The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and He delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord upholdeth him with His hand. Psalm 37:23-24
With due apologies to my dear children, I am quite sure that among the other more traditional motherly mantras that I laid upon their young shoulders about being a leader for good and about cleaning their rooms at least once a week, Life is Not Fair was also underlined with a big black crayon. Which is unfortunate because it is a Big Fat Lie.
Circumstances are not always fair. People are not always fair. Rules certainly are not always fair. But life itself is underpinned with justice, the justice of an Upheld Hand.
And that is where I am to reside, somewhere there, somewhere in the quiet of my heart. At rest. In trust. Delighting myself also in the LORD. Ceasing from anger and forsaking wrath. Fretting not.
I do not understand Scripture, nor how it is wielded by the Spirit sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. But sometimes, no, even most, no, perhaps even all of the time, it pierces right through, shall I say, all of the, um, crap of the world and rightly discerns the heart.
And sometimes, like Saturday for instance, I was humming a little happy song about kindness and postcards from Assisi and fixing my mom’s internet problem with the old unplug it plug it back in brilliance, when suddenly wham, the rest of the day’s verse about kindness and tenderheartedness sliced right through the blasting warmth in my little black car. Forgiving one another, forgiving one another, forgiving one another. Even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. And with absolute clarity I realized that there was lack of forgiveness dug in deep into my heart, a rotting putrid thorn bush poisoning my soul, almost unawares. And the act of forgiveness ripped it out right by the roots and I am quite sure friends and family will agree that there is a new lilt to my fuzzy black-booted feet.
So, as I was neatly setting two packs of cloth diapers on top of the duffle bag of possessions including a skillet and four plastic plates and four plastic cups (why I do not know, but Bernabé said to bring EVERYTHING I would need for two years in one bag), a very well-intentioned woman bustled right into my life and lit into me about being responsible and reasonable and sensible and what was I doing taking my five-month old belly to a refugee camp. And she did a great job of making my sputter helplessly and fumble for an explanation beyond, well, uh, God spoke to us? Smack dab clearly, with no discussion. No research of facts. No pro/con lists. We didn’t even “pray about it.” He said go, and we said yes.
And then from nowhere, well from somewhere, but from nowhere expected the Spirit sliced through the stuttered embarrassment. And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold. Random. But not out of nowhere. I guess pretty much out of the storehouse of Scripture that I have known from a child. And I knew in my heart that He was faithful and true and that I would indeed live this promised hundredfold.
Charly is coming tomorrow. Charly from Germany who sort of sums up the path we have led, a first leap into the hundredfold, of knowing that I did not even have to ask Alan if she could come live with us for a year starting tomorrow. And as I remember my last memory of her, stretched up and across the back wall, disentangling bougainvillea thorns from her face while she cheerfully painted the wall yet one more color in preparation for Heather and Dustin’s wedding, I am struck by the so very trueness of being blessed a hundredfold, again and again, multiplied. And this crazy house of ours always has room for one more, even though my dad is going to sleep on the couch tonight, and even though I cannot get rid of the creepy cockroaches and the cold pushes through the cracks in the handmade Joesler front door and the very funky but almost dysfunctional iron windows. And now the front bedroom has undergone a Nicole transformation and I am not quite sure how she visualizes beauty out of every thrift store in town but she does.
And as I pray through Psalm 37 today, for Nicole and for others in the hundredfold, I am convinced of His Upheld Hand. I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
Delight thyself also in the Lord: and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass.
Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.
And He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday.
With due apologies to my dear children, I am quite sure that among the other more traditional motherly mantras that I laid upon their young shoulders about being a leader for good and about cleaning their rooms at least once a week, Life is Not Fair was also underlined with a big black crayon. Which is unfortunate because it is a Big Fat Lie.
Circumstances are not always fair. People are not always fair. Rules certainly are not always fair. But life itself is underpinned with justice, the justice of an Upheld Hand.
And that is where I am to reside, somewhere there, somewhere in the quiet of my heart. At rest. In trust. Delighting myself also in the LORD. Ceasing from anger and forsaking wrath. Fretting not.
I do not understand Scripture, nor how it is wielded by the Spirit sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. But sometimes, no, even most, no, perhaps even all of the time, it pierces right through, shall I say, all of the, um, crap of the world and rightly discerns the heart.
And sometimes, like Saturday for instance, I was humming a little happy song about kindness and postcards from Assisi and fixing my mom’s internet problem with the old unplug it plug it back in brilliance, when suddenly wham, the rest of the day’s verse about kindness and tenderheartedness sliced right through the blasting warmth in my little black car. Forgiving one another, forgiving one another, forgiving one another. Even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. And with absolute clarity I realized that there was lack of forgiveness dug in deep into my heart, a rotting putrid thorn bush poisoning my soul, almost unawares. And the act of forgiveness ripped it out right by the roots and I am quite sure friends and family will agree that there is a new lilt to my fuzzy black-booted feet.
So, as I was neatly setting two packs of cloth diapers on top of the duffle bag of possessions including a skillet and four plastic plates and four plastic cups (why I do not know, but Bernabé said to bring EVERYTHING I would need for two years in one bag), a very well-intentioned woman bustled right into my life and lit into me about being responsible and reasonable and sensible and what was I doing taking my five-month old belly to a refugee camp. And she did a great job of making my sputter helplessly and fumble for an explanation beyond, well, uh, God spoke to us? Smack dab clearly, with no discussion. No research of facts. No pro/con lists. We didn’t even “pray about it.” He said go, and we said yes.
And then from nowhere, well from somewhere, but from nowhere expected the Spirit sliced through the stuttered embarrassment. And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold. Random. But not out of nowhere. I guess pretty much out of the storehouse of Scripture that I have known from a child. And I knew in my heart that He was faithful and true and that I would indeed live this promised hundredfold.
Charly is coming tomorrow. Charly from Germany who sort of sums up the path we have led, a first leap into the hundredfold, of knowing that I did not even have to ask Alan if she could come live with us for a year starting tomorrow. And as I remember my last memory of her, stretched up and across the back wall, disentangling bougainvillea thorns from her face while she cheerfully painted the wall yet one more color in preparation for Heather and Dustin’s wedding, I am struck by the so very trueness of being blessed a hundredfold, again and again, multiplied. And this crazy house of ours always has room for one more, even though my dad is going to sleep on the couch tonight, and even though I cannot get rid of the creepy cockroaches and the cold pushes through the cracks in the handmade Joesler front door and the very funky but almost dysfunctional iron windows. And now the front bedroom has undergone a Nicole transformation and I am not quite sure how she visualizes beauty out of every thrift store in town but she does.
And as I pray through Psalm 37 today, for Nicole and for others in the hundredfold, I am convinced of His Upheld Hand. I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
Delight thyself also in the Lord: and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass.
Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.
And He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday.
No comments:
Post a Comment