Breaking up the Fallow Ground

I keep Bible verses, poetry, the Nicene Creed, and the occasional hymn taped up on the walls and furniture close to my bed.  I like words that mean something.  A few days ago, as I meditated on what would be closely linked to my last post--namely, the futility of my existence--my eyes fell on a particular index card rendition of Hosea 10:12.

Sow with a view to righteousness, reap in accordance with kindness; break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the Lord, until He comes to rain righteousness on you.  

At a time when every career seems bent only on my betterment and I question the purpose of such a life, I find this verse a beautiful and challenging reminder.  Sow with a view to righteousness, not survival.  Reap in accordance with kindness, not professional courtesy.  By this time in the verse, I begin to be convicted.  But I read on.

The Google dictionary, which allows me to look up a definition without getting off the couch, defines fallow as, in part, "Plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility..."  Break up your fallow ground.  Loosen the rested soil once again enriched with the minerals essential to strong production.  My sinful heart resounds with fallow.  It is time.

It is time to seek the Lord until, as the judge gave protection to the persistent widow, He comes to rain righteousness upon me.  Jesus asks after his parable, "Now shall not God bring about justice for His elect, who cry to Him day and night, and will He delay long over them?" (Luke 18:7)  A friend lovingly reminds me that weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning, and Ecclesiastes proclaims the time for weeping, as well as for laughing.  Do not be afraid of the times for mourning, for there is also a time for dancing.  There is in fact an appointed time for everything.  And there is a time for every event under heaven.

But a time to seek the Lord?  That is every time.  That is now.  For it is time to seek the Lord, until He comes to rain righteousness on you.  "That is your purpose now," I say to a freckly face, which frowns at my reproof.  Righteousness is the purpose.

But one who looks intently at the perfect law, the law of liberty, and abides by it, not having become a forgetful hearer but an effectual doer, this man shall be blessed in what he does.   ~James 1:25

As I turn from the mirror, it is far too easy to forget what kind of person I am.  

What Does Man Gain by Toil?

Three weeks before I graduated from college, I looked into the future and saw the emptiness of Ecclesiastes stretch before me.  Three months later, the vanity of existence still looms before me on an ever darkening horizon.  I once hoped that by 22, I would have found my purpose in someone else's.  But my plans continue to be solely self-promoting.  One thousand options, and not one appeals to me without coaxing.  I find little wonder that C.S. Lewis warned of thinking too much of the future and too little of the sparkling present.

“The Future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity. It is the most temporal part of time--for the Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays.”    ~Screwtape Letters

As I look ahead now, I find it easy to question the purpose of my existence.  Once I foresaw a life of meaning, of living for others.  Now I find that I must act for myself, and the idea is unattractive and useless to me.  When my life stretches before me, and all I can see is work to keep myself alive, to further my weak ambition, to stretch myself academically, I think I would not mind dying young.  Then, at least, I could make a difference.  When you have no goals, no ambitions, no drive to accomplish for the sake of accomplishing, every step in your career seems made to pay your own bills, to move up your own ladders, and to fight for your own survival in a Darwinian society.  

When I was younger, I used to lose myself in fiction so completely that I forgot the beauty of my own reality.  Now I lose myself in reality so completely that I forget the beauty of life.  I'm a good reformed girl.  I know that my purpose is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.  But I am also human, and frail, and there comes a point when I wonder how meaningless my existence really is and will be when I am only ever fighting for myself.

When brothers come into the room to hug me goodnight, I catch a glimpse of why I continue to exist.  But what happens when they leave to start their own lives?  To pursue their own dreams?  I won't always be able to do their dishes a hundred times a day, and vacuum their rooms, and sweep their floors, and play their games.  What happens when loneliness finally catches up to me, and I am forced to admit that I am not needed?

The Prophet says that all is vanity.  I know that hopelessness.  I know the lack of meaning in a life that should be full of meaning.  I know what it is like to plan, but to see your plans only with apathy.  "What else would I do?" is my question as I shrug my shoulders, and nothing comes to mind.  At least here at home I can help others, before I leave and help myself.

I pray for a purpose.  I need one.  

"The end of the matter; all has been heard.  Fear God, and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."    ~Ecclesiastes 12:13

The Other Side of the Mountain

It's easy to get complacent.  We pull ourselves out of one hole, push off in the right direction, drive for a time, and suddenly find ourselves in another hole.  How did my good intentions and positive speeches put me into a place just as murky and hopeless as before?  And then I remember the one day I was too tired to read my Bible, and how one day stretched into a week, and before I knew it reading my Bible was the exception, not the rule.  I recall, ashamed, how I stopped looking God in the eye when my sins became too obvious even to my so deceptive heart.  And the chapter of Romans that was infiltrating every portion of my mind?  It began to be blurry and forgotten when speaking it took more concentration than I wanted to use.

Going up a mountain seems like it would be easy, once you get a good start.  That's when you realize you're sliding backwards.

