Mine.

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

Live for the Audience of One.

I remember the injunction clearly, and pondered what it meant for me, a teenager and new believer. I knew salvation was by grace alone, through faith in Christ alone. I understood my need, responded to His relentless pursuit, and experienced His saving power. I saw radical transformation, wildfire growth if you will. And I wanted to follow Christ with all my soul.

“I am no longer who I once was,” my heart rejoiced!

But many things about this thing called the “Christian Life” were still fuzzy. Audience of One?

“Well that must mean ‘to live for God’s approval alone.’ I suppose God is more pleased with me when I don’t do certain things, but do other things. If He’s the audience then I must perform, right?”

And so, I tumbled into the trap of performance. Do this. Don’t do this.

My failures crushed me. “Didn’t read my Bible every day this week. Epic fail. God must love me less.”

I may never have said the words aloud, but if I was honest, I thought they were true. I knew I’d been saved by grace, but I lived like I still had to earn it.

I’d love to tell my teenage self some things. I suppose I had to learn them over the passage of time, but if I could, I’d save her years of guilt ridden, faulty belief.

The Audience of One already approves.

Have you forgotten who He is?

As a father grins at his lisping child, stumbling through one line in the Kindergarten play, so does the Audience of One beam. Everyone else sees a gymnasium, but a father sees Carnegie Hall.

The father approves, not for the merit of the performance, but because he looks and says, “Mine.”

I’d say to my teenage self, “Christ justified you. By His blood you are declared innocent. He took your sin, and put it on Himself. Not only that, He gave you His righteousness.”

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Romans 5:1

“But God being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with Him and seated us in the heavenly places in Christ.” Ephesians 2:4-7

Justified.

Just as if I’ve never sinned.

Just as if I’ve always obeyed.

Negative infinity to zero.

Zero to positive infinity.

He approves. On my best days and worst days, God loves me just the same. He looks at me and sees His Son.

Therefore, to live for the Audience of One, isn’t performance. 

It is worship, the delight that flows from all Jesus accomplished on my behalf.

The Audience rejoices, not on my merit, but because I belong to Him. My lines may be lisped, my song sung with cracking voice, but He looks and says, “Mine!”

Only one was an audience, the Audience of One. The smile of the King’s approval swept through the choir like fire across dry wheat fields. When the song was complete, the Audience of One  stood and raised His great arms, then clapped His scarred hands together in thunderous applause shaking the ground and sky, jarring every corner of the cosmos. His applause went on and on unstopping and unstoppable.” -Randy Alcorn

 

Ordinary? Extraordinary.

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

special

“I’ll have the Ordinary Special.”

“Do you want blue skies with that?”

“Yes please.”

“Ok, that’ll be one Ordinary Special coming right up. Runny noses, nap time songs, making dinner, a kiss when the husband comes home, an argument, extra reconciliation snuggles, and a side of blue skies.”

“Yep, that’ll do it. I’ll have it my way.”

Wouldn’t it be great if we could order our days from a menu, consciously choosing what seems most desirable? An ordinary day? An extraordinary day?

I’d pick an entirely different ordinary than the one I have now- I wake up, stumble downstairs for coffee, work, write, spend time with friends, watch TV, go to bed by myself.

I would certainly pick an ordinary that included another husband and with him, children. I’d gladly take the exhaustion, the nighttime feedings, and the tantrums, for the joy of loving and being loved.

Other people’s ordinaries seem much better than my own, so I’d choose what I think I need to be happy.

But I want extraordinary also. How about I order that as well? I want to slay dragons and move mountains. I want God to do something BIG in and through me. I want the gospel to explode in hearts and the kingdom proclaimed.

God, I could do so much more. The task you’ve given seems so small.

“I want to write for multitudes and speak at conferences. Move over Nancy Leigh DeMoss!” says the silly, proud, dreamer with a hint of tongue and cheek.

How fickle am I, however, for often I cry “God don’t you think you’ve asked too much? Don’t you know I’m scared?”

To pick my own ordinary, or my own extraordinary seems like it’d be a sweet deal then. Right?

What is the ordinary you’d pick? The extraordinary?

It’s probably a good thing I can’t order life from a menu,though. Knowing human nature, I’d still say, “I wish I’d ordered what she’s having.”

And if I’m honest, a different ordinary wouldn’t thoroughly satisfy either. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.

Moreover, there’s a more glaring issue: choosing life like items on a menu presupposes I don’t need God, that I’m in control of my destiny. I’m not fooled, though. I’ve lived long enough to know that’s the oldest lie in the book.

I need God. He alone fully satisfies.

