Circumstances crash about me, and my wind struck vessel breaks.
All my thoughts are left adrift while this heart within me quakes.
Master, still my troubled mind
As you stilled the storm at sea.
Speak the words, “Peace be still,”
That from fears, I’ll be set free.
Master, still my troubled mind
As you stilled the storm at sea.
As the tempest turns to trusting,
Let me rest alone in Thee.
Enshrouded by the shadow of the valley dark and gray,
Wondering in confusion, my thoughts roam far away.
Shepherd, soothe this hurting heart
As you did with David’s song.
Whisper melodies of comfort
As the night watch stretches long.
Shepherd, soothe this hurting heart
As you did with David’s song.
Taking captive all my feelings,
Set my thoughts where they belong.
A child so small, uncertain, afraid to call your name,
Afraid to call you Abba, yet pleading just the same.
Father, take the broken pieces;
Draw me into your embrace.
Hold me close and stop the trembling;
Let me see your loving face.
Father, take the broken pieces;
Draw me into your embrace.
As I give you every heartache,
I am kept within your grace.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Sunday, October 01, 2006
A Lesson in the City
I don't really know what made me think of this, but I was remembering back to a Saturday afternoon several years ago, when I carried a violin case all over downtown San Francisco. The reactions I received were priceless.
I walked up and down the pier with the case slung over my shoulder. Random tourists walked up to me and asked me if I was studying at the conservatory. Not this year, I would respond. I didn't bother to tell them I never would.
I juggled that thing on and off the cable car. The brake man teased me about needing to purchase a ticket for the instrument, and when I refused, told me I would have to play a tune for the ride. Several passengers joined in. I just laughed. The case never opened.
I wandered passed street musicians with an assortment of pan pipes, guitars, and native drums. A little further a small band managed to drown out the sounds of city traffic. Further, a solitary musician poured out his soul in a haunting tune on the sax. As I walked by the musicians, each noticed me. Their eyes would dart to the case and then to me, and there was an unspoken appreciation, some sort shared camaraderie that no one else was even aware of.
The whole day went like that. The whole day, I was the only one that knew that the case I carried was empty. No one ever challenged me to open the case and show the instrument. No one ever asked me to play a few notes to prove my musicianship. They just assumed.
Before you think I'm completely crazy: No, I am not in the habit of carrying empty instrument cases through the city. It just so happens there is this cute little music store in San Francisco. It's called "Lark in the Morning." I needed a new case, something that would protect my instrument a little better than what I was currently using. And that purchase had been my first stop that Saturday afternoon.
The thing that struck me though, is that I liked it. I liked the facade. I liked that I was held in a higher esteem than I deserved. I liked the association, however superficial. But carting a case doesn't make a musician anymore than attending church makes a Christian.
The truth of the matter, I do own I violin. I have studied for a couple of years, but the illustration rings true even among the saved. We are so concerned about what other Christians will think of our spirituality. If someone asks me, I'll tell them I play the violin, but I won't play for them. I don't want them to hear where I'm at. As I write this, I can see the pride screaming back at me, and I think of the verse, "Comparing themselves among themselves, they make themselves stupid." (my translation) We'll tell people we pray, but we're hesitant to pray out loud lest someone hear our fumbling words. We'll say we have a close walk with God, we can't remember when what started as a sincere relationship drifted into a ritual. We'll claim we love God, but beg God not to put us to the test to prove that love. We'll grow frustrated at the slow process of sanctification in our own lives when we see how far we have to go or when we look at the work God is doing in someone else.
It was so easy to carry the case with confidence as long as no one knew the truth. But it wasn't real.
I walked up and down the pier with the case slung over my shoulder. Random tourists walked up to me and asked me if I was studying at the conservatory. Not this year, I would respond. I didn't bother to tell them I never would.
I juggled that thing on and off the cable car. The brake man teased me about needing to purchase a ticket for the instrument, and when I refused, told me I would have to play a tune for the ride. Several passengers joined in. I just laughed. The case never opened.
I wandered passed street musicians with an assortment of pan pipes, guitars, and native drums. A little further a small band managed to drown out the sounds of city traffic. Further, a solitary musician poured out his soul in a haunting tune on the sax. As I walked by the musicians, each noticed me. Their eyes would dart to the case and then to me, and there was an unspoken appreciation, some sort shared camaraderie that no one else was even aware of.
The whole day went like that. The whole day, I was the only one that knew that the case I carried was empty. No one ever challenged me to open the case and show the instrument. No one ever asked me to play a few notes to prove my musicianship. They just assumed.