I'm at war with myself, all the time, every day.  People say it should get easier, over time, to be righteous, but I do not see that yet.  If that is true, then I must certainly be the worst of sinners, without hope of holiness and virtue in this life, and I wish people would stop thinking to comfort me with words that actually chill me.  I know what it is like to feel the sin crouching at the door of my heart, and I can feel helpless, sympathetic to sin that perhaps Cain also felt unable to avoid.  "Who will free me from this body of death?" I cry, hopeless in my state of degradation, every minute fighting a more often lost battle for control over my own mind.  Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ His Son, is what I should say next, but the words choke me, for I do not seem free at all.  Not yet.  My sinning heart aches for righteousness that would be pleasing to God, forcing me to remember Whose righteousness covers my own inadequacy, forcing me to remember Whose humility covers my own pride.  "Hope that is seen is not hope," I remind myself, but meanwhile I clench my teeth in frustration at my own weakness and despair at ever living what I want to live.

I prayed for humility, but I never thought it would come even in my fiercer struggles with sin than ever before.  Silly as it sounds, I envy the people who seem to get by in life with easy, though consistent, trotting toward the prize.  My efforts are ever in need of being redoubled, not relaxed.  As if any moment may see me falling prey once again to that roaring lion, and if I stop my watch for the briefest of seconds my heart will betray me.

I must always be fighting for every step.  So be it.  If my whole life is to be a series of hard battles and fearsome ends, only pushing forward through shamed tears and aching pride?  So be it.  I will keep fighting.  If every step up this mountain is as hard as the last, though it may kill me, I will move on.  Because some day, some glorious day, I will get to the other side of the mountain, and none of the glory I see will be for me.  I will reach the top truly humbled, Lord willing, and it will be all for Him.  I won't have to fight ever again.

I will reach, once for all, level ground, that only ever goes higher.

Blessed, and Laughing

I laugh a lot. I worry sometimes that it's annoying, but somewhere along the way I decided that if something is actually laughable (and so many things are), I should be able to laugh at it unrestrictedly.  One of my brothers pointed out once that he could tell me outright that I laugh at everything, and that I would react by laughing.  I laughed before I could stop myself.  
Right now, you may start laughing about how you have read the word "laugh" so much in these opening sentences, that it doesn't even look right anymore.  You should definitely laugh at the way you have to google words like "laugh" sometimes, just to make sure they exist.  But back to my point.  I laughed a lot before last summer, but a year ago when I read about counting blessings, I began to laugh even more.  When I started to see how surrounded by blessings I was, my joy became fervent.

Blessed.

Ah, what a scrumptious word.  It is, in fact, a word that reminds me of the word "scrumptious."  Blessed is like...a cake.  A gooey cake with warm filling that melts deliciously over your tongue.  It's a different kind of word than "Grace," which is a delicate, beautiful, strong word, hard as iron and soft as a cloud--the meeting of all the Christian extremes that Chesterton has told me so much about in the past two years.  "Blessed" is a word you can bite into.  But they are often much the same kind of thing.

Blessings are like comfort foods, and toast with honey, and a cat sleeping on your lap, and sitting around a fire with friends, and watching both Sherlock Holmes movies with your mom when the boys are all away.

I was back at school last fall, and it had not been a good week.  As I trudged to class, I gave myself a talking to, and concluded by saying sternly to my newly repentant self, "You need to be grateful for what you have.  Look around you."  I looked up to the building I was passing, where funky architectural decisions had been made many years ago.  I pronounced my sentence upon the building firmly:

"Thank you Lord, for triangles in windows."

And, I kid you not, I couldn't help the smile that followed.  

Sometimes, we ask the Lord for good feelings, and joy, and peace, but we don't act like we really want them.  And sometimes, when we just put our feet down and refuse to be dragged into the piteous and miserable, but insist upon gratitude, the joy is certain.  

Blessings are like summer evenings on the front porch, and Red-Winged Blackbirds whistling, and a happy young brother looking like a lost boy in surely the worst clothing he could find in his closet, and a dog that always waits for you to come back home, and old reruns of Adventures in Odyssey while the flower beds get mulched.

The blessing is always there, waiting to be seen.  And I guess that's when you know what you really are.

Blessed.

Heart Surrender

People say to dream big, God-sized dreams, but what if you've only ever had one dream?

Sure, I've thought up other dreams and big plans and potential realities, because I am a creative person and have to do something with my life.  But in the end, I've only ever wanted to be a mom.

When I was little, other girls played parties and weddings with their dolls.  No such frivolities for my dolls until their school was done!  I was a homeschooling mom, and I do believe my dolls complained almost as much as my brothers and I did when it came to schoolwork.

Your heart can break for what it does not have, and mine breaks again and again to be what seems most unlikely.  I am comforted that I am not the first, nor the last, to desire this God-gift of mothering, yet to feel the whip of a fallen world in which mother-women never hold their own children.  Should I be sorry to have the heart of Eve, mother of all mankind?  I am, after all, her daughter.  I know that the Lord's heart is with the barren woman, and the desolate one.  I know that this heart for mothering is His own heart.

