Love the Unlovely?

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

I’m just so stinkin’ excited to share this post by my mother-in-law! It’s easy to love the lovely, but what about the unlovely?

I’m so glad she did.

 

unlovelyBy guest blogger, Jill Neff

Love, the word rolls smoothly off our tongue. We love God, our families, coffee, and chocolate chip cookies. But how does my heart respond when God asks me to love someone unlovely? Our “pretty package” was named Jonathan, a rebellious teen from the youth group at the church my husband pastored. Motherless at fourteen, cancer would soon make him fatherless at eighteen. And God was about to reveal a plan that was a far cry from what we ever imagined. Jim said, “He’s my only child, will you take care of him, give him a home, and see him through college?”

Well that doesn’t seem too hard – food, a warm bed, and some occasional laundry.  But God said, “Will you love him, this unlovely one? And point him to me?” Now that journey was not for the squeamish or faint of heart.

Jonathan embraced his new family with gusto; he called us dad and mom, was over the moon about his new siblings, and had more energy than any 5-year-old I knew.  But he charged through life with intellectual knowledge of Christ, and no real relationship with Him, so we butted heads often.  There were tears, disappointments, hurts, and anger, and many prayers!

How he drove me to my knees over and over, seeking wisdom and strength for this journey.  I didn’t completely understand God’s plan, but I did understand what God wanted me to do, love this boy who had lost his real family, love him when he lied, love him when he disappointed, love him when he hurt me.  So love him I did, with every fiber of my being, like a mother would love him!

Baby steps forward, big steps back; it seemed at times like this “pretty package” was just too big a challenge!  Finally there was the most important victory. Jonathan yielded his life and put his faith and trust in Christ.  Oh things didn’t change overnight, but gradually the steps forward got bigger, and the steps backward got smaller as God’s word penetrated his heart.

We saw him grow in Christ, be called to preach, and marry, Ami, the love of his life. And my mother’s heart rejoiced.  On January 25, 2013, God called him home, ahead of the planned surgery to replace the faulty valve in his heart.

And my mother’s heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. “Wait, God, this wasn’t the plan!  This is not what I expected!”  My heart mourned, and God held me close and simply whispered, “You let me love him through you, and that was my plan all along!”

People ask me if I would do this again, knowing the struggles, disappointments, and hurts.  My honest human answer is maybe not!  Here’s the interesting part, however. God didn’t just change Jonathan, He changed me. The love of God is unconditional, full of grace and flowing from His heart “even while we were yet sinners.” (Romans 5:8).  He is looking for a surrendered and obedient heart that He can work through. Because that’s His plan, to use His children to love those around us, those who need to know the love of God as more than just a fuzzy idea they once heard somewhere, to love those who need to know the love of God in salvation!

Perhaps there is someone that God has placed in your path, someone in your sphere of influence, someone who is not very lovely, but someone who needs God to love them through you.  My journey with Jonathan is complete, but maybe your journey is just beginning. Who does God want to love through you? “One more child, He said, for this family of three. One more child, He said, point him to me.”  Would I do this again….in a heartbeat!

Father, help my heart to be in tune with your heart. I surrender my heart and ask you to love the unlovely through me.  Bring those across my path that need to know you and help me share God’s love and the glorious message of the gospel. 

This post appeared first at anewseason.net

And you will find rest for your souls.

~ Ami ~ 7 Comments

hustleMy fingers and toes were ice, but my face was flushed and hot. Wrapped in a blanket, wearing several layers, including socks and slippers, I could not get warm. The tell tale signs were like stealth fighters. spies on a covert mission. Try as I might to thwart them, I merely slowed their progress. The tactic changed. It was a full-on frontal assault, a barrage of symptoms wreaking havoc with my immune system.

Chills. Aches. Fever. Runny nose. Sneezing. Headache. Maybe the flu. Sick. Bleh.

I hate being sick. I especially hate it now that I’m a widow. Going to the store to get my own OJ and chicken noodle is no fun when my head feels twice its normal size. Being sick feels worse alone.

My first reaction is typically denial. “I’m not getting sick. I’m just tired. I have too much to do. Can’t get sick. I don’t feel well just because I think I don’t feel well. It’s all psychological.