Before you think I'm completely crazy: No, I am not in the habit of carrying empty instrument cases through the city. It just so happens there is this cute little music store in San Francisco. It's called "Lark in the Morning." I needed a new case, something that would protect my instrument a little better than what I was currently using. And that purchase had been my first stop that Saturday afternoon.
The thing that struck me though, is that I liked it. I liked the facade. I liked that I was held in a higher esteem than I deserved. I liked the association, however superficial. But carting a case doesn't make a musician anymore than attending church makes a Christian.
The truth of the matter, I do own I violin. I have studied for a couple of years, but the illustration rings true even among the saved. We are so concerned about what other Christians will think of our spirituality. If someone asks me, I'll tell them I play the violin, but I won't play for them. I don't want them to hear where I'm at. As I write this, I can see the pride screaming back at me, and I think of the verse, "Comparing themselves among themselves, they make themselves stupid." (my translation) We'll tell people we pray, but we're hesitant to pray out loud lest someone hear our fumbling words. We'll say we have a close walk with God, we can't remember when what started as a sincere relationship drifted into a ritual. We'll claim we love God, but beg God not to put us to the test to prove that love. We'll grow frustrated at the slow process of sanctification in our own lives when we see how far we have to go or when we look at the work God is doing in someone else.
It was so easy to carry the case with confidence as long as no one knew the truth. But it wasn't real.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Psalm 16:11
Someone shared this verse with me yesterday, and I was blessed by it.
Psalm 16:11
You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
I won't comment on it. The verse speaks for itself.
Psalm 16:11
You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
I won't comment on it. The verse speaks for itself.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Stagnancy
Ever sit through a convicting message and not been convicted? Ever pick up your Bible with confidence and think things are basically going okay so devotions shouldn't be too "painful" this morning? Ever sung about Christ's death and not been moved? Don't leave me out on a limb by myself. I think we've all been here at some point. Slowly our depravity fades away and we grow complacent in our supposed self-righteousness.
Two verses come to mind. Paraphrased: "let everyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall." and "search me O God and know my heart and see if there be any wicked way in me."
I was thinking about this all week. It's not a pleasant thing to have known sin in your life and go through the humbling process of giving it over to God, of confessing it before Him, and if necessary, before others, of letting go of the idols you cling to. Unpleasant as it is, nothing frightens me more than searching my heart and not knowing what sin to confess. I don't want to grow callous towards sin, and I certainly don't want to become stagnant in my Christian walk.
Praise Him! That He who began a good work will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.
Two verses come to mind. Paraphrased: "let everyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall." and "search me O God and know my heart and see if there be any wicked way in me."
I was thinking about this all week. It's not a pleasant thing to have known sin in your life and go through the humbling process of giving it over to God, of confessing it before Him, and if necessary, before others, of letting go of the idols you cling to. Unpleasant as it is, nothing frightens me more than searching my heart and not knowing what sin to confess. I don't want to grow callous towards sin, and I certainly don't want to become stagnant in my Christian walk.
Praise Him! That He who began a good work will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
I prayed
I prayed, "God give me wisdom."
And He said, "I did. It's there in your hand."
All the wisdom I'll ever need is pressed within this leather cover.
I prayed, "God, teach me."
And He said, "I am. Are you listening?"
I waited for a shout, but he spoke in a still, small voice.
I prayed, "God, make me like You."
And he said, "I will. One day, one truth at a time."
And when I see Him, I shall be like Him.
I prayed, "God, be glorified."
And He smiled.
And He said, "I did. It's there in your hand."
All the wisdom I'll ever need is pressed within this leather cover.
I prayed, "God, teach me."
And He said, "I am. Are you listening?"
I waited for a shout, but he spoke in a still, small voice.
I prayed, "God, make me like You."
And he said, "I will. One day, one truth at a time."
And when I see Him, I shall be like Him.
I prayed, "God, be glorified."
And He smiled.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Just Listening
Tonight I held music--touched it, felt it, tasted it, saw it. Sitting on the floor of a practice room, I listened as the piano come to life, singing a thousand emotions that I do not have the skill to express nor the desire to minimize with words. The music became a duet, and interplay, an exchange of expresion between the one who pressed the keys and the one whose keys were pressed. Every vibration seeped through the floor, and I felt them, and none escaped. Those of you who can hear should cover your ears sometime and hear was music really sounds like.