What if I realized that my ordinary is precisely, uniquely, and intimately guided by God? What if I knew– I mean really KNEW –that God is sovereign, trustworthy, and infinitely loving?

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” Psalm 32:8

“The steps of a man are established by the Lord when he delights in his way, though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong, for the Lord upholds his hand.” Psalm 37:23-24

What if I knew that ordinary is really extraordinary?

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:10-11

“Jesus calls his followers, not to a dour, lifeless, miserable existence that squashes human potential, but to a rich, full, joyful life, one overflowing with meaningful activities under the personal favor and blessing of God and in continual fellowship with his people.” (ESV Study Bible Notes)

abundant

Extraordinary Ordinary? Why, that might change everything.

Tim Keller put it this way.

“If Jesus became incarnate to live among the ordinary, what we call ordinary must be pretty special to God.”

God cares about all the ordinary details. He created them. He redeems them. God dwelt in them, so that He could be a High Priest who knows our weaknesses. They remind us that He provides.

Jesus seemed ridiculously ordinary. Ordinary looks. Ordinary stature. Ordinary occupation. The son of Mary and Joseph, apprenticed as a carpenter, went to Torah school and had a bar mitzvah.

But wrapped in ordinary humanity, was something inestimably extraordinary. God became flesh. “I will come to you. And I will die for you.” That’s the most radical thing I’ve ever heard! He gives life, abundant life. He gives extraordinary purpose to ordinary days.

So I stop, I marvel at flower blossoms and budding trees. I give thanks for dishes to wash and laundry to fold. When I think about my ordinary life, and even the not so ordinary parts, I remember it’s incredible to get to serve, to lead, to point others to Jesus.

Clay, wine, trees, fields, bread, fish: all ordinary things used by Jesus in marvelous ways. Jesus operates in the ordinary, but the results are extravagant. I suppose then, He uses my ordinary as well.

I’m the recipient of extraordinary grace.

I have received the extraordinary Gospel. And that is no ordinary thing.

This post by Ami appeared first at Intentional By Grace

I don’t want to write about grief.

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

A post for widows, but perhaps truth for many…

comfort

I don’t want to write about grief.

I sat brainstorming for my upcoming post for A Widow’s Might. “How can I encourage other widows today? What do these hurting sisters need to hear?”

A revelation lodged itself firmly in my heart. Though I’m responsible for a post about grief, I don’t want to write about it.

How utterly marvelous and liberating!

“Why? What do you mean?”

Let me back up a moment. Two weeks after my husband died, I was compelled to chronicle the aftermath publicly, to let others see the crushing pain, to not shy away from places some fear to tread.

I’m not one to run away, so I attacked grief, aggressively processing facet after facet. I allowed myself to be in the deep places. And it was not wrong for me to be there.

I’ve unpacked layer upon layer of sorrow, filling 100s of journal pages and constructing nearly 60 blog posts. Writing is an outlet where confusion turns to clarity, where tears funnel into something productive.

More importantly, writing is the place where I preach truth to myself. I had to be raw and honest, but I also had to show the radical hope found in Jesus Christ. Writing about my grief cemented the truths God made clear in the valley:

It’s been an immensely necessary and beautiful part of the journey. I think it may yet have its place, but today my heart says, “It’s time to write about other things.”

Perhaps then, the most liberating and radical truth I can share is this: we don’t have to stay in the stranglehold. Through Jesus, grief cannot utterly destroy. Rather, He crushed death to death, and He turns mourning into dancing. He teaches us to write about other things.

Grief does not define me, nor is it my identity.

“I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who love me and gave Himself for me.” Galatians 2:20 

Christ lives in me, and He defines me. Redeemed. Chosen. Adopted. Beloved. Complete. Whole.

Now don’t miss this, I’m still madly in love with my husband and miss him daily. I’m sure tears will still come at needed moments. Yet by grace, I walk forward.

And today, I don’t want to write about grief.

Father, through Jesus there is immense hope, confident expectation. Jesus took my spiritual death, and one day even physical death will be no more. Eternity awaits, forever with You. And these things fill my heart with joy! You will turn mourning into dancing and sorrow into gladness. God You were with me in the valley of death. You wept beside me there for many weeks. But now, I’m thankful You have led me from it. 

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!” Psalm 30:11-12

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net

Stop Saying You’re Sorry. Thoughts on True Community.

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

stay in the mess

“Stop saying you’re sorry. You say it all the time.”

“I do? Oh, I’m sorry.”

Their looks said it all. Then we dissolved into laughter.

“Seriously though, you don’t need to say you’re sorry; you’ve done nothing wrong. And you say it a lot when you talk about Jon.”

