality) that New York announced its decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One scripture kept running through my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It defines the saints’ predicament, as we live in such an upside-down world, and is actually about Lot, <b>“for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard.” </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how you’ve been feeling, but every day I read the news I torment my righteous soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only are terrible things happening, terrible things <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are being done.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humans are setting themselves above God, actually thumbing their noses at Him – intentionally!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost worse, evil is not only rampant in our nations, it has infiltrated our churches…so that if we could see the spiritual realm with our natural eyes, we would fall on the floor and weep over the sheer number of those around us who are being crowded and poked and pierced by demonic spirits of witchcraft and perverse sexuality and rebellion and the like.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This weekend my state of grief was intensified, when I came face to face with yet another instance of real sin and bondage in the life of a true believer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was younger I would have grown angry – self-righteous and angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I grow sad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sad and begging for God to do something supernatural (for that’s what it will take) and douse us sinners with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">grace</i> to be free, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mercy</i> to cover; with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">desire</i> for holiness like His, and with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">compassion</i> strong enough to help one another limp into that throne room to receive these gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is evil all around – everywhere wickedness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To me it feels like the noise of a piece of modern, dissonant music turned into its physical equivalent - shrieking shards of sound and glass coming from all directions, swelling inescapably louder and sharper, piercing my ears and mind and eyes while I moan and crouch and mourn over the cacophony, over what it feels and sounds and looks like, over how painful it is when it hits my ears and how perverse it is when it hits my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what unrighteousness feels like to the righteous soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We feel all this, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">our</i> souls are simply righteous because He gave us His own righteousness. What must it be like for Him, the Original Righteousness?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I curl on my basement floor to the music of "Heaven & Earth" and weep, praying for the church to be made pure and brought near, for Him to return and make everything right and holy - to banish evil - what must He be feeling?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I did weep like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am that grieved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep praying for mercy, that in mercy He will pour out grace to escape temptation and deception and sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That our holy and love-filled God would be honored by how we think and what we do, not maligned by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During worship this morning I remembered the phrase “as far as the east is from the west” and began seeing the distance from here to the exact opposite side of the globe, for that would be the farthest east-west distance possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once forgiven, I could go looking …walking, searching, seeking… for one of my sins, and at that distance, it could take me years to find one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the Spirit prompted my mind to step back a little and stop being so myopic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How far is east from west, in all of the created order?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As far as the far east of the galaxy is from the far west of the galaxy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait, no – as far as the far east of the <i>universe</i> is from the far west of the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would never find that sin.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I see you Jesus, so big, so big - so big that my very important, very evil sin is absolutely removed from me (and certainly not worth a million-year-quest to re-find).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since this is the case, since you are so capable and I can be so righteous, can’t you change our hearts so that we WANT to simply bring our sins to you so you can hurl them that vast distance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">It has become very apparent - our own hearts keep evil cyclical and recurring. Our own hearts. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our own hearts love our sin more than they desire You. Have mercy, Lord!<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Corey Russell preached on the knowledge of God, and summing it up, at the end of the service, with every hand over every eye, he led the entire congregation in a real and corporate prayer of repentance and renunciation of a certain kind of evil – of looking on perversity and wickedness with our eyes and in our thoughts and through our hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My soul was trying to burst out of my body, as I heard the sincerity in my fellow believers, and in my own voice...as I watched a tidal wave of forgiveness and righteousness wash through and past us, leaving the entire thousand of us standing just as solid and immovable in the same spot, but entirely clean, while the flotsam and jetsam of degrading passions and sins went floating away behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are righteous!