Finally I give in and accept reality. “Ugh. I feel awful.”

To the couch I go, knowing rest is a primary need. I admit, initially it’s wonderful to alternate sleep with a movie marathon. Sometimes slowing down is a beautiful thing…

Read the rest of the story here at Intentional By Grace.

do better

An oak of righteousness? Two years after death.

~ Ami ~ 13 Comments

???????????????????????????????Two years. Such small, seemingly insignificant words, yet they carry enormous weight.

Be warned, however, this may not be a tightly woven, finely crafted, highly polished train of thought. It’s one of those times I just need to let the words take themselves where they want to go.

Has it really been two years since Jon last kissed me, last made me laugh, last told me he loved me? The passage of time is both an instant and an eternity.

I didn’t believe the friend who told me the “seconds” can be more difficult than the firsts. But she was right. In year two reality set in. “This is my new life.”

I miss him daily, sometimes badly. Someone once asked me if there are days that go by that I don’t think about him. The answer to that is no. And it will always be no.

In the second year, careless words still hurt, pregnancy announcements still caused a twinge of sorrow followed by genuine rejoicing, and loneliness proved a powerful battle. Though grief’s crashing waves were less frequent, it’s reality that, at times, they were still ferocious. This year it was harder to tell people when I was deeply struggling. I wondered if it was still ok.  I’m thankful for close friends who remind me it’s safe to share the struggle.

I admit there were some unmet expectations. I thought surely, by now, I’d be headed to remarriage, toward someone taking care of me, toward not living alone.

There were fears, such as knowing a day is coming when Jon will have been gone longer than we were married. Not sure I’m ready to tackle that one.

Indeed, It took its own shape, this second year. I can think of several themes that encapsulate it: waiting, binding up, defeating lies, learning deeper trust, relinquishing expectations. In a word, sanctification.

“But God, wasn’t death enough? I’m really ok with mediocre. Can’t we take a break from transformation?”

He said no.

Praise God, He’s far more committed to my sanctification than I am! And I’ve started to realize that’s an incredible thing. Let me illustrate.

A couple weeks after Jon died, my pastor and his daughter stood at my door. With puffy eyes, unwashed hair, and clothed in sackcloth and ashes, I heard him say, “We picked this journal intentionally. The tree symbolizes the far reaching influence of Jon’s death. A seed falls down to the ground and dies, but from death there’s abundant life. I think God will grow a tree ridiculously more beautiful than we know. Jon’s life and death. Your life. The gospel will explode, and there will be abundant fruit. Ami, God’s going to use this. And He’ll use you.” 

I had no words to thank him for such a touching gift, but I doubt I believed him then. I didn’t know if there was truly life beneath the ashes.

A tree can be reduced to cinders in minutes, a mere glimmer of time. Fire sweeps through, destroying something strong and lovely. From all appearances the tree is dead, or at least so severely debilitated it may never produce foliage again.

That was me, ashes in an instant.

Ashes in an instant, but it takes many years to grow a mature tree. It took me awhile to embrace that idea. The new sprout must be tenderly cared for, lest it be trampled under foot and die. Likewise, growing means weathering harsh winters, droughts, and fierce storms. Did you know it takes at least 20 years (and sometimes up to 50) for an oak tree to produce acorns? That’s a long time to wait for fruit.

But I want “instant tree.” I want to know what God is doing. I want to see the result.  Yet, just as it takes time to grow a tree, apparently it takes time to grow me.

However, there is beauty even in the growth. Each year brings new blossoms and fresh green leaves. The colors of fall are magnificent.

“That they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:3

Why oak? I mean, why didn’t God say willow tree? Well, oaks are symbols of strength and endurance.They grow to massive height, up to 100 feet tall, and spread 150 feet across. And as any one who’s ever desired quality furniture knows, oaks have some of the hardest wood on earth.

Also, I learned that a sprout growing from a stump of a burned (or cut down tree) grows significantly faster than its counterpart budding from an acorn.

This is what God is committed to, not just shaping and growing me, but a people. He’s committed to His church. He makes it fit to be with him. He spreads its influence through the nations. And He is passionate about His own glory.  He makes oaks of righteousness for His renown.