She was right. I thought I talked about him too much. Perhaps my friends were tired of hearing the same stories? Perhaps they were weary of memories replayed? Somewhere along the way, I began to feel self-conscious.

They have their own sorrow. Their grief is fresher. One friend is approaching the year mark, and it’s been merely a couple months for the other. I don’t want to draw attention to my own hurts when they are still in the raw, deep places.

I want to comfort. I want to listen and let them talk (or not talk). I want to help bear the heavy weight, as so many have done for me. Laughter turned to tears. “But death is so much nearer for you. I should be here for you. I want to carry your grief. So, I shouldn’t talk about my own.”

These priceless friends wouldn’t have it. And this is what they said.

“But it still hurts. And you still need to talk about him. When you grieve with us, it shows us we have freedom to struggle.”

“It’s beautiful that you let people see reality. You don’t wear a mask, and that gives hope. Jesus takes the junk.

“Your sorrow is still valid. Your husband died.”

“And you need to remember that this is a safe place. We carry each other.”

“Yeah, I mean we just take turns crying, right? It’s what we do.”

And then we laughed again.

This is community, the friends who carry the crushing burdens together. We laugh until our sides hurt. We weep together. We’re family.

My friends weren’t intentional teachers that day, but their words have stuck with me.

Stop Saying You're Sorry - Living in true, Christ-driven community means letting others accept your good, bad, and ugly.

For me that means, don’t make “I’m sorry” a defense mechanism. Don’t use it to put up walls or change the subject. Sometimes I use “I’m sorry” when I think I’m the only one who struggles. And that is just a lie.

“I’m sorry” is for asking forgiveness. The words exist in conjunction with “I was wrong.” They are for turning from sin, but they are not for talking about struggle. For when I use them in that context, I rob others the opportunity to bless.

Loving one another is mutual care, compassion, and sacrifice. It is speaking the truth in love. It is serving. But sometimes it’s a willingness to be served. It’s giving and receiving.

Community- It means I can stop saying I’m sorry.

According to Webster, community is “a group of people who live near each other, or have a particular characteristic in common.” Communities rally around a plethora of interests- sports, board games, causes, trends, pop culture, you name it. Yet these are shadows.

True community exists when Christ is the focus. Jesus called it His body. (I Corinthians 12, Ephesians 5) A body’s parts are woven together, utterly dependent on the others for the good of the whole. One part can’t hurt without the entire body feeling it. One part can’t rejoice without the entire body rejoicing also. Like a physical body, each part needs the rest.

If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored all rejoice together.”(I Cor. 12:26).

True community runs deeper than exchanging pleasantries once a week at worship gathering. It’s more than potlucks. It’s even more than prayer meetings. Christ-driven community exists when we’re willing to get dirty, be vulnerable, do ugly, and stay in the mess for as long as it takes.

Gospel community

…meets each other’s needs (Acts 4:32)

This looks like actually knowing the need and doing something about it. It could be groceries, a box of kleenexes, or merely a listening ear. It could be a single mom arriving home to a freshly made bed with clean sheets.

…speaks the gospel (Galatians 6:1, 1 Corinthians 15)

This is what my friends did for me. “Jesus takes the junk.” Sometimes we need others to tell us truth when we struggle to tell ourselves. This looks like speaking the realities of reconciliation, adoption, redemption into each others’ lives.

…takes off the masks (James 5:16, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Folks who dwell in real community know it’s okay to struggle and to let others see the struggle. Because Jesus was perfect, we don’t have to be. Grace says there is freedom to be weak.

perfect jesus

…reconciles with each other (Ephesians 4:32)

If I am part the body of Christ, then refusing to reconcile would be like cutting off my own arm. Enough said.

…prays for one another (Acts 1:14, James 5:16)

…loves one another (I John 3:11, John 13)

This is the love that sacrifices, that gives, and puts its own selfishness aside.

…bears burdens together (Galatians 6:2)

This is the devastating load that is too big for one to bear alone.

…knows it’s a family (2 Thessalonians 1:3, Hebrews 2:11)

One of my favorite things is “family night.” Most of my community group doesn’t have blood family in town, but we still have family. Each week we take turns cooking dinner for “the family.” We sit around the table and dive into each other lives. I need these people. And I think it’s safe to say we’d take bullets if it came to that.

Viewed this way, community is no longer an obligation or an “extra thing.” Rather it’s necessary for my spiritual health. I need others to point out my blind spots.

True Community fosters God’s intended plan for the church- a family, woven tightly together, a body interconnected and interdependent.

As for me, I’ve stopped saying I’m sorry.