"Shout for joy, O barren one, you who have borne no child; 
Break forth into joyful shouting and cry aloud, you who have not travailed; 
For the sons of the desolate one will be more numerous than the sons of the married woman," says the LORD.
~Isaiah 54:1

Yet now, as I plan my future after college graduation, my prayer is consistent and urgent:  If this dream is not in Your will, please take it from me!

I pray this often, because I need to focus on my present and too often the ache hurts to much to ignore.  I pray it hard, because I am not above begging for the pain to be removed.  Still, though it is hard to surrender a deep dream, it is even harder to surrender the surrendering.  Only Your will, I whisper into His comfort.  God is near to the brokenhearted, and I ask Him to be near, so if He chooses to let me break the rest of my life for something I will never have, who am I to object?  To always be in His presence, because I am always needing His presence~how do I refuse this?

Still I ask, and still I beg, but always my heart is full of wanting His will for me.  Not just His will for my life, but His will for my heart.  

The Weak Made Strong

 I once read that people who are accustomed to learning quickly may fail to play the violin, because they are not used to having to work for something.  Conversely, people who have always had to work hard in school or life often learn the violin very well, because they have the patience and tirelessness to play until it starts sounding like it should.

It seems to me that much the same kind of thing happens with courage.  One who is naturally fearless does not know how to be brave when the time comes, and one who is naturally fearful knows how to overcome the fear when the time comes.  I know, because fear has always been my life, and it has made me brave.  

In the same way, people who are always comfortable may not know how to react when they are no longer comfortable, but if every zone is out of their comfort zone, there is nothing to fear in the uncomfortable, for it is normal.  When I am constantly fighting insecurity, I am constantly exercising my understanding of Truth and using the Word of God to fence lies.  My weak insecurity therefore makes me, in many ways, more strong than those naturally secure.  My strength is only perfected in weakness, because I am too weak to be strong naturally.  My security must be fought for with tooth and nail until I stand against the lies of the Enemy with dreaded fierce joy--for joy has to be fierce to stand firm.

"When I am weak, then I am strong," says Paul, placing an oft quoted Christian enigma in front of me.  My infallibly weak self nods in agreement.  Gratitude for my weakness is gratitude for His strength.  Acknowledgement of my failure is praise to His glory alone.  

Insecurity has always been part of my life, as much as fear, as much as failure.  Thank Jesus for it, for if I was secure, and fearless, and practically perfect, I would not be as strong as I am.  

Fighting for Security

Ever since I was very young, and believed with my whole heart that I had to make up for the decrepit sin in me by being holier than other little girls, I have been a terrifically insecure human.  

Ever since I made plans to be a spinsterly aunt to my brothers' children, because I had no reason to believe a man would ever want me, I have been a terrifically insecure human.

Ever since I was seven years old and formed in my mind the theory, confirmed again and again, that people were only around me to be nice, and not out of any real interest in me as a friend, I have been a terrifically insecure person. 

Once I was taught that you battle lies with truth.  But I was taught to fight with squishy truth and a lowercase "t."  Combat, "I will never be married," with, "Someday my prince will come."  Fight, "people are only around you to be nice, and not out of any wish to be your friend," with the nicer and more pleasing, "People love you and want to be around you."  When I wondered whether a certain person was tired of me and no longer wished to be part of my life, I tried to fight the "lies" by making excuses for the other person and justifying their decisions.  It only took my entire life, but in the past few months, I have finally learned the better way to fight insecurities.  

Thanks be to God, my body seems to reject lies.  Last fall I found myself so beset by insecurity and trying so hard with these cheap bandage words to fix my heart, that I lost close to ten pounds and spent a great deal of my time nauseous, or in bed with debilitating migraines.

To heck with that.  Sometimes people don't love you, and sometimes what you wish for is not what God wishes for you.  Who is the Lord?  Maybe that Disney prince will never come.  The Lord is good.  Maybe those children you love so much in your mind will only ever be in your mind.  His mercy endures forever.  Maybe the family you love so much will fall apart.  His will be done.  Maybe that person really is tired of you and finds you lacking.  The Lord is near.

Who is the Lord?  There is my hope and my security.  When I look every day to Who the Lord is, my insecurities and fear of others mean less.  I felt inferior to an entire church body, until the Truth of Who God is meant more than human thoughts of my worth.  I saw people in January whom I feared, and in May, looking at Who God is, I see my joy full because of His presence, and people-judgment doesn't scare me anymore.  
Jesus knows me intimately.  He loves me intimately.  Who fears human judgment when the Lord declares Truth and you hear it?  He reigns forever, and I am but a breath, to pass away in the next moment.  

Whom do I serve?  "One God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible...."  (The Nicene Creed)

The fight goes on in my heart, and some days I am not victorious.  But I still serve the Victor, and that Truth must be enough for every day.