Therefore, I’m learning to embrace sanctification in all its forms, for God will complete the work He began.  He made me a citizen of the kingdom, a part of a people, totally set apart for Himself.

He’s making me evergreen, with leaves that do not wither, and in due season will produce much fruit (Psalm 1). It’s transformation empowered only by Jesus, and it’s possible only because he was cut down. One day I’ll be never ending new. And all of this because He’s deemed it so. And all this because He says it brings Him praise.

What an incomprehensible thing to think that the God who is already exalted, who already has all honor, would cause my faltering, weak, easily damaged sprout to magnify Him. What a incomprehensible thing to be so loved by God.

Finally, beneath the theme of sanctification ran a flowing current of grace. He empowers. As in year one, grace was tangible, God was abundant.

Grace was strength to sort through Jon’s clothes, give some away, and put some in a yard sale. It was watching a sweet old man walk away with Jon’s slippers. It was nine women invading my home, packing boxes and cleaning my bathrooms. Grace was stepping into a new house without Jon. Grace was pursuing and accomplishing new career goals.

It was bearing sorrow with others and walking alongside dear friends newly embarking on grief’s messy path; shared mourning creates a rich, unique bond that many may never experience.

Ministry blossomed and flourished, writing opportunities expanded. Grace looked like writing post, upon post, upon post, which stretched me and kept me utterly dependent. Grace was excitement, laughter, and a reunion with the Ami who existed before death.

Grace is God answering the constant cry of our marriage. “Father use us. Please let the gospel flow from us. Let us be a part of your kingdom work. Be glorified above all.”

How then, can I not rejoice in this second year?

“I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shalt exult in my God, for He has clothed me with the garments of salvation; He has covered me with robes of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its sprouts, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to sprout up before all the nations.”

Isaiah 61:10-11

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Waiting? An agent of transformation

~ Ami ~ 6 Comments

wait patientlyWait. It is the theme God emphatically presses on my heart these days. I’m at a place of unknowns, obstacles, and blocked paths. There’s nothing I can do. My hands are tied, and I feel like this has been the trend for a long time.

And God says, “Wait.”

Now, I admit that I don’t always wait well. For some folks, taking a step into the unknown is challenging, but for me it’s when I can’t take a step forward that makes me crazy. I’d much rather be able to step boldly into God’s plans, than be stuck on pause. I’d rather be able to take risks, than be stopped in my tracks.

Because I can’t see what God is doing, sometimes fear of the future creeps in. When wait is the theme, sometimes I gravitate to worry and anxiety.

Yet God says, “I’m doing more than you understand.”

Sometimes waiting seems purposeless. I’m not always sure what I’m supposed to learn. I guess I want to distill the lesson to a succinct sentence and move on. But perhaps that’s the point. Sanctification takes time; transformation isn’t always instantaneous.

Wait a sec, let me define our terms. When I believed on Christ for salvation, I was justified. I was declared innocent by His blood. I was saved. Think of it this way, justified means, “God sees me just as if I’ve never sinned, just as if I’ve always obeyed.”

Sanctification, on the other hand, is the aspect of the gospel in which God is transforming me to be what He already declared. I am being saved. It is lifelong. God initiated it, He’s passionately committed to it, and He will complete it. (Philippians 1:6, I Thessalonians 5:23) Sanctification is also corporate; God is sanctifying His church, creating a people for Himself.

Then there’s glorification. I will be never ending new. One day, I’ll be removed from even the presence of sin, perfected, with Christ forever. I will be saved.

So, for the girl who hates to wait, wouldn’t it be nice to skip over sanctification completely? I mean, let’s get straight to glorification, baby!

However, I know God’s thoughts are so much higher than mine, His ways past understanding. (Isaiah 55:8-9) I know I want to be more like Christ. I want to be set apart for HIm. I want to be the stone with all its rough edges smoothed away by the tumbling of the sea. I want to say with Charles Spurgeon, “I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”

Sanctification, then, is a necessary and beautiful thing. God is committed to my holiness because He’s committed to drawing me closer to Himself. Keeping this perspective teaches me to embrace the waiting, and reminds me that waiting teaches me to trust, to rest, to relinquish control of my faulty plans, and to surrender my desires to Him.