The post by Ami, appeared first at  Intentional By Grace.

So she started to walk.

~ Ami ~ 10 Comments

she sangA fourteen year old kid sat alone beneath the moonlit sky. New life stirred within her spirit. Hope. It was a word she hadn’t known for many months. All had seemed futile. But now, oh but now, everything was different! She saw. She understood. She wept with joy, clearly comprehending for the first time, the debt paid on her behalf. Peace.

And in her heart she counted the cost. To this One, the Redeemer who died and rose again, to the One who set her free, she’d give anything.

“Child of weakness watch and pray, find in me thine all in all. Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe…”

“Oh Lord, I am fully and completely yours. I will not run from the hard paths. You’ve given me life and hope. And you are worth everything.”

I remember that kid. Life immediately turned a radical 180. She grew like wildfire, with the unshakeable faith of fresh belief. She prayed and Heaven answered. God heard her. It was as simple as that. There was nothing He could not do.

She began to walk, and the path was filled with wonder. Marveling at beauty she’d never seen before, her heart felt light and airy.

Over time, however, the path began to twist, and she couldn’t see what lay ahead.

“I will guide you with my eye upon you.” the Redeemer reassured.

As she walked, she noticed thorns amid flowers and tangled vines beside and above. At times the sky grew dark, and rain soaked her through and through. She stumbled. Muddy and bruised, the way wasn’t always as pleasant as she’d imagined.

She thought of that initial surrender. “I will not run from the hard paths.”

All the way the Redeemer led her, keeping his eyes steadfastly upon her. And she returned his gaze.

There were steep hills and deep rivers. There was wandering in the wilderness. She staggered, but the Redeemer gently pulled her to her feet.

Sometimes she wanted to quit. Sometimes she looked around and thought that other paths seemed a little more fragrant.

“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot…In your presence is fullness of joy.”  She reminded herself often.

And there were also flowers and many days of sunshine. She rested in green meadows. She drank from peaceful streams. Ocean breezes cooled her face. Breathtaking landscapes crept over the horizon.

There were fireside chats. And music. And laughter. And night skies filled with a million stars. There was even beauty among the thorns.

The path was a winding ribbon, taking her places she’d never expected. Sometimes it was hard, much harder than she’d initially guessed. But she was cared for, loved, free, clean, and known. It was completely worth it.

One day, without warning, she walked right off a cliff. Terrified, she tumbled end over end, falling deeper than she ever had before. The chasm seemed to have no end.

How she did not die when her form slammed to the ground, is a mystery of grace.

She lay crumpled, broken, and devastated. Looking around, she knew the place. The path had led her to the valley of death.

Sobbing. Pain. She couldn’t get up. Looking from the mountain above, others saw her sitting there, knees drawn tightly to her chest, head down, rivers of tears forming at her feet.

Some offered platitudes from the safety of their own paths above and some wanted to but couldn’t make the treacherous descent. But there were others who climbed down the steep incline and sat there with her. They let their tears mingle with hers.

The Redeemer knelt beside her, tenderly binding her wounds.

Broken, she couldn’t leave the place for many weeks. And in the valley of death, she sat. The winds rose around her, a hurricane. The waters rose in that valley, threatening to drown her.

“Didn’t you know I was headed toward a cliff?”

There were days when she shouted and beat her fists on the ground. Yet more often than not, she sang. For she remembered the Redeemer. And he spoke precious words.

“I will guide you with my eye upon you. Not one millisecond of your journey is outside of my control. Not one instant is without purpose. You are mine. I am here with you.”

And there in the valley she began to see things with new eyes. The stars. Oh how magnificent! Indescribable, infinite in  majesty, they were more brilliant than she’d ever realized.

She caught glimpses of the End. A word formed in her heart to describe that place. Eternity. She began to long for it. And the Redeemer, how she saw him! It was there he took on startling clarity. She’d known his power before, but now she experienced his suffering also. She understood how he had suffered for her.

He was the goal. Eternity. It meant being with the Redeemer.

Over time the broken bones healed. Color returned to her cheeks. She bore jagged scars, but she thought they were beautiful. She noticed flowers growing. She felt a gentle breeze. Eternity called her name.

It was time to get up. She glanced at the incline leading out of the valley. It twisted and turned, and she couldn’t see where it went.

She saw thorns on tangled vines. But she also glimpsed blue skies and rolling meadows ahead.

“Ok, the path may yet be hard. But there will still be beauty, immense beauty. And the Redeemer, He awaits.”

So she started to walk.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”  Psalm 32:8

“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance….You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”  Psalm 16:5-11

Looking back, I know I left the valley a while ago. Praise God for beauty. Praise God, He is fullness of joy.  Amen!

