You can read more about that here. Sure, I wrote that in November. It's been a long process and will be a process until I die. But that's okay because I'm not in a hurry. A lot of times the sweetest change comes from the longest process. I'd rather have sweet than quick any day.
And that's kind of what I've been realizing. That's what I think I want to write about. Being home for this short period of time has allowed me to think. To reflect. To meditate. And God speaks so clearly in the silence of this southern town. I love God more after looking back over another year as a disciple of Christ in a place I would have never thought to live among people I never knew I would meet. I think about all the struggles and hard things and internal wars that have waged in my heart, the kind where I think there is no way to overcome the sin that eats away at me, that there is no way a perfect Messiah could ever love an imperfect little girl like me. I think about how He always overcomes and He always loves and I don't think I can ever get over that. And I would be scared of the day that I do.
I'm a reflector. Obviously. I wouldn't be a writer if I wasn't a reflector. But more importantly I wouldn't be half the Christian I am if I wasn't a reflector. And it's in those times where I sit on the floor of my bedroom and ask God, "What does this mean," whether if it's about the Word, a thought I've had, a simple phrase I'm fixated on, a vision He has put before my eyes, whatever it is, it's in those times where I hear Him speak. I feel the clarity and sometimes I feel the mystery. And when I feel the mystery I love the mystery, and I love the Maker all the more. I don't need answers, I need God.
I get made fun of a lot by the brothers (all in good nature) for spending that time in my room. I need people. I will never ever live my life hidden away from the presence of others, though sometimes I would like to. This is a lesson I have learned so recently, and it goes against my introverted nature, but if it wasn't counter-intuitive it would probably not be a lesson. A life of ministry, which I pray mine would be, is messy. It is packed with living life together with people, laughing with them, crying with them, doing hard things with them, all bleeding a little along the way. And in all this glorifying the Father and using friendship and fellowship the way God intended, allowing for healing and restoration, sharing in struggles, being vulnerable until our rib cages show, praying until our throats are dry, our knees are sore, and our hands are reaching the awkwardly sweaty phase from holding each others' for so long, desperate, together, before our Common Creator, fully believing that where we two or more gather, so He is there. I love that life and I want it.
But then I have to restore myself. I have to reflect. I have to pour the Word into my soul until I feel myself being filled. Full. Doing what Jesus did not only ministering to others but crying out to the Father. Praying for the people I see day in and day out. Interceding and letting Jesus intercede for me. Letting Jesus pray for me, heal me, refresh me with His Spirit. Letting the Word teach me who Jesus is, who this Man is that is on His knees for me in that very moment. Contemplating His love so I can live it. So I can model it. So I can become engulfed by it. I'm not going to live a life that means running around to people, ministering to people, telling things to people, urging people, serving people, doing whatever it is "for people" if it means I lose God. I'm not going to do it. I don't care if it looks right, if it's admirable how many people I disciple or teach or love or preach the gospel to. I'm not going to live a life for God without living a life with God.
I want to do all those things. All those things I listed I want to do. And I will. With God, not apart from Him. He is not a far off object, He is with me. Immanuel, yes He is with me. And thanks be to God, for I have no power even if I have all the right steps.
So, reflect.
A few months ago I went to a conference, and at one point the current speaker was commenting on another speaker who tends to get very deep in His theology and teaching, and some would even say he is over the receivers' heads at times. But the speaker said something along the lines of this, and I can't stop thinking about it:
"Why are we putting the glory of God on the bottom shelf anyway? We should be reaching up to find the glory of God. That is what this speaker causes us to do."
Why are we reaching for this surfacey God? We aren't we reaching for the best thing, allowing ourselves to be contented with the good thing, not the best thing--the good Christianity, the good devotion, the good prayer life, the good evangelistic style, the good, easy, understandable way of living that we have always lived as a Christian? Why? Why aren't we allowing the riches of the Father to drench us, to build us, to cause us to wonder, to stir awe in us, even more to compel us? If we approach a God we know everything about, a God that is safe, that is visible and that we have all figured out, why approach Him at all?
It's like that treasure chest. One of my favorite parables is the smallest one, just one verse, Matthew 13:44: The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.
What a joy that our God is like a treasure. After thinking about this, I turned to Ephesians, a book I knew was full of the word "riches." I reflected on it. I prayed about it. God taught me this.
What good is the treasure chest itself if we are not reaching into it? Even more, what good is that field if we leave the treasure chest there? Nothing. A lot of us are "spiritual" people and not Spirit-filled people. A lot of us are placing that chest on our altars and worshipping. But few of us are even opening it. Few of us are reaching into the chest. It's too risky. What if I break something? What if I don't know what to do with all those riches? What if it's too hard to open, what if I can't figure out how to get it open? What if it changes something? Well, if we go from poor to rich it better change something.
We have this treasure chest that we've had our whole lives and we're lugging it around talking about it, sharing it, showing it to people. It turns into this elephant in the room that we try in good intention to talk to people about instead of it being something that's a part of us. Someone that's a part of us. Well, "what's in it?" they ask. You swallow really hard and shrug your shoulders. Because you don't know. You know what's on the surface, but you don't know what makes it so good, so worth sharing, so worth carrying with you everywhere, living with, basing your life around. What if there's more? What if there's a part to this beloved chest, one that you have sold everything to achieve, that you have never even touched?
Reach into the treasure chest.
This revelation is revolutionary. I see this heart of mine ripped open, exposed. I see myself reaching into that chest frantically, grabbing all of the riches I can hold in my hand, and pressing them up to my heart, letting each individual piece fill and form my heart, crystallizing until the bright, shining diamonds are a part of me. And throughout life and throughout the interactions with the people, the world, the good and the evil, this heart will be tugged, it will be shaken. But this treasure chest has no bottom, and the riches of His love will never end. So I'm going to keep reaching. And He's going to keep filling.
I like french press coffee. If you don't drink coffee, don't tune me out. A french press is different than a regular drip coffee maker. Look it up. It doesn't use a paper filter, but rather a metal one, so that the oils of the coffee that would normally be soaked into the paper filter are let through the french press filter, making the coffee much fuller and richer. You can see where this is going. Well the process of a french press takes much longer and is much more tedious than just throwing a K-cup in the Keurig and pressing a button. But it is so much more flavorful, deeper, richer. Now that I've tasted this kind of coffee, I prefer it. I'd much rather have this coffee than the quicker, more convenient coffee. It's still coffee, sure. It will do the job. But it's nothing like the other.
Once you taste His richness, everything else will be but a bland attempt to satisfy a craving in you that can only be satiated by the very best thing.
Stop trying to stuff that wooden chest into your fleshly chest. Reach in. There is more.
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