I’ll admit, perspective doesn’t alway make it easier. I often fail. Yet because Jesus fully surrendered to the will of His Father, set aside His own glory for a time, and waited perfectly for it to be restored to Him, I can wait. The gospel of Jesus empowers me to do what He commands me to do.

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.” Psalm 37:7 ESV

Therefore, when waiting is the pervasive theme, I’m learning to praise God for it. I recall that waiting is one agent of transformation.

“Praise the Lord, I tell myself, and never forget the good things He does for me.” Psalm 103:2 NLT

While I’m waiting, I remember the realities of Psalm 103:3-5

  • He forgives iniquity.
  • He heals all my diseases; Jesus took my spiritual leprosy, saving me from the all consuming nature of sin.
  • He redeemed me from the pit.
  • He removed my blindness and made my ears to hear.
  • He took away my paralysis.
  • He lifted the weight of sin that crushed me.
  • He raised me from death to life.
  • He crowns me with steadfast love and mercy.
  • He satisfies me with good.

If God has done all this, then surely He is working through the waiting.

And God says, “I’m doing much more than you understand.”

kiss the wave

This post appeared first at aNew Season Ministries

Tell me God’s not good

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

A family’s house burns to the ground, while another family sleeps, blissfully unaware. A woman faces years of infertility, while a second questions what “to do” with a child unwanted. Some face cancer. Some lead ostensibly charmed lives

A newborn fights for her life, bacterial meningitis ravaging her body. Her mother is a widow. To lose a husband and potentially a child, does this not seem beyond the threshold of human endurance? Isn’t it too much for one person to bear?

Poverty. Riots. War. Hurricanes. We stagger under sorrow’s heavy weight.

At first blush it seems so arbitrary; some suffer more than others, the roll of the dice perhaps. Or worse, is it the product of a fickle god sadistically dealing out pain for his own pleasure?

I imagine your recoil. Be honest, you’ve thought it. For a fleeting second, in a moment unguarded, a terrifying whisper creeps into your consciousness. “Maybe God is cruel.”

Immediately you push it away…

Is God cruel?  Find the rest of the of the article at jenthorn.com

 

Anticipating Tomorrow. Looking toward 2015

~ Ami ~ 4 Comments

The countdown began. The ball descended slowly, inching to its destination. 3-2-1! Happy New Year! The room filled with streamers, noise makers, and lingering kisses. He wrapped me in a giant hug, eyes dancing, grinning broadly. When he smiled, his whole face smiled. And of course, he kissed me with gusto. Goodbye, 2012. Hello, 2013!

The trip to the emergency room several days earlier already seemed a fading dream. I stole a tender glance at my husband. Thoroughly alive, passionate, vivacious, charismatic, and definitely goofy; these embodied him. Sure, there’d be valve replacement surgery in the near future, but medication would manage the problem till then. Jon would recover, and we’d go on living, dreaming, and pursuing Christ, worshiping Him together. We expected the trial, but we were ready. God had always taken care of us. He’d see us through this one as well.

But our hearts were light, hopeful, looking toward the new year with anticipation. We’d recently moved to a new home. Jon had started a new job. And we hoped this year God would bring a child.

New Year’s Day I awoke thinking about fresh starts and new beginnings.

“Lord, You’ve brought us so far this year! 2o12 was a year of abundance. I’m so thankful.  Father, in the coming year, consume our hearts with You. More than anything we want You to be magnified. Would You use us for the sake of Your kingdom, Your gospel? We’re hopeful, Lord. We’re excited.”

Fresh Starts. New Beginnings. Hope.

In the middle of the night, less than a month after we greeted the new year with gladness, I lay in a tight ball, clutching my husband’s wedding ring. How does one describe that first horrific night? Shock. Numbness. Nausea. I think there are no adequate words. A single thought repeated endlessly, “Jon died. My husband is dead.” My brain could not process reality.

Hope? Excitement for the future? What future? It died with him.

Or so it seemed.

Almost two years later, at the dawn of 2015, again I look toward the coming year with hope and anticipation.

“But how could that possibly be? You were utterly crushed, your dreams wrenched away, ripped apart like a doll house in a hurricane.”

