more thoughts July 25, 2008

more thoughts by more people that say it better than i ever could.

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the best prayers have often more groans than words.

john bunyan

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we do not choose suffering simply because we are told to, but because the One who tells us to describes it as the path to everlasting joy.

john piper

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suffering passes, but the fact of having suffered never leaves us.

leon bloy

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joy in affliction is rooted in the hope of resurrection, but our experience of suffering also deepens the root of that hope.

john piper

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it requires more courage to suffer than to die.

napoleon bonaparte

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i do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. if suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. to suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable.

joseph addison

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this is God’s universal purpose for all Christian suffering: more contentment in God and less satisfaction in the world.

john piper

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God knows our situation; He will not judge us as if we had no difficulties to overcome. what matters is the sincerity and perseverance of our will to overcome them.

c.s. lewis

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it is not a question of God allowing or not allowing things to happen. it is part of living. some things we do to ourselves, other things we do to each other. our Father knows about every bird which falls to the ground, but He does not always prevent it from falling. what are we to learn from this? that our response to what happens is more important than what happens. here is a mystery: one man’s experience drives him to curse God, while another man’s identical experience drives him to bless God. your response to what happens is more important than what happens.

chip brogden

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we all know people who have been made much meaner and more irritable and more intolerable to live with by suffering: it is not right to say that all suffering perfects. It only perfects one type of person . . . the one who accepts the call of God in Christ Jesus.

oswald chambers

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suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. i have been bent and broken, but – i hope – into a better shape.

charles dickens

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far too often, however, we resent and resist any interference on God’s part that might deprive us of our deepest desires. many Christians who sing, ‘it is well with my soul,’ are lying. it is not well with their souls because they are not persevering, and they have no intention of doing so, because they are bitter and hostile toward God and mourn over their ‘victimization’ at His hands. others are little better, for they ‘persevere’ with a cold, stony, stoic demeanor that constantly reminds God how much they are doing for Him despite His lack of reciprocity.

jim owen

(wow)

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grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.

alphonse de lamartine

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as cold as everything looks in winter, the sun has not forsaken us. He has only drawn away for a little, for good reasons, one of which is that we may learn that we cannot do without him.

george macdonald

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the will of God is never exactly what you expect it to be. it may seem to be much worse, but in the end it’s going to be a lot better and a lot bigger.

elisabeth elliot

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pain is never permanent.

teresa of avila

thoughts for the day July 20, 2008

faith for my deliverance is not faith in God. faith means, whether i am visibly delivered or not, i will stick to my belief that God is love.

-oswald chambers

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before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
-john greenleaf whittier

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the longer i live the more i believe that the overarching longing we feel in this life is that of grief– mourning something we no longer have, wishing that what we have was different, or missing something we never had at all.

the deepest grief, however, is concerning something more than our possessions or circumstances. our deepest grief is wrapped around our very being– mourning who we are, wishing we were different, or often wishing we could be someone else that we might not know at all.

what proof that our possessions, our circumstances, even our identity are not truly our own to achieve or decide! they are solely Christ’s to give, allow and conform. our deepest grief can only truly be abolished when our identity completely rests in the One who not only gave us the desire to know who we are, but above all, to know Him. only in Him can we find the truth about ourselves.

-anon

LOL . . . literally . . . July 19, 2008

came across this while looking at alarm clocks . . . (don’t ask why.) made me laugh so stinkin’ hard, i had to post it.

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(from site)

“bancock alarm forces you to save”

“Banclock is a cubic alarm clock from Japan that has no off switch or snooze button. The only way you can turn it off is by feeding it some coins every morning. It was designed to force you to save a little money every day, but it’s constant beeping would only remind me of how poor I am. Every morning when I couldn’t find any change to give it I’d just lie in bed crying, listening to the beeping of my own failure.”

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and to think . . . i’m already not a morning person . . .

a mention from a minor (prophet) July 13, 2008

when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.

what not to say to say to a girl, take 1 July 12, 2008

the following is based on real events. names have been changed to protect the stupid.

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(boy, leans into a girl’s space, sniffing)

girl: (slightly backing up) uh, watcha doing?

boy: something smells good. i was wondering if it is you. it smells really good.