Delight to Gaze upon Him

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

everythingI love when people feel at home in my home. I really do.

“Grab a blanket if you’re cold.

You know where the coffee mugs are.

Come on in without knocking.

Feel free to go in the fridge.

You’re a welcome guest. Moreover, I want you to know I consider you family.“

Such delight it brings when friends know what they are to me- family, beloved!

I hope my home is lovely, and I hope folks feel loved there. But I know of a far more precious dwelling place.

“How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of Hosts! My soul longs yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God. (Psalm 84:1-2 )

Now, there are some things you must know.

  1. In the Old Testament, God chose to dwell in a tent made by hands, first the Tabernacle, and later the Temple in Jerusalem. Israel could meet with Him there.
  2. The journey to God’s dwelling place was a long, arduous, and often treacherous pilgrimage.
  3. For many, it may have been merely obligation. (Deuteronomy 16:16)
  4. Common Israelites were permitted to enter only the outer court of the Tabernacle. Even more restrictive was the Holy of Holies, the very seat of God. Solely the high priest, ONE man, ONE time a year could enter it.
  5. The sons of Korah, the authors of this Psalm, rejoice even in their lowly positions as doorkeepers. (Psalm 84:10)

Now, keep all that in mind for a minute.

To be welcome in the house of the Lord, the God who created everything, the God who is majestic and transcendent is in a word, astonishing.

So, the psalmists long for God’s dwelling place, yearning for it with a sense of urgency. They understand that meeting with God offers true delight, true satisfaction, and true fulfillment.

Therefore, to dwell with God is their chief desire.

David reiterates the theme.

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His temple.” (Psalm 27: 4)

Wow. I want God to be my chief desire, the captor of my affections. I want to sing and shout for joy, knowing He far surpasses all my hopes and dreams. I know He is the fulness.

But I’ll be honest, I don’t always want God the most.

Sometimes, other things vie for my attention. The hazards of the journey ensnare me. Sometimes, weeds and thorns threaten to choke out the truth, and other pastures seem greener.

But there are things I must recall.

God no longer dwells in a tent made by hands, but in hearts made of flesh. Through the completed work of Christ, God dwells within His church. He ALWAYS dwells with me.

I get to meet with the living God. Daily. Hourly. Minute by minute. In a word, that’s astonishing.

I’m not restricted to the outer court. The veil was torn, the Holy of Holies opened. Rather than ONE man, ONE time of year, I’ve been given constant, total access to God, Himself. Jesus pleads for me. And I can expect grace. (Hebrews 4:14-16)

Furthermore, God calls me not a doorkeeper, but FAMILY. (Romans 8:14-15)

How then can I not delight to gaze upon Him, singing and shouting for joy?

How then can I not recall what am to Him?

Beloved. Called. Chosen. Redeemed. Purchased. Family

This post by Ami appeared first at aNew Season Ministries

 

22 Kleenexes

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

tissues22 kleenexes lay strewn on the floor, the culmination of two weeks of struggle, frustration, and battle. That’s not an exaggeration; I counted them. Financial pressures, unfulfilled longings, broken teeth (yep, this happened), a first date that probably won’t lead to a second, the suffering of people I love: lots of “small” things add up to make a big thing.

This morning, tears flowed freely, unable to be stemmed. The pile of tissues grew, the wrestle fierce. I also battled anger. I was angry at myself for feelings of jealousy, angry that I could not rejoice in others’ good gifts. Crying was a better alternative to throwing dishes; we all know I have that impulse.

I’ve been here before. So many times. You’ve been here with me, and I know my words sound familiar.

But my heart struggles to believe what my mind knows is true. 

This week I heard it said, “Sorrowful tragedy sets the stage for surprising triumph.” (Platt) My mind says yes. But my heart is unsure. People tell me I’m strong, brave, and resilient, yet I’m not the super saint who never doubts, never questions. Granted, most waves have smoothed out, but even two years later, there are days I’m tempted to shout at God.

“When is enough, enough? How long must I be held to the fire?”

“For He is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver…” (Malachi 3:2-3)

Sometimes I feel like He’s forgotten me there.

I want God to relent in His severity. Being refined is a mercy, but a difficult one, nonetheless. I know the process creates beauty, increases value, and removes the dross. But sometimes I don’t care.

Sometimes I want to tell him I’m mad at him. Refining hurts.

But the words never come. Praise God, they never come. Rather, He replaces them with tears of sorrow.

“O my dear Father, how could I ever be angry with you? Who am I to be angry with you?”