Thank you, Brittany for your music.
Thank you, Brittany for your music.
One of my favorite quotes:
"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury; and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasion, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony."
William Henry Channing
William Henry Channing
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Compromise
This has been the topic of numerous dinner conversations, countless room debates, and many unresolved, opinionated discussions. I don't intend to resolve it, only to discuss it.
Consider the matter of carbonated beverage (termed intentionally thus to remain neutral). We have the many that call it soda, the rather equal number that call it pop, the few that call it coke, and the handful that call it sodapop. I can deal with soda. I can deal with pop. (We won't talk about coke). But it's the peacemaking, compromising, fence-walking, standard-bending sodapoppers that need to be addressed. As Kathiann so aptly put it, "It's like theistic evolution. They can't both be." Let your yea be yea and your nay, nay. This attempt to please everyone, this willingness to merge the vocabulary that so distinguishes our culture and the regions of our country is a violation of who we are. So in defiance to this battle of words, may we all drink milk.
Consider the matter of carbonated beverage (termed intentionally thus to remain neutral). We have the many that call it soda, the rather equal number that call it pop, the few that call it coke, and the handful that call it sodapop. I can deal with soda. I can deal with pop. (We won't talk about coke). But it's the peacemaking, compromising, fence-walking, standard-bending sodapoppers that need to be addressed. As Kathiann so aptly put it, "It's like theistic evolution. They can't both be." Let your yea be yea and your nay, nay. This attempt to please everyone, this willingness to merge the vocabulary that so distinguishes our culture and the regions of our country is a violation of who we are. So in defiance to this battle of words, may we all drink milk.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
The First Note
The concert master has already entered. The oboe has given the tuning note. The conductor has been honored. The audience has quieted.
Watch the orchestra.
In the last moment before the first note sounds, instruments are poised and ready. The brass comes to attention. The reeds are dampened. The violins find their first string. All that remains is a signal from the conductor, and the whole room will burst forth in music.
The sun has already risen. The birds have chirped their repetitive sequences. The battle between the snooze button and my alarm's tone has carried on as long as I dare. Already, people are coming and going about their day. As I rise, I have the opportunity to stop and to prepare, to search out the Scriptures, to linger in prayer, to line up my heart's response to His leading. I want to be ready. I want to find that first string so that all that remains is to wait for the signal from God.
And the transformation occurs from a day as it might have been into the orchestrated beauty of His direction.
Watch the orchestra.
In the last moment before the first note sounds, instruments are poised and ready. The brass comes to attention. The reeds are dampened. The violins find their first string. All that remains is a signal from the conductor, and the whole room will burst forth in music.
The sun has already risen. The birds have chirped their repetitive sequences. The battle between the snooze button and my alarm's tone has carried on as long as I dare. Already, people are coming and going about their day. As I rise, I have the opportunity to stop and to prepare, to search out the Scriptures, to linger in prayer, to line up my heart's response to His leading. I want to be ready. I want to find that first string so that all that remains is to wait for the signal from God.
And the transformation occurs from a day as it might have been into the orchestrated beauty of His direction.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Black Miracles
When we think of God's hand moving in a miraculous way, we think of the beauty, the earth taking shape at his command. We think of the majesty, mountains and valleys carved out by rushing waters. We think of the sufficiency, a multitude satisfied by one boy's lunch. We think of the joy, a cherished loved one restored to life, a dreaded disease or impairment gone.
But what about the other miracles, black miracles if you will, the miracles that we didn't choose, the miracles that make us question and doubt. Miracles like Joseph being sold into slavery. Like David watching his infant son slip into eternity. Like Paul with a thorn that wouldn't go away.
Sometimes God moves in a miraculous way to do exactly what we didn't want. A lack of finances keeps that dream from becoming a reality. The boyfriend or fiancé that seemed to be God's will calls it off. The friend that was such a spiritual encouragement moves away. The job that was everything thing you ever wanted is no longer yours. The doctor's diagnosis drastically alters your future, crushing hopes and dreams.
None of these events would have taken place without a supernatural intervention form God. Can they be any less miracles? They are the miracles that move beyond our comprehension into the mind of God. And His thoughts are not out thoughts.
But, if we truly believe that all things work together for good, can we be any less thankful for the black miracles?
But what about the other miracles, black miracles if you will, the miracles that we didn't choose, the miracles that make us question and doubt. Miracles like Joseph being sold into slavery. Like David watching his infant son slip into eternity. Like Paul with a thorn that wouldn't go away.