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can be righteous tomorrow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will be righteous forever!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jesus is right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is much, much bigger than one sin or than our millions of sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, that we would seek his kingdom and his righteousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, someday when he has come back, the righteous soul will never be tortured again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Who is a God like You, pardoning iniquity and passing over the transgression of the remnant of His heritage?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does not retain His anger forever, because He <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">delights in mercy</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will again <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">have compassion</b> on us, and <u>will subdue our iniquities</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea…” <o:p></o:p></i><i>Micah 7:18-19</i></div><!--EndFragment-->Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-83991856008945098862010-08-29T18:52:00.002-05:002013-03-31T00:46:35.591-05:00A Lack of Knowledge, or the Hating of God?A few days ago I met a man who took the beauty bait and entered into a long discussion on God (whose existence he does not acknowledge) with me. For several hours as we talked I silently asked the Spirit for direction - logic and arguments and reason would not bring light to him, so completely was he decided in his mind and so highly did he hold his own understanding. Yet as much as I asked, Jesus did not give me the one prophetic word, or right tack, to use to convince him that God existed or even that it was worth investing time into the question. <br />
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I found it an exercise in frustration - and at the same time joy. I love getting to proclaim aloud the truth about Jesus, especially to people who think I'm ridiculous and openly insult me because of it. Yet, the longer we talked the sadder I became - I don't often meet people who seem to me to truly fall into that category of the wicked who are "bound and determined" to be eternally lost. </div>
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As I prayed for him, I found myself asking an unusual favor of God (the queen can do that). Though this man had rejected the multiple messengers the Lord had already sent him, would the Lord for my sake sovereignly reveal Himself anyway? Simply because I asked? (For Lucy's sake, in the Last Battle, Aslan speaks to the self-blinded dwarves. But I wanted even more than that - I wanted his full salvation.) </div>
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Several currents were constant in me as we talked. First, I was intensely frustrated by my inadequacy as an apologist. All the statistics and details and knowledge of other religions and memory of how to counter certain arguments -- these were gone from my mind. Second, I was excessively disappointed by the silence I heard in answer to my prayer for prophetic power and understanding. I desperately wanted to know what the real root was to this man's blindness. If only I could get at that directly and address it. Why wouldn't the Spirit just tell me? <br />
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In the days since I have thought much and prayed often over him. Remembering our conversation, it became clear to me that although the man claimed not to believe God even existed, he had exhibited an extremely deep and personal hatred and anger toward God. He <i>did</i> know God was real - he simply hated Him. And instead of understanding that God went to the extreme measure of dying to save him from a condemnation he was already subject to, he blamed God for carrying out any judgment at all against sin and wickedness. <br />
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To my shock, today, Allan Hood preached a sermon on this exact subject - almost detailing word for word the content of my conversation with this man. Eerie. No, not eerie. Divine. And yes, I was right -- there are two basic realities that man did not understand, and Allan delineated. <br />
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1.) Man hates God.<br />
2.) God loves man.<br />
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Apologetics and prophetic insight were not what would reach this man, because the root of his blindness was not a lack of knowledge or a lack of physical revelation (he had already spent much of his life studying the beauties of nature, which themselves reveal the existence of God if one has a heart to perceive).<br />
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The truth is the dead spirit of man hates God. It is utterly devoid of the life of the Spirit of God. To pansy around the reality of death - that something is dead - means to leave it to that death. If we, as believers, are not clear on the stark difference between life and death, between God's kingdom and Satan's kingdom, we will not be able to lead the dead ones back into life. <br />
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This is a subject the Lord has been harping on in my life for the last year. In the novel I'm working on I wrote quite a while ago this line - "A woman cannot marry a corpse" as the heroine takes a final stab at explaining to an unbelieving man why she cannot enter a relationship with him. Mike's recent sermons on Romans, on walking in the Spirit, have been highlighting and solidifying this distinction - the great gulf between the Spirit and the flesh, life and death. It's something we must be entirely clear on in order to truly preach the real Gospel. <br />
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I'm thankful for the object lesson this conversation was, and the way the Lord followed it up with a clear confirmation of what He's been teaching me. I am more determined than ever to walk this way - according to the Spirit, able to explain the difference between life and death. <br />