So I cry a lot. I preach to myself. I bow in surrender and plead with Holy Spirit to intercede for me. And God always meets with me and brings me back. I tell myself the truth, and the Holy Spirit lodges it deep within.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” (2 Corinthians 4:7-9)

This treasure. God has seen fit to wrap the treasure of treasures, the Gospel, in the weakness of human flesh. Why? It reveals that the surpassing power and effectiveness of the gospel belongs to God, and not to me.

Yet for some reason, I’ve been made a vessel to carry treasure. My weaknesses and inadequacies magnify God’s strength and perfection.

What a crazy paradox! But there is more.

  • Afflicted, but not crushed
  • Perplexed, but not driven to despair
  • Persecuted, but not forsaken
  • Struck down, but not destroyed

There have been moments in the journey in which I’ve fought despair, where I have felt crushed, and destroyed, standing on the edge of a precipice about to jump.

But here is reality. I have not been crushed. I have not been destroyed. I have not been driven to despair. And I never will be.

I’ve fought despair, but Jesus always wins for me.

He was destroyed. He was forsaken. He met despair square in the eye. He was utterly crushed. This was the cross of my Lord.

As the passage continues, likewise I can say,

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen, but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”(2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

More paradoxes.

  • Outer self wasting away, inner self renewed day by day
  • Momentary affliction, eternal weight of glory
  • Things seen, things unseen
  • Transient, eternal

Momentary. Permanent.

Affliction doesn’t always feel light and momentary, but with eternity in view, it’s a mere glimmer, a speck in God’s grand plan of redemption. God’s far surpassing power is beyond all human control or fathoming.

And He is preparing me for an eternal weight of glory. An eternal weight of glory. I don’t think I can fully comprehend that.

Therefore, by the power that raised Christ from the dead, the power that dwells in this immensely weak jar of clay, I can choose to believe.

I choose to surrender.

I choose to love the life God’s given me.

I choose to know He’s good.

I choose to believe there will be triumph in eternity AND in this life.

God triumphs amid human weakness.  Sometime I think I can’t bear anymore fire, but He has not forgotten I’m there. He watches the silver intently, holding to the flame just long enough for it to be perfected.

I tell my heart to believe what my mind knows is true.

And by grace, it does.

“Sorrowful tragedy sets the stage for surprising triumph.” Watch the video from The Gospel Coalition here- God’s Goodness in Your Pain. Believe me, it’s worth the nine minutes! counsel

I don’t have to be tough.

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

toughI got up early, showered, straightened my hair, and overall just looked cute. I thought about corporate worship, and couldn’t wait to be with the church. What snow? I’d be just fine.

A southern girl living in the midwest is bound to have some angst about five months of winter (as I’ve noted before), but I feel like I’ve conquered many of my snow issues. I’m not afraid to drive in it; I think I can handle a snowy road like a champ these days. I’ve learned to accept it, dress in layers, and buy thermal socks. Therefore, when the forecast called for a blizzard, I was not alarmed.

I backed out slowly. All was well; there was no getting stuck in this driveway.Opening my garage door, I wasn’t surprised to see several inches of the white stuff and more still falling. “No problem. I’ve got this.”

Well, until I got stuck, that is.

The wheels spun, and the engine revved. But it was just a show. Hmm, that was futile.

First action step, call a friend, of course. A true gentleman, he offered to come get me. Meekly, I accepted. In the meantime, I shoveled with determination and perhaps stubbornness. At least I could get it back in the garage, right?

I’ll spare you all the grizzly details, but I ended up wet, freezing, covered in snow, mad, crying, and no closer to getting the car unstuck. The wind was unforgiving, hurling snow at places I’d already cleared. And you can forget that lovely, straightened hair.

mad

Tears stung my face. I was angry I no longer had a husband to take care of such things. I was angry I couldn’t do it, and angry I had to ask for help. When I called my friend back, I felt like an incapable wimp.

“Don’t come get me.”

“Why?”

“I’m so angry and upset that I can’t get my car out. I’m mad that I have to, and not at all in the right place to be at church.”

“Ami, you’re being ridiculous. I’m coming to get you,” my guy friend calmly replied.

Later during worship, he slipped me a note. “I need your car keys. Several of us are going to go over and get you unstuck.”

Tears formed again, yet these were full of gratitude. I’m strong in many ways, but it’s okay to admit my weaknesses.

I am weaker in physical strength than men, but that’s not a bad thing.

So, here are the lessons.