(boy leans into girl’s space more.)

boy: it’s you. you smell good.

girl: what do i smell like?

boy: funeral flowers.

sunday school at starbucks July 6, 2008

“this is my place to worship,” i heard a lady say as i walked in the door. this bank-now-coffee-franchise has very few people in it. the workers outnumber the customers. it is obvious however, that these group of attenders are regulars as the baristas confirm their orders before they even walk to the counter.

i sit in a side room alone, listening to beans being ground and a woman giggle as she apologizes for spilling creamer on the counter. the smell of the dark roast is enough to lift my eyelids without my even tasting it. it’s too bitter for me. the coffee, without drinking it, is effective.

(i haven’t been able to sleep lately.)

so, why isn’t this particular church-goer at her typical place of worship this morning? did i decide to skip sunday school for a cup of chai?

no.

i just needed a place to pray.

i needed to get away from my house. from busy-ness. i needed to go somewhere where i wouldn’t be interrupted by anything or anyone. phone calls. chores and burdens. even sermons. does that sound super-unspiritual?

i find myself on a nice leather-looking couch. it is quiet here. it is here that, instead of continuing a sunday school series on daniel, i practice my casting. laying bare all my cares before my Father like a gigantic storyboard. saying, “see this circumstance? see this thought? see this fear? see this weakness? and this one? and this one? see how everyone thinks i’m so strong? they’re wrong. i’m too weak for this . . . it’s too much.”

casting family and friends. and let me tell you, that sounds like only two things, but the layers behind them. . . the two words are much more complex than the arrangement of consonants and vowels can convey, i assure you . . .

i realized something as i prayed this morning. i realize how exceedingly small my faith is. i am praying . . . for everything. and don’t get me wrong, i could list requests upon requests that He has answered– with both clear yeses and nos. but these heavy burdens–these ones that particularly press–are of the ongoing variety. the i’ve-prayed-forever-about-this-are-you-ever-going-to-answer-me kind. i mean, even paul had some form of closure when God directly said to him that the apostle was going to keep his earthly weaknesses. paul knew his answer. could deal with it.

but as i prayed, the story about the woman with the issue of blood kept coming to mind. here was this thing– a burden, her own personal plague– that she had for twelve years going on forever. trying everything else, the rumored-Messiah was her last attempt. she reached out and found herself healed.

now, don’t get me wrong. i am not promoting the idea of health/wealth– the “you do not have _____________ because you haven’t been able to manufacture enough faith” or “you don’t have good things happening to you because you aren’t good enough” mentality is not what i’m talking about. unfortunately, this Christianized version of kharma is becoming more and more mainstream. there’s no recognition in that belief that maybe, even if the hem of His garment is touched and nothing happens, that is Him . . . speaking. glorifying Himself in a different way than we expect or might even want.

i realized this morning while i was praying that i’m not sure that i am even trying to get ahold of His hem anymore. do i believe He has power? yes. not just a head knowledge– it has trickled from my brain to my heart. but i flirt with His garment, hand out, but not grabbing hold, because i am afraid. i’m afraid that instead of feeling the instantaneous relief of my prayers being answered, i will find the burden even more painful and aching because they, somehow in God’s providence, are meant to remain.

i don’t feel that i’m strong enough, smart enough, courageous enough to have these things be a permanent fixture on my shoulders. i don’t feel that i’m even strong enough to consider the possibility of them staying indefinitely. so, instead of hearing something i don’t want, i never grab hold.

my faith is so weak. it’s not that i don’t believe that He can heal . . . i find that i struggle in trusting that He can and will sustain me if He chooses not to. i’m afraid, like so many other people have, that He’ll fail me. and that thought– that somehow has slipped in my thinking, affected my attitude towards life, caused false thoughts about my Father– sickens me.

so, i grab hold today. and i will hang on. and even if i don’t hear “daughter, your faith has healed you,” hanging on to His hem unhealed is somehow better. He will console me there. provide for me there. love me there, weaknesses and all.

“this is my place of worship . . . ” lady, sitting at the counter, sipping whatever $4 drink you ordered, this starbucks, at least for this peculiar sunday, apparently is my place of worship, too.

i glance down at my phone and realize it’s 10:18. sunday school is officially over.

it’s time to go to church.

our prayer of thanks July 4, 2008

For the gladness here where the sun is shining at
evening on the weeds at the river,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the laughter of children who tumble barefooted and
bareheaded in the summer grass,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the sunset and the stars, the women and the white
arms that hold us,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you,
God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles
on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war
days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are
forever deaf and blind and lost,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and
the system; and so for the break of the game and
the first play and the last.
Our prayer of thanks.

carl sandburg