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And at the same time my heart longs for this man - he is more than an object lesson, he is a creation of the Almighty, and I will be satisfied with nothing less than his eternal salvation. Apologetics and prophetic insight are not what will pierce the blackness of death. Only the mighty Spirit of the living God can do that, and intercession is the one great tool I have to effect the lifting of blindness off his heart -- Lord, make me an intercessor!<br />
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Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-84010296361483199262010-05-22T13:32:00.000-05:002010-05-22T13:32:05.106-05:00An Egg is an Egg<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">A fictional scenario... </span><br />
<br />
I made eggs for the woman living with me. She thanked me breezily, savoring their taste. I like putting a tiny bit of milk, salt, and cheese into a few beaten eggs. It brings out the taste. The next day, she returned the favor, making not simply eggs, but what might be called an omelet, for it had vegetables cut up into it. Pleased with the result, she made eggs again the next day, improvising a little more with extra spices and one less yolk. Over the next few months the vegetable component of the eggs she cooked increased. Once she discovered tomatoes, and how nice they tasted slightly warmed, that became the predominant ingredient. But tomatoes make eggs watery. Her solution, I noticed was to begin using a bit of flour in the mixture with the egg. (Yes, we were down to one egg, and mostly vegetables, which she would set before me every morning with the happy comment: “Here are your eggs.”) <br />
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The vegetables had to be sautéed before going into the mixture, and she began experimenting with a little meat. Meat in the morning, she said, could be a very helpful protein boost. She tried ham, bacon, ground beef, and chicken, settling on the chicken as the nicest, lightest option. <br />
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“Here are your eggs,” came the cheery greeting each morning. Actually, it was mostly chicken and tomatoes, with piles of sautéed zucchini, mushrooms, scallions, and red bell peppers heaped over the top. Oh, and an egg, mixed with quite a bit of flour in a cream sauce, to pour over at the end as a sort of gentle concrete. Except, without the yolk part. There was enough protein in the chicken, she decided, and getting rid of the yolk might cut down on some cholesterol. <br />
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But of course, cream doesn’t go very well with vegetables like those, at least not in my taste-bud world, nor in hers. So before another week was gone, so was the sauce. And, um, the egg white that had been in it.<br />
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“Here are your eggs.” She happily laid the plate before me, a wonderful conglomeration that reminded me of a chicken cacciatore. <br />
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I suddenly laughed. “Actually, this isn’t eggs. It’s yummy, but it’s technically not eggs.”<br />
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“Yes, it is.” Her voice carried a tinge of huffiness. After some back-and-forth she expounded on her thoughts. “The term ‘eggs’ is a name, really, for nutrients in the morning. It means breakfast, basically. This is eggs,” and she pointed again to the cacciatore. <br />
<br />
“In the context of food, ‘egg’ is an unfertilized reproductive body of a chicken or fowl, consisting of an ovum – a yolk – and its envelope. Chicken cacciatore is not an egg.”<br />
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“You’re being offensive,” she said quietly and politely, restraining anger. “There is chicken in here – and those eggs you’re talking about come from chicken. Which makes this more truly an egg than your supposed egg itself!”<br />
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I looked at her in wonder, very surprised. This had been happening over the months, I suddenly realized, and it had never occurred to me to correct her morning “Here are your eggs” statement, for it had never occurred to me that a human brain would be capable of calling one thing, another thing. <br />
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I must confess, I think I stuttered. It wasn’t over the stupidity of the statement. Many stupid things are said every day. It was over the fact that she actually believed what she was saying.<br />
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I tried once more, kindly slipping to the refrigerator, pulling an egg from the carton, and bringing it back to the table. I laid it next to the cacciatore. “This is an egg,” I said. “An egg is an actual, real thing. Your wonderful dish is simply not it.” The red mass of veggies and meat laid in a great, steaming pile next to the cool, oblong, white shell I had set down. <br />
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Anger in her movements, she whipped the plate away from me and I had no breakfast that morning, whether egg or cacciatore. I was a bit preoccupied – concerned, would be the word – as I made my way to work. How was her mind when it came to other things? Was this some strange sort of senility? She was only 36. <br />
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A horn honked behind me. Oh – I hadn’t seen the light turn green, lost in thought as I was. As I looked up and pressed the gas, a grocery semi-truck turn left in front of me, having decided not to wait any longer. I slammed on the brakes. The car stopped in time for me to watch, in slow motion, the huge advertisement plastered on the side of the semi. A Beaver-Cleaver family, in retro dress, gathered around the kitchen table. With healthy smiles on their faces, and succulent heaps of red cacciatore on their plates, the caption read: “Every good day starts the right way. Eggs!”<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">* * *</div><br />
Sounds like an episode of the Twilight Zone, right? Well – perhaps not as exciting. I watched an interview last night between Jennifer Knapp and Larry King, then went to bed thinking about the ridiculous hijacking of the Christian church. There really are people out there (a lot of them, actually) who are not followers of Christ Jesus yet insist on calling themselves Christians. There are multiple reasons, on Satan’s part, for using this particular strategy – I won’t go into them here. <br />