Sometimes God moves in a miraculous way to do exactly what we didn't want. A lack of finances keeps that dream from becoming a reality. The boyfriend or fiancé that seemed to be God's will calls it off. The friend that was such a spiritual encouragement moves away. The job that was everything thing you ever wanted is no longer yours. The doctor's diagnosis drastically alters your future, crushing hopes and dreams.
None of these events would have taken place without a supernatural intervention form God. Can they be any less miracles? They are the miracles that move beyond our comprehension into the mind of God. And His thoughts are not out thoughts.
But, if we truly believe that all things work together for good, can we be any less thankful for the black miracles?
Friday, August 18, 2006
My Goals
Call them New Year resolutions if you will. I personally don't make New Year resolutions because they've always been a joke with me. I find the guilt trip on every 31st of December inhumane, and making a practice of setting myself up for failure every year seems needless.
I do however believe in setting goals, of making a plan, of evaluating my life in light of areas to change. Maybe that's the same thing as what a New Year resolution is supposed to do, but for me, doing it on a day other than the transition between December and January somehow makes it seem a little less doomed.
Another difference--I'm not looking at the year as a whole. These are my goals for today. Tomorrow, they will be my goals for tomorrow, and as God enables me day by day, I pray they become a habit that will last through the year and then another and another. For now, today will suffice.
- To depend daily on God, to seek Him as my only sustenance from moment to moment, to never stop needing Him (Psalm 63).
- To daily meet with God, to be in his Word that I might know Him, that I might obey Him, that I might grow to be more like Him (2 Timothy 3:16-17).
- To make Him my delight (Psalm 37:4).
- To be obedient in prayer, to learn how to pray according to His will, and to make prayer a discipline in my life (Philippians 4:6).
- To choose daily to be thankful, knowing that when I cease to honor Him and cease to be thankful, it is the turning point away from Him (Romans 1). For me, it's making a literal list of thankfulness and keeping myself accountable in it.
- To submit to the divine authority of those who hold me accountable, to approach accountability with honesty and without preconceived prejudice (Romans 13:1-2; 1 Peter 5:5).
- To honestly ask God to search my heart and point out areas of idolatry and unconfessed sin (Psalm 139:23-24).
- To be sincere in my motives (Colossians
- To rest within God's sovereignty (Matthew
Friday, August 04, 2006
Making Changes
I begin by saying "God is good." That has become the phrase with which I've prefaced nearly everything I've said of late. And it's true. It's so true.
This summer for me has been a time of serious searching and a time of difficult decisions. God has been working in my life, bringing to my attention a lot of things that I needed to see and a lot of things that I really don't want to see, but important nevertheless.
I'm not coming back to Maranatha as a dorm sup this fall. To be honest, this came as a very difficult change for me. I loved dorm suping. I loved Gould. I still love every one of my girls. But God has been redirecting, and I need to respond with obedience. He has very clearly closed one door and seems to be clearly opening another.
As I look at the coming fall, I still plan to live in
My God is enough. May He be praised.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Brothers Grimm turn KJV
And it came to pass that a young maiden in scarlet raiment with her head covered in cloth of crimson did sojourn in the wilderness. And she did purpose in her heart to carry loaves and fishes to the grandmother and there to sup with her.
And so it happened that while she was there she came upon a beast who did hiss and gnash his teeth and who moveth his tail like a cedar. And out of his mouth issued all manner of vile speaking. And the beast said unto her, whither goest thou? And she answered saying, I go unto the home of the grandmother there to sup with her. And the maiden of scarlet raiment did sojourn unto the house of the grandmother.
And it came to pass that when the maiden did draw nigh unto the house of the grandmother, the beast having arrived ahead of her didst consume the grandmother and lay in wait seeking whom he may devour. But the maiden knowest it not.
And when the maiden saw the beast, she was moved with compassion and she said unto him, Thine eyes are as doves. And he answered her, the better wherewithal to see thee. And she said unto him, Thine teeth are as a flock of shorn ewes. And he answered her, The better wherewithal to chew thee. And she said unto him, Thy tongue is as a horse's bit. And he answered her, the better wherewithal to taste thee. And with that, the beast swallowed her up. And the maiden spent three days and three nights within the belly of the beast. And after three days and three nights, the beast spat her up and the grandmother with her.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Psalm 37:4
“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart”
I have heard this verse quoted a hundred times by people who are seeking to know God’s will. I have heard it as a promise that as a Christian, God will give me what I want. I have even heard it held to desperately by those clinging to the idols of their heart.