Culture says, “be a strong, tough, independent woman.” But God honors women as the “weaker vessel.” I don’t mean that women aren’t capable, but our Lord says be honored, cherished, protected. Be the fine china. My pastor put it this way, “A chivalrous man takes the bullets, does the nasty work, and gets dirty because he realizes a lady shouldn’t have to.”

“…showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel.” I Peter 3:7 ESV

“Weaker vessel” doesn’t mean it’s inferior or any less valued. Rather, it is to be protected, esteemed, more highly valued.

That’s a difficult thing for widows to hear. “Who’s protecting me now? Who is doing the nasty work? Quite frankly, I have to do it a lot these days, “ my heart cries.

Yes, that’s often true, but it’s okay to ask for help. Sometimes it’s even needed. I know that’s a challenge, but people may not know the need until we ask. While Peter is speaking specifically to husbands in the verse above, there’s broader application within the church. Men can still honor the women around them with appropriate boundaries.

More importantly, Christ already did the nastiest of work. He already provided the ultimate protection. What’s a little snow compared to my need for salvation? When I remember my ultimate weakness, it more drastically contrasts His ultimate strength.

Being cared for is a lovely thing. I miss my chivalrous husband dearly, but I’m thankful God still puts chivalrous men in my life- family, friends, pastors. I’m thankful for men who help with home repairs, lift heavy objects, and pick me up in a blizzard.

I’m most thankful for Jesus, the ultimate chivalrous man.

I don’t have to be tough.

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net

Bringing His Bride with Him

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

Once upon a time there was a king.

Now, this king was everything a good fairy tale wants. He was powerful, but also good. He was just, but also merciful. He was wise, faithful, and fiercely protective of his kingdom. And he loved his citizens, not as one aloof or stoic, but with passion and vehemence, as if they were sons and daughters.

One day the king called for his son.

“My son, and true heir, with whom I share all glory and dominion! My son, united with me in heart and purpose!” the king proclaimed at the sight of the prince, embracing him with delight.

But as the king stepped back, his eyes were fierce with righteous anger. Yet in a swirling, torrent of emotions, staggering sorrow etched his wrinkled brow and aged-lined face. His hands weighed heavily on the prince’s shoulders. And the prince, so radically connected to his father, knew the emotions as well.

“Oh my son,” The king was grave, “I must send you on a perilous mission, one so perilous it is such the world has never seen. Were there another way, I would have it so. But you alone can be the rescuer. You alone are anointed.”

His voice was still thick with grief and outrage, two sides of the same coin. “Your future bride has been deceived and stolen by our ancient foe! A dragon most formidable and full of rage and fury guards a tower that reaches heaven, a tower formed from impenetrable stone. In it he keeps her, captive.”

And the son felt the equal weight of wrath and agony. How could this possibly be?

perilous“But there is more. What I ask is more than you know. To rescue the fairest, most lovely, most gentle, beauty in all the land is one thing. However, this is not your feat. Rather, your lady fair is not fair at all. She is crushed by her oppressor, lower than a slave. But she has no understanding– he’s beguiled her so. She thinks she’s free. Yet she is filthy, dressed in rags. Her heart is broken, torn apart by guilt and shame. She is blind. And lame. And her body is wracked with leprosy. She is utterly destitute. Day by day she sits in ashes,clothed in despair.”

“There is more. She hates you with malice so violent, so hostile, and so deeply rooted, it consumes her. My son, I send you to rescue one who is thoroughly unlovely. But she belongs to the kingdom, a citizen. I love the unlovely. And I want her back.” As he said the last, his hand clenched in an emphatic fist.

“My son, still there is more. Our ancient foe is no ordinary dragon, and you’ll not slay him by ordinary means. To defeat the master deceiver, you must become as the one you rescue. You must exchange your resplendent, spotless cloak for a threadbare rag saturated with the stench of human waste. You must put on her blindness. You must become lame. You must see your body wrapped in rotten, leprous flesh. You must wear her ashes and take her despair. And after all this, you will surely die. My dearest son, I love you more deeply than language can describe, but I love my citizens too. I love this wretch. Son will you lay aside your glory? Will you lay aside your fame and renown for a time?”

you must
The prince weighed his father’s words in a balance. The father’s glory was his glory. The father’s kingdom, his kingdom, but his father asked a task almost incomprehensible.

Become a leper, unclean, cast out? Be blind? Be lame? Dress in filth? Die?

He returned his father’s gaze. He loved his father with loved that encompassed all, and he would do his father’s will.

Without hesitation, the son knelt, and presented his sword.