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What struck me last night, as it often does, is how unmovable truth is. Whatever is said, whatever is claimed, doesn’t change reality. One could keep one’s dead cat in the house for days and days after it had been run over, and continually say that it is alive. Tell your friends and family it is alive. Talk to it like it is alive. But that cat is dead, dead, dead. Sorry to say it, but no amount of make-believe on your part is going to change the dead deadness of that cat. <br />
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If God grants that His power would flow through me, I’ll be perfectly happy to come to your house and raise that cat from the dead. But until I do – that cat is DEAD. Truth doesn’t change depending on what’s in our imagination at the moment, or on our tongue. <br />
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I am looking for the day when the church as a whole will adhere to scripture. I’ve sometimes wished that we could call another of the great old councils, and let the Body of Christ at large publicly disavow as ‘Christians’ every institution, organization, and denomination that does not adhere to the basic tenants of Scripture. But as I think of it, I realize that this era of double-talk may naturally draw to an end when persecution of Christians arises. On the other hand, it’s possible the liberal pretenders to the name will succeed in utterly hijacking the word (Christian), and real believers will be prosecuted and killed as the ones pretending to the name. I can’t predict at this point. Which means right now there is nothing I can or should do except speak the truth – even if that requires boldness and a willingness to be hated for it. So here, friends is the truth (not from me, but direct from the Holy Spirit through the apostles):<br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1Jo 3:4-10 Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness. (5) You know that he appeared to take away sins, and in him there is no sin. (6) No one who abides in him keeps on sinning; <b>no one who keeps on sinning has either seen him or known him. </b>(7) Little children, let no one deceive you. Whoever practices righteousness is righteous, as he is righteous. (8) <b>Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil</b>, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil. (9) No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God's seed abides in him, and he cannot keep on sinning because he has been born of God. (10) By this it is evident who are the children of God, and who are the children of the devil: whoever does not practice righteousness is not of God, nor is the one who does not love his brother.</div><br />
I love Mike Bickle’s distinction between sincere believers who repent when they fall (which we often do) and on whose record of sin God presses “delete”, and fake believers who use “grace” as an excuse to cling in love to their sin and continue in it. (The word “fake” is mine, not his.) These are two very different hearts, and will be treated two very different ways in the final judgments, just as they are treated two very different ways in scripture. Read the above passage with that understanding. Let condemnation be out of the question for the former (believers), and let conviction be deep for the latter – those who are, according to this passage, “of the devil”. I’m sorry to call them such, but it is the truth, and if no one says it out loud, we will all be guilty of having watched them race toward a long and painful existence of separation from all they were made for, and of having done nothing.Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-88496949591778551762010-05-22T00:27:00.001-05:002010-05-22T00:31:03.358-05:00Just the FactsAll I could think were the words: "Do not be deceived. God is not mocked." <br />
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I was cutting dead wood out of the rose bush out front, and in the process discovering why most women wear gardening gloves for such activities. But these dead pieces have been bothering me for a year, all interspersed with the living, green branches. I'd finished pulling out the creeping vines that keep trying to take over the front garden, and happened to stick my hand in among the roses, and once a dead twig snapped off I was all in - no stopping for gloves.<br />
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But that was not the genesis of the scripture running through my mind. I accidentally cut off two good roses in the process of pruning. One feels quite bad about accidents like that, and has to apologize to the rose that is and the little buds that will never be. It reminded me of why the Lord said he was delaying his judgment until the end (Matt 13:24-30) - so that none of those that truly belong to him (wheat and/or roses) gets accidentally pulled out of the ground along with the wicked (weeds and/or dead wood). Well, there was a huge difference between the dead and living branches, and the determination in me to get out all the dead stuff was unstoppable, even by multiple, painful thorn-attacks. I just couldn't wait until Fall, when no roses would be endangered by my prunes.<br />
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"Don't be deceived," I heard over and over in my head, mostly thinking about the gang of teenagers that has started to make our street their hang-out, "God is not mocked." What is dead will eventually burn. That's all it's useful for. Pride certainly makes our brains turn off, for people end up thinking (without ever getting around to verbalizing it) that God IS mocked, that He WON'T follow through, that choices for evil will have no evil consequences. <br />
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I think this gang is dangerous - there is a brazen sort of pride in the eyes they use to defiantly meet mine every time I drive past them and into my garage. And I'm sorry to say my imagination has a pretty good idea of what sort of havoc they might be able to wreak around here. But in the end, the stories will all be the same, and my general feeling is not fear but pity. The dead, stay dead. And if possible, get deader. And with those branches out of the way, the living will flourish. (You should see the bush now - very pretty!) Am I going to tell them this?<br />