Yes, that’s true. But remember what I prayed that New Year’s Day. “Consume our hearts with You. More than anything we want You to be magnified.” He has done it. Through tragedy, God was there, meeting me with grace upon grace. Gradually I remembered that I had not also died, and I recalled the One who promises a “future and a hope.”(Jeremiah 29:11)

It was the death of my beloved that caused me to be captivated with Christ. I’m mesmerized by Him, utterly fascinated with Him, and long for eternity with Him. And in this place, there is profound, penetrating, soul satisfaction that this world cannot hope to provide.

It’s an anticipation of things to come, the not yet. I’m looking toward a day when the church will be perfectly united, glorified in heart and mind, rejoicing forevermore, face to face with the One who redeemed it! I wouldn’t have chosen God’s answer, but He faithfully heard the cry of my heart. “Teach us to know You. Lord, be magnified through us.”

With the apostle Paul I’m learning to say, “Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8 ESV).

Yet I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the second prayer. “Would You use us for the sake of Your kingdom?” If you had known my husband, you’d know this prayer was his heartbeat, even more so than mine. And, oh, how God has granted that desire, multiplying the fruit! Confidently I see God using Jon’s life and death to strengthen marriages, to call a man to preach, to save the life of another heart patient—literally, to push me to things I never would have tried. Through writing, I get to proclaim to thousands that Jesus is hope, that He is life, and that He alone makes reconciliation between God and man!

These are merely glimpses. I know there’s exponentially more than I understand. So, I kneel in awe and humility. For God does not need me or my husband. I cannot add to His sufficiency. When I ask that God be magnified, it’s a prayer that men would ascribe the honor to Him that He already has. T

hrough Christ there are always fresh starts and new beginnings. And He satisfies. How then, could I not face tomorrow with gladness?

This post appeared first at aNew Season Ministries

Grace: An Illogical Response

~ Ami ~ 4 Comments

I love you2By now I’m sure your Christmas preparations are well underway. Twinkling lights, trees, wrapping paper, cookies, hot chocolate, wreaths, ribbons, shopping, carols, traditions…

It’s a delightful hustle and bustle. I love it. I absolutely do. But sometimes I start to forget the main thing. Maybe you do too? Well, come sit for a minute, grab a cup of coffee, and slow down.

Let me spin you a tale of a turkey, cranberries, and some extravagant grace…

I guess this is just a sneak peak! You’ll have to read the rest at Intentional By Grace. This is one of my most favorite memories and I’m so excited to share it with you. So, take a few minutes, let your heart be stirred, and stand in wonder at Jesus’ marvelous grace.

Where else will I go?

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

eternal lifeA sad, sad day is about to happen in the town where I live. A tragic day is imminent. Over and over I’ve heard, “Where will I go now? What will I do?”

Sitting peacefully in a certain bookstore’s cafe, sipping my latte, writing in my favorite cozy spot, I so relate to the dismay expressed in voice after voice.

“You’re closing? Oh no!”

Alas, tis true. There will be no more new-book smell. No more comfy chairs, in which one is encouraged to read for hours. No more leather bound journals, of which I admit to be somewhat of a snob. I always ruin cheaper journals long before I’m finished filling the pages, but I digress.

Perhaps it’s the beginning of the end of the great American bookstore. Well, at least in my town it is. Where will I go to write? Starbucks is generally too noisy– my home, generally too quiet.

How will I ever know the new releases? Where will I get to indulge my love of children’s literature, sitting blissfully on a tiny bench entranced by a clever tale?

There is no lasting security to be found here. Yes, a sad sad day indeed. I feel the void already.

Where else will I go?

Even as I mull this thought, I’m reminded of a conversation between Jesus and his disciples and of the eternal ramifications of such a question.

“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. So Jesus said to the twelve, “Do you want to go away as well?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” John 6:66-69

Merely hours earlier Jesus had fed a multitude with only a handful of bread and fish. But He went on to name Himself the Bread of Life. He was the bread that would cause mankind to never hunger again. He said He was the bread that would forever nourish the soul. He was the One who satisfies the hunger to know God.

Many did not understand his message that day, and so left him, their minds preoccupied by bellies full of bread and fish. Less than a dozen truly understood.

