Obedience is foundational to the life of joy.
Obedience is surrender.
Obedience is trust.
It brings me great delight when Houston enjoys life--playing, learning, eating, resting. I would do anything to see him get the most out of life. But sometimes that requires things he does not want to do because he and I have very different perspectives on the potential for enjoyment of life. From 3 1/2 years, 2' tall it means playing all day, eating countless cookies, and taking advantage of all the privileges that come with the height and mobility that the 3-year-old did not possess at the age of 2. But from a solid
***WOW.
Right that second Houston came out of the Chick-fil-A play room to announce that he was ready to go home. He asked what my pen was. I told him "It's what I'm writing with," and I laid it down to reach for his socks. He promptly snatched it up and said, "Look what I can write." But before he could write and before I could protest, he knocked over his ice dream cone on my journal. I think I managed to maintain my composure and we both cleaned up in silence.
The similarities and applications for my relationship with Christ are striking. He is writing my story. But let's back-track for a second, pre-ice dream episode.***
From my 65", 22 year stature, I know he needs to rest to really be himself and enjoy playing; I know he needs healthy food to grow; I know he needs to learn in order to more fully enjoy life. I can see and understand things on a completely different level than he does, and my vantage point obligates me to love him by doing what is best for him, not merely what quenches his 3-year-old lust. There is no way I can (or should) explain each decision or direction to him. But if he is sure of my love and can trust my heart, he is far less likely to wiggle and squirm away from me.
But even then there are days, like today, when he will not listen or obey or show me any kind of reciprocal love or respect, and it kills me. Not because I need him. Not because I am offended. Not because I crave his affirmation or compliance to my power or authority. It kills me because it limits me. It limits the ways in which he is able to receive my love. I will love him either way, but I would rather love by blessing than by discipline. When he disobeys, discipline is the only truly loving option I have.
Discipline is not fun. The immediate gain from discipline to curb a sinful nature is painful, unpleasant and often involves a tantrum. It is in this way that disobedience hinders joy. Our options for pleasure would be limitless to Houston if he would trust me, obey me, love me. And I deeply treasure the days when this happens. My heart is full, bursting with affection to be lavished on him in ways that I cannot when he is disobedient.
How much more true must these sentiments be of the Lord's love and desire for me? His love for me is so much deeper. I love Houston very, very much, but he is not even related to me--in fact, I get paid to spend time with him. And his sin problem is certainly a frustration to me, but it is not truly against me because I am sinful too. My anger pales in comparison to the wrath of the Holy One, the Righteous Judge, toward the flagrant disregard of His creation. I cannot fully comprehend the conflict between God's abundant love and His holy justice.
How richly He must desire to delight me! Yet how horribly my disobedience cripples His ability to do so. For joy, true joy, has no hint of disobedience.
And oh! how resilient his patience!
He is writing my story. He has in mind great rays of glory, and He cares to write me into His narrative. How often do I snatch His pen to show off what I can write? Houston's writing compared to mine is much like mine compared to my Lord's. Houston's is scribble, nonsensical, futile communication. At best, he can write a few of the letters in his name, and even those are written crudely.
Is there any difference in what I try to write for my life? Compared to the infinite knowledge, wisdom and love of God, can I write anything with my life that is worth communicating more than what He would write? He wants my story to be about His glory. He wants to write His name on my life. He wants to be my purpose, my context, my climax, my resolution, my hero, and my lover. And what do I do? I snatch His pen, His lordship, so I can doodle away my life, so I can roughly spell out my small, widely-shared name, and forfeit the glory He would write.
But even in that, how often do I create messes that must be dealt with before His writing can resume? In my haste I spill my ice dream on His work. A cone of ice cream I did not really want, did not really need, will not really satisfy, only takes up space in my life.
Forgive me, Lord. I would rather have you.