“Yes father, this thing you ask, I’ll do it willingly. I will go. I will redeem the unlovely one, taking her blindness, her leprosy, her ashes, her despair. I will wash her. I will bind her broken heart, and it will be whole. I will set her free. She’ll be liberated, no longer captive! I will clothe her with a beautiful crown and a splendid garments. No longer will she sit in ashes. I will give her the oil of joy. I will comfort her gently. I will provide for her needs. I will love her with unquenchable love. And yes, father, to defeat our ancient and formidable foe, I will die for her.”

“My son! Oh my marvelous son, how I delight in you! You will destroy the foe! You will crush his head. And you will rise and come again to me, bringing your bride with you. And she will be yours. And she will be beautiful because you will make her so.”

Now time will not suffice to tell you all, but the prince did embark. And the journey was exceedingly perilous. The cost was exceptionally high.

It was an extravagant rescue mission, such as the world had never seen. All came to pass just as the Father said.

All came to pass.

The son died.

Yet he did also rise.

And he returned to the king, bringing his bride with him.

The Spirit of the Lord God is on Me because the LORD has anointed Me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to captives and freedom to prisoners; to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor and the day of our God’s vengeance; to comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who mourn in Zion; to give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, festive oil instead of mourning and splendid clothes instead of despair, and they will be called righteous trees, planted by the LORD to glorify Him. Isaiah 61:1-3

This post by Ami appeared first at Intentional By Grace.

A Satisfying & Fitting Conclusion

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

An avid lover of books, I adore a satisfying, tightly woven conclusion. I close the book (or turn off the kindle), and just sit there enjoying my reverie. It’s the place where contentment and longing somehow dwell harmoniously. It’s wishing there were more adventures with a beloved friend. But if the author is worth his salt, it’s also knowing there couldn’t possibly be a more fitting ending.

Speaking of conclusions, it’s not unusual for me to open a new book and immediately flip to the end. Before anything else, I read the final paragraph. I suppose it’s a quirky little habit. But I love it. The last paragraph of a novel provides the perfect teaser; I can’t wait to know why the masked man leaves a rose on the bedside table. Just kidding, romance novels are not my preferred genre.

But seriously, the last few sentences make me want to know how all the pieces fit. Excitement builds. I’m about to get lost in an undiscovered tale. Enthusiastically, I return to the beginning ready to devour word upon word, page upon page.

Finally I come to the conclusion again. Sigh.

Now, I would submit to you that I have come across the world’s best conclusion. I know that’s a crazy claim, but I’m firmly convinced that out of all the satisfying conclusions in all the world’s books, there is one that surpasses them all.

Are you ready? Holy smokes. I’m so excited!

Now there are many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.

John 21:25

Drop the mic.

Could there be a more fitting conclusion? The implications are staggering. Jesus is more than mortal tongue can express. If all scholars, through all of time, made Him the subject of their lives’ work, they still wouldn’t exhaust the reality of who He is.

The true Jesus is so much bigger than my truncated version of Him. I try to put Him in a neat little box. But He doesn’t fit. He is more than I fully understand, utterly inexhaustible. Therefore, If Jesus is so marvelous that the world cannot contain all the truth about Him, then is He not also far bigger in my life? And in your life?

Is He not able to do exceeding abundantly above all that I can ask or think? (Ephesians 3:20)

Is He not more intimately acquainted with every detail than I can possibly fathom? (Hebrews 4:15-16)

Is this Jesus not able to be trusted?

Likewise, this perfect conclusion to John’s book emphasizes the sheer magnitude of all Jesus accomplished. Salvation is more radical than we know; redemption had a greater cost. His incarnation, life, death, resurrection and ascension- in short, these words make up the gospel. And it is vaster, broader in its scope than we dare to comprehend.

Now imagine you’ve never read the book of John. What a conclusion! That’s an understatement, I think. Don’t you desperately need to see what came before?

Spoiler alert: among other things, He made the blind to see, He made the lame to walk, He raised the dead, He lived perfectly, He died, and He rose again. He took a penalty His bride could never have paid for herself. He reconciled. He justified.

Jesus is beautiful in His infinitude, yet also close at hand. He is near. Though we don’t understand all, God’s given us enough to know the only way to salvation and the end of the  grand narrative. (John 14:6; Revelation 22: 12-21).

We can know Jesus.

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in His name.”(John 20:30-31)

In John’s perfect conclusion, contentment and longing mingle together in unblemished harmony. Jesus satisfies, and knowing that satisfaction, I long for Him more.

Well, I suppose in a post about conclusions, I should probably up with a good one.

I’ve got nothing.

So, its best to say with John, “Amen. Come Lord Jesus!”  (Revelation 22:20)

Talk about satisfying and fitting.

This post by Ami appeared first at aNew Season Ministries