“If I…..than God will…..”
—this verse does not justify manipulation!
What’s the difference between the word “delight” and the word “desire?”
- Delight is what makes me happy.
- Desire is what I want.
It has nothing to do with getting my way.
It has nothing to do with snaring the guy I want to like me.
It has nothing to do with a promotion.
It has nothing to do with miracle healing.
It has nothing to do with the American dream.
It has everything to do with a promise,
The promise that God is enough,
That He is sufficient,
That all of this really is true just as we were told.
It is possible for Him to satisfy our desire—all of it. And He offers that, not teasingly with the intention of snatching it away the moment He captures out interest. But He gives it, unhindered, unrestrained.
The focus of this verse is not that WE delight in him, but that we delight in HIM. We delight in Him, and He gives us the desire of our heart. Quite simply—He becomes the desire of our heart.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Little Pirate
Had to post a couple of these because my niece is just too cute for words.
Walk the plank!
Ship ahoy!
Is this gold real?
Walk the plank!
Ship ahoy!
Is this gold real?
Sunday, July 23, 2006
All she could give
As those gathered watched in wonderment,
She slipped into the room.
Her head was bowed in humbled shame
In her hands a small perfume.
Her eyes locked on the Savior's feet;
The murmuring began.
As she fell before Him kneeling,
Pent up tears now freely ran.
All she could give were her tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All she could give were her tears.
As the others scorned her offering,
She wept without restrain.
Her anguish spilt before her Lord
Became a sweet refrain.
Her eyes bent with sorrow
Could not look into His face
Till with undeserved forgiveness,
She found worth within His grace.
All she could give were her tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All she could give were her tears.
Then I the vile offender come
To seek the Savior's face.
My life is filled with shameful sin
Not understanding grace.
Till kneeling there before my God
With nothing left to give,
There through His love and in His strength,
Victorious I live.
All I could give were my tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All I could give were my tears.
All had been given in the blood,
Washed in the all-cleansing flood.
My tears of shame were wiped away,
His grace sufficient for each day.
All had been given in the blood.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Hey Grandpa
I just found out that I'm related to this guy. He's my great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather. I sort of stumbled across him by accident. Some relative told me I was a direct decendent of Sir John Hawkins, and I was looking up some information to see if it was true, and next thing I knew, I was tracing names through the house of Tudor straight back to Henry VIII. It's kind of cool because I can actually trace all the names in between. I think he's funny looking. I hope there's no family resemblance. Apparantly in 1509, people thought differently. Someone said of him, "His Majesty is the hansomest potentate I ever set eyes on; above the usual height, with an extremely fine calf to his leg, his complextion fair and bright, with auburn hair, combed straight and short in the French fashion, and a round face so very beautiful that it would become a pretty woman, his throat was rather long and thick"
Monday, July 17, 2006
Profound, isn't it?
And isn't that to an extent why we write these blogs? To somehow show people that we have something to say to be worthy of our readership?
Maybe I can say something profound. Maybe I can impress people with my word choice, with some new insight that they had never considered. Or the ultimate accomplishment--maybe I will say something so profound that it would actually cause them to add me to their links list!
I am not endeavoring to be profound. Honestly, I can't. Profound has already been done, and it won't be matched. Profound is when I try to understand God's love in terms of the cross. Profound is grace.
So there you have it--simply stated, but in Him, profoundly accomplished.
Him be praised.
Maybe I can say something profound. Maybe I can impress people with my word choice, with some new insight that they had never considered. Or the ultimate accomplishment--maybe I will say something so profound that it would actually cause them to add me to their links list!
I am not endeavoring to be profound. Honestly, I can't. Profound has already been done, and it won't be matched. Profound is when I try to understand God's love in terms of the cross. Profound is grace.
So there you have it--simply stated, but in Him, profoundly accomplished.
Him be praised.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
My prayer
This is my prayer.
That God would remove from me my selfishness and my pride,
That I would not be blinded to His will.
That God might take control of any emotions
That would hinder me from thinking on truth.
That I might catch a glimps of His love,
That I might know how to love others.
That God would remove from me my selfishness and my pride,
That I would not be blinded to His will.
That God might take control of any emotions
That would hinder me from thinking on truth.