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This all might sound rather harsh, but if we do not understand it, we become as lulled to sleep as the dead ones are. Two more craigslist people have slipped through my fingers without hearing the gospel today - it's about to drive me mad. I am desperate for God to quicken me with compassion over the lost's plight, and with the skill, energy, and words to engage them with the truth. This evening's bush-pruning was a bit of an answer, I think. The chaff will really be burned, the dead branches will really be broken off. The lost will really die. We all need to realize this - myself most of all.Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-36967721253895757382010-05-13T23:49:00.002-05:002010-05-13T23:49:42.164-05:00CapacityWaiting can either increase or decrease our capacity. It depends on what we do while we wait. Running amok, turning into intense self-focus, going blank and hopeless, or harboring a smoldering, quiet anger – all ultimately sabotage our own wait, shrinking our soul’s ability to fully experience and receive the thing waited for when it finally presents itself to be enjoyed. Why? Why and how, after a long time of dreaming and desiring, could it be possible that we actually are less able to perceive the joys of what we desired? It has to do with the way the human heart is designed. In our all desires, there is found one root. Each hope is like a beam coming off one overwhelming, irresistible orb. What we so want, if we were to look as deeply as truth goes, comes back each time and in each form or manifestation to one thing – one center – one great desire. <br />
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It is God.<br />
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We want to be perfectly loved, with no selfishness or self-righteousness involved. We want to perfectly love – someone who is worthy of utter adoration and worthy of our effortful attempts at it. We want to be fully ourselves, and no one in the world can tell us who we really are, and cheer us and help us all along the way to become that, except God. <br />
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A song I adore says it like this:<br />
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To be passionately loved<br />
And to passionately love<br />
To be naked, unashamed<br />
And happy in one place<br />
To have all of your attentions<br />
Surrendered to the truth<br />
And be bathed head to toe<br />
In the blood saved for you<br />
To be eager to release<br />
And the first one to repent<br />
And to never even notice <br />
When hours are spent<br />
To come boldly to the throne<br />
While all of life ensues<br />
And be helplessly in love<br />
With the blood shed for you<br />
To be held like a baby<br />
And to hold on like a baby<br />
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And so it happens, that while we desire all the normal and good things God created for us, we can do it in such a way that either embraces or shuns Him. In our minds we think they can be two unrelated heart events, the subtle shunning of God and the constructive desiring of good. The Christo-platonic philosophy of our culture separates God and physics, God and the physical. But I propose that in shunning God, we turn to “off” the very source of the capacity we were given to desire and perceive good. The second flows from the first. With the first dead, is it any wonder that we see people receive their secondary desires (those things they believe erroneously to be their primary desires) and with those things gained and grasped in their hands, they themselves are sucked down into destruction and disappointment and bitterness?<br />
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Life can read like a French novel. <br />
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And if one can’t read French, a good translation of basically every modern movie out there will suffice. At the end of most, were we to be honest, once the hero and heroine have kissed or the world has been saved or all the orcs’ heads cut off, we find ourselves emotionally poised on the lip of a deep, and blackest of black, chasm. The finale is hollow, the package is empty, the heart is still yearning for something eternally good and eternally truth. And something for us, not for the fake people in the story.<br />
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On the other hand, if one spends the time of desiring (of waiting) on a quest to broaden the heart’s openness to the core One desired, to discover the voice of eternal Joy Himself, I believe one will find at the end of the wait that in increasing our heart’s familiarity with and capacity for ultimate good, we are more fully able to recognize, receive, and experience the temporal goods.<br />
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This is the exact opposite of the wisdom you find inside every newspaper, on the cover of every magazine, and in the minds of every American neighbor, so watch out. Telling such truths might get you labeled a fanatic, and using reason and intelligence to reveal God might be called mindless religion. <br />
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But that doesn’t matter. In the end, you’re happier, you’re whole, and you’ve an eternity to spend delighting in Delight Himself and in all His beautiful beams.Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-39400551135635847532010-04-07T13:04:00.000-05:002010-04-07T13:04:53.132-05:00Pangur BanI often have little conversations in my head – remember, I’m a novelist. This morning as I was brushing my teeth it went like this:<br />
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“I had such a great cat.”<br />
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“What made it great?”<br />
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Pause.<br />
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“I loved it.”<br />
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Oh. She had her little quirks, and she wasn’t snuggly with anyone but me. And thinking about it, I guess she wasn’t all that more unique than any other cat. (Except, she never did get the being-born-in-the-wild out of her, and she did occasionally take week-long vacations from the house, and…well, I wouldn’t want to bore anyone.) But, when that phrase came, “I loved it,” I suddenly felt a tiny bit of the agape that the Lord God has for us, as ones He created. <br />