Physical bread wouldn’t last. To have a full belly was a momentary thing, nourishment that constantly needed to be replaced. Likewise, my peaceful spot at my favorite bookstore is clearly fleeting, temporal. Indeed it will not last. The millions of words in thousands of books will one day fade away. But Jesus gives the words of eternal life. He gives deep, perfect, soul-satisfying nourishment.

Unwittingly, the customers pose an eternal question, “Where else will I go?”

It’s a question so much bigger than cozy reading spots and leather bound journals. It’s a question much bigger than bread and fish.

The disciples knew there was no where else. There was no one else. They heard, believed, and knew that Jesus was the Holy One of God. They knew He alone could satisfy a void much bigger than that left by an empty bookstore.

My friends, perhaps you wrestle with this eternal question also. There is but one answer- Jesus, the One true Savior. He holds the words of eternal life.

When all else is transitory, He gives what is permanent. Life. Eternal life.

Lord, teach us that you satisfy. You alone can meet our deepest needs. You alone fill the hungry soul. Help us know this experientially. Remind us that you alone are unchanging when all else is fleeting. Where else could we go Lord? No where. For you alone have the words of eternal life.

This post by Ami, appeared first at A New Season Ministries

When I long to be held by human arms

~ Ami ~ 6 Comments

The room was cold.

“Oh well, better cold than hot for sleeping.”

I crawled into bed bringing the covers snuggly to my nose, leaving only eyes exposed to the elements. My feet quickly cocooned themselves in the down comforter. I lay on my side, knees bent, arms clutching a pillow. Everything was customary. But something was wrong. It took me a minute, but then I remembered; I was on my left side.

“Quick Lovee, huddle for warmth!” 

His strong arms circled me, his knees tucked behind mine. He held me close, heat radiating against my back from his very solid, very physical presence. He prayed aloud. There was security. We lay that way for awhile, content.

“Ok switch.” 

He rolled over, and I turned also, both of us now on our right sides, my knees tucked behind his knees. I held him close. And he was asleep within seconds, his chest rising and falling in a slow, gentle rhythm. I nestled behind him, warm and secure. Night after night we followed this pattern. He held me for awhile. Then I held him. Then he fell asleep. And I lay there soaking in his warmth, taking in every detail. Finally I slept.

But I have not started the night on my left side for almost two years. Perhaps it hurts too much to imagine him there behind me, knowing the reality that he’s not. Who am I kidding? It hurts regardless which side I face. I guess last night, however, realization hit me square in the eyes; what used to be such an integral part of my life no longer feels customary.

As I lay there on my left side, I welcomed the sorrow. Sometimes that’s an ok thing. Sometimes it’s a necessary thing. Nobody tells you that grief even affects the side upon which you sleep.

“Lord, how long must I be alone? Please be near me. Help me to know the security of your presence when I long to be held by human arms.”

As I continued to pray, peace flooded in, remarkable and true. I was warm and secure. I knew the very real presence of the Lord; God was near. Sleep was not an unwilling guest that lingered in the shadows. Rather, it came sweetly, and I drifted off without turning over.

I have learned much about dwelling in the presence of God. Let me say it this way, I have learned to be aware. Tragedy and grief taught me to run to Christ, to slow down, to listen, to hear His voice echo from the pages of His word, to know the comfort of the Holy Spirit, to know that my heart and mind can be guarded with incomparable peace. (Philippians 4:6)

Likewise, prayer has become a continuous, flowing conversation. I’m learning to talk to God through the mundane: showering, driving, folding laundry. And I’m learning to talk to Him when my heart is filled with sorrow. Or anger. Or fear. It’s totally safe because I have a great High Priest who intercedes for me.

Through Jesus, I have unlimited access to the Father, and I can run to Him with any emotion. He is big enough.

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”  Hebrews 4:15-16

Though I once was a stranger, by the blood of Christ I have been brought near. (Ephesians 2:13) Therefore, I may come boldly. I can expect grace. I can expect mercy. To be near Him, is to be in His very presence.

Through Jesus’ finished work, the Holy Spirit comforts. He draws near. He hears my pleas, and perfects my weak, inept, and often selfish prayers.

And so I say with confidence “Before the throne God above, I have a strong and perfect plea. A great High Priest whose name is Love, who ever lives and pleads for me. My name is written on His hand. My name is graven on His heart. I know that while in heaven, He stands, no tongue can bid me thence depart.”