That I might catch a glimps of His love,
That I might know how to love others.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Empty Vessels
When did the miracle take place? Have you ever wondered that? The wedding was in progress, and something horribly embarrassing happened. Right at the peak of the celebration, they ran out of wine. The host was about to be humiliated, but God intervened and instead, the wedding guests were about to witnesses Christ’s first miracle. Our Lord began with instructions. That was often the case. Not always, but often. Take the six stone water jugs, and fill them with water. Why? Because they were empty. Profound isn’t it? Not really. But what He was about to do was. The text doesn’t answer my question, but I’m still curious. When did it happen? At what point exactly did the water change its properties from water to wine? Was it at the instant they were filled? Did the servants carry wine back unknowingly to the feast? Did some transformation occur within the well before it was dipped? Or was it not until the first sip met the lips of the master of the feast that the water became wine. I wonder, but it doesn’t really matter. The point is, at the start of the first miracle, the barrels were empty, just as with creation, the Master began with nothing.
Consider the widow of Zarephath who gave sacrificially to Elijah. This story is a little different. This time the jars of flour and oil were not empty. Almost, but not quite. She was just about to spend the last of it, to make one final cake for her son, and then they would die. Along comes a stranger, and her plans were interrupted. She poured out the last of her flour and oil for God’s anointed, but the barrel didn’t go dry. For days, it didn’t go dry. And it wouldn’t, not until it had rained. She didn’t know. She thought she was giving all. She didn’t know she would be spared.
One more picture and it’s my favorite. I love this story because it’s such a perfect example of a sinner in the hands of a merciful Father. It’s the story of a woman who was an outcast, unworthy, undeserving, with noting to give, but her tears. This vessel, tarnished by her shame, dared to touch the incarnation of holiness. And I assure you, she gave it all. While onlookers scorned her boldness, she annointed His feet with her tears, wiping them with her hair.
I’ll share my application because it’s somewhat vague and I want it to be clear. My heart’s desire—and it’s the desire I’m sure that reflects the heart need of many Christians—is to be used. I want to have something to give, something to offer. As God confronts me with the areas in my life that need to change, something holds back. Something fears that if this vessel is emptied, it will have nothing left to offer. And I fail to recognize that I never had anything to offer. There was nothing I did at the point of salvation that assured my forgiveness. There is nothing I can do now to ensure His love or to confirm my worthiness to be His child.
Until I recognize that it is Him and not I, I remain the water jar half full, confident, unaware of my need to be filled. I remain the widow’s pitcher, knowing I’m about to be spent, but hesitant to give up the last little bit. I remain a vessel with nothing to offer but tears, but somehow wanting to hold back until I can spill out treasure at the feet of my Savior. But it is not treasure He demands. It is all—even though my all is nothing.
And while I foolishly wait, the Master patiently waits.
Consider the widow of Zarephath who gave sacrificially to Elijah. This story is a little different. This time the jars of flour and oil were not empty. Almost, but not quite. She was just about to spend the last of it, to make one final cake for her son, and then they would die. Along comes a stranger, and her plans were interrupted. She poured out the last of her flour and oil for God’s anointed, but the barrel didn’t go dry. For days, it didn’t go dry. And it wouldn’t, not until it had rained. She didn’t know. She thought she was giving all. She didn’t know she would be spared.
One more picture and it’s my favorite. I love this story because it’s such a perfect example of a sinner in the hands of a merciful Father. It’s the story of a woman who was an outcast, unworthy, undeserving, with noting to give, but her tears. This vessel, tarnished by her shame, dared to touch the incarnation of holiness. And I assure you, she gave it all. While onlookers scorned her boldness, she annointed His feet with her tears, wiping them with her hair.
I’ll share my application because it’s somewhat vague and I want it to be clear. My heart’s desire—and it’s the desire I’m sure that reflects the heart need of many Christians—is to be used. I want to have something to give, something to offer. As God confronts me with the areas in my life that need to change, something holds back. Something fears that if this vessel is emptied, it will have nothing left to offer. And I fail to recognize that I never had anything to offer. There was nothing I did at the point of salvation that assured my forgiveness. There is nothing I can do now to ensure His love or to confirm my worthiness to be His child.
Until I recognize that it is Him and not I, I remain the water jar half full, confident, unaware of my need to be filled. I remain the widow’s pitcher, knowing I’m about to be spent, but hesitant to give up the last little bit. I remain a vessel with nothing to offer but tears, but somehow wanting to hold back until I can spill out treasure at the feet of my Savior. But it is not treasure He demands. It is all—even though my all is nothing.
And while I foolishly wait, the Master patiently waits.
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