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Within the relationship of belonging (as the creation belongs to the creator) there is something that makes the belongee exceedingly precious and beloved. I wonder if this is part of how love develops in arranged marriages. It is definitely part of parental love toward helpless, red, and wrinkly little babies when they are born. They are yours, and that makes them more important than any other creature in the world.<br />
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I was thinking about Pangur (she was lost into the wilds of Chicago about 5 ½ years ago) because of the cat she was named after: Pangur Ban. Years ago I read this poem, written by an 8th century Irish monk and scribe. Being a writer myself, it fit perfectly:<br />
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<i>I & Pangur Ban my cat <br />
'Tis a like task we are at: <br />
Hunting mice is his delight, <br />
Hunting words I sit all night. <br />
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'Tis a merry thing to see <br />
At our tasks how glad are we, <br />
When at home we sit & find <br />
Entertainment to our mind. <br />
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'Gainst the wall he sets his eye, <br />
Full & fierce & sharp & sly; <br />
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I <br />
All my little wisdom try. <br />
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So in peace our task we ply <br />
Pangur Ban my cat & I; <br />
In our arts we find our bliss, <br />
I have mine & he has his.</i><br />
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Last night I discovered that an animated movie has been made about this monk, which is supposedly very good and which is <i>not</i> playing in my vicinity (The Secret of Kells). Which is too bad, as tomorrow is my birthday and I should have very much liked to see it…a movie with Pangur Ban and his monk. (On the movie’s website you can hear a little song about Pangur Ban.) <br />
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I’ve always thought I might name her Pangur Ban when I am able to have a cat again. In the meantime, I will just consider this: that it was my love for the first Pangur that made her so special. And that whether or not I am ever satisfied with the words I scribe, it is the love of the Lord God for me that makes me a delight.Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497850.post-69080671486934307052010-02-13T01:17:00.000-06:002010-02-13T01:17:05.628-06:00A Very Real Problem<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/AMYPET%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“Do not fear.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How many times does the Lord say this? In both the Old and New Testaments, He takes pains to reiterate the point to the thousandth power. Do not be anxious. Do not fear.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It strikes me that He wouldn’t say such a thing if it weren’t true. While we intellectually assent, in our hearts we actually operate as if He’s giving us a platitude.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God: “Don’t be afraid, as it will just generally make life feel worse.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: “But there is a flesh-eating monster coming at me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God: “Feeling anxious about it will just make your last moments alive stressful. Try to relax.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have to say, re-reading what I just wrote is making me laugh really, really hard. What a big, fat lie we have believed about God! Perhaps I should stop talking in the plural and just take responsibility for my own ridiculousness. What a lie <b>I</b> have believed about God.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Reality is more along the lines of a Mission Impossible movie, where the hero never dies or is defeated, no matter how many bullets he takes, and the girl is always saved. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If the Rescuer <i>says</i> not to fear, as the girl being rescued, the response that most accurately takes into account His undefeatable strength and His determination to save alive the one He loves, is for me to say, “Ok, I won’t be afraid.” Response number two would be to start training my eyes on Him while the flesh-eating monster charges, watching to see what adventurous plan and strength-requiring feat He will come up with to keep that monster from getting past Him to me. Because the fact is, He <i>will</i> come up with a plan – one that probably seems outlandish, too risky, potentially fatal, and requiring absolutely too much trust on my part. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ahh, there’s the rub. Too much trust on my part. I recently read a book where the girl had to climb on the hero’s back and hold on while he lowered himself from a cathedral’s tower using only a thin rope. (I began to think she must have been a very small girl, and he a very strong man to manage such a thing. But that is the privilege of authors of fiction…being able to write, well – <i>fiction</i>!) Anyway, maybe a man couldn’t really do that. But if we were to think of God’s feats in our lives (be they physical or spiritual) in a physical picture, that would be a pretty accurate one. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God: “Hold on to me, while I do something impossible and hair-raising.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Me: “You mean that flesh-eating monster isn’t going to get me? There’s only You and three feet between him and me.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God: “Of course not. I told you not to be afraid of him, didn’t I?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Someone once described fear to me as a tiny little demon in the dirt raising a big cloud of dust. I needed to stop believing what it said about how big it was. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">But let me say this. Even if it’s a huge demon, or circumstance, or enemy…raising a very real problem…God is sure to win. We know it because He told us not to be afraid.</span>Amy Rachel Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10236164569364558575noreply@blogger.com1