Yet it is not every night that I welcome peace so easily. Sometimes, I must wrestle. Sometimes I must cry out. Sometimes the longing for human touch seems much more real than the presence of God.

I don’t pray perfectly. But I have Someone who does. When I long to be held by human arms, He reminds me that His arms are stronger, His security infinite. He holds me close. The safety He offers is far beyond what my husband had the ability to give.

He is near.

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net

Before the Throne ©1997 Sovereign Grace Worship (ASCAP)

He met destruction so I wouldn’t have to.

~ Ami ~ 6 Comments

I sat on the edge of the pool, carefully heeding the instructions, “Do not get in the water without your teacher.”

Without warning, I tumbled headfirst into the deep end. Unable to swim, I flailed, completely immersed, panicking with no ability to bring myself to the top. I could feel water searching for a way into my lungs.

In an instant, strong arms encircled me and drew me up to safety. Coughing, sputtering, and crying, I clung to the one that held me. I was afraid, but I was safe. I was five, and I vividly recall wanting no further part in swimming lessons that day. I also clearly recollect the boy who pushed me in, but I’ll not throw his name under the bus.

Lifeguards are magnificent people.

It’s realistic that I could have drowned that day were it not for someone who was my help and my deliverer. But of course, I tell you this story to point to a greater Help, a perfect Deliverer.

Psalm 40 begins “I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.”

In the moment where I thought I was drowning physically, I can emphatically tell you that I was not waiting patiently.

Yet here the psalmist describes a time when he cried out to God, waiting patiently for Him. In his spiritual distress, he was given grace to wait. He waited, and he cried out–so simple, yet so difficult sometimes.

But God in response did so much more.

He inclined to me
He heard my cry
He drew me up from the pit of destruction.
He set my feet upon a rock.
He made my steps secure
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise.

God was the one who could save. He was the deliverer. He was the one who acted. In the immediate context, David reminds us that God hears our prayers and responds.

His response may not be in our timing, nor in the way we think he will act, but he does hear. He does draw our fearful, anxious hearts from the miry bog.

As a result, “Many will see and hear and put their trust in the Lord.” When I recall how I’ve received mercy, when others see God’s strong arms, together we praise Him! We sing, we shout to the God of our salvation!

These are lovely, comforting thoughts. But there are far more radical implications to be gleaned. First, Jesus drew me up from the pit of destruction. He set me on a ROCK, which is himself. Through his death, burial and resurrection he made my steps secure.

“You have multiplied O Lord my God, your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us; none can compare with you!” (Psalm 40:5) How my soul magnifies the ROCK of my salvation!

Praise God for salvation by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.

But secondly, we can view this psalm as if Jesus was the one who prayed it! Take a moment and let that sink in.

I know this is true because Hebrews 10:5-7 quotes Psalm 40:6-7 as the words of Christ. “Burnt offering and sin offering you have not required. Then I said, “Behold, I have come.”

Jesus came as the humble, obedient servant. God became the sacrifice.

jesus destroyedThink of it this way, Jesus knew destruction. The cross was the miry bog. He faced death to save those his Father loved. Furthermore, verses 12-17 foreshadow the garden of Gethsemane. “For evils have encompassed me beyond number… Be pleased O Lord to deliver me! O Lord make haste to help me!”

But there in the garden, Jesus said perhaps some of the most extravagant words ever spoken. “Nevertheless, not my will but yours.”

The priest became the sacrifice. The perfect one was cursed, so we could be blessed. He took destruction so we could be whole. He went down in the miry bog of death, but he was raised again to life! Now from his place on the rock Jesus reigns as risen King!

And that my friends, is the wonder and majesty here. It is not “Wait patiently like David.”

Rather, the immense beauty of Psalm 40 is that we have a Savior who prayed it perfectly. We have a Savior who lived it perfectly. Therefore, we have grace when we are weak.

So my soul sings, “Great is the Lord!”

Father, thank you that Jesus faced destruction in my place. He bore the wrath that I deserved. Thank you for Jesus, the true Savior, the rock who made my soul secure. Thank you for Jesus who also rescues me when daily struggles threaten to drown me. When I think of all Christ has done, I can’t help but praise you! I can’t help but want to serve you always!

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net