And that is so much the key. We should not obey for the blessing, but because God is the Blessing, the Joy. The blood of Christ has secured our standing with God once and for all; but the more like Him we become, the greater our enjoyment of Him. As we repent and obey, we open the floodgates of joy that come from our gracious, loving, trustworthy Father. Our hearts align, my heart and His, and I enjoy Him, and He is glorified.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Soldier, did you know?
Soldier, did you know?
Did you know the flow you released for me?
Did you know captives were being set free?
Did you know the Treasure that hit the ground?
Did you know the life beneath the spiny crown?
Could you feel the power of the spattering?
What soiled you there could make you clean.
Did you wash it off?
Another guilty man's blood?
Did you know it would have been yours instead?
Was it just another day?
Was it just another death?
What you did thoughtlessly
has fully paid my debt.
Were you numb and callous?
Did you know His story well?
Were you reluctant or eager?
Were you proud or ashamed?
Did you know how precious His willingness?
He did it for me
He did it for you
Every drop you spilled
He intentionally poured.
All for love
All for glory
Did you wash Him off?
Or come to depend
on the covering of His blood
to cover all your sin?
What was filth to you
has washed me clean,
Whiter than snow, righteousness
He let you do it.
Praise the Holy One.
Did you know the flow you released for me?
Did you know captives were being set free?
Did you know the Treasure that hit the ground?
Did you know the life beneath the spiny crown?
Could you feel the power of the spattering?
What soiled you there could make you clean.
Did you wash it off?
Another guilty man's blood?
Did you know it would have been yours instead?
Was it just another day?
Was it just another death?
What you did thoughtlessly
has fully paid my debt.
Were you numb and callous?
Did you know His story well?
Were you reluctant or eager?
Were you proud or ashamed?
Did you know how precious His willingness?
He did it for me
He did it for you
Every drop you spilled
He intentionally poured.
All for love
All for glory
Did you wash Him off?
Or come to depend
on the covering of His blood
to cover all your sin?
What was filth to you
has washed me clean,
Whiter than snow, righteousness
He let you do it.
Praise the Holy One.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
one of those days
Several parts of my day were not what I had wanted. You know, days where things just cannot seem to go your way. Days you summarize with, "It's just been one of those days." Days when minor crises almost stop surprising you because you write the day off according to that definition.
Today was one of those. Some things heavier--another declined job application. Some things petty--a little spilled soy sauce on my car's passenger seat. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing tragic. Just enough discouragement to numb me into believing that the day was just meant to be trying.
And maybe sometimes that is true. Ask Job. But I know he would gladly have traded days with me if given the opportunity. Anyway, back to the day.
The "one of those days" label inserted itself just after I smeared the soy sauce further into the fabric of my car seat. But, praise the Lord! The Spirit shot up an immediate red flag on the lie that my enemy was ever-so-subtly planting.
Really, truly, what kind of day was it?
It was one of those days...when His mercies rose anew with the sun.
It was one of those days...when His blood still satisfied the debt my sin had earned.
It was one of those days...when I was clothed in His righteousness and never my shame.
It was one of those days...when my Heavenly Father rejoiced over me with singing.
It was one of those days...when I accepted grace by the lung-full without a second thought.
It was one of those days...when the God of the universe pursued and delighted and gloried in a costly relationship with me. Costly not because He could not afford me, but because I could never afford Him so He paid the price to cover me.
It was one of those days...when the Truth set me free.
I will bring praise.
Today was one of those. Some things heavier--another declined job application. Some things petty--a little spilled soy sauce on my car's passenger seat. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing tragic. Just enough discouragement to numb me into believing that the day was just meant to be trying.
And maybe sometimes that is true. Ask Job. But I know he would gladly have traded days with me if given the opportunity. Anyway, back to the day.
The "one of those days" label inserted itself just after I smeared the soy sauce further into the fabric of my car seat. But, praise the Lord! The Spirit shot up an immediate red flag on the lie that my enemy was ever-so-subtly planting.
Really, truly, what kind of day was it?
It was one of those days...when His mercies rose anew with the sun.
It was one of those days...when His blood still satisfied the debt my sin had earned.
It was one of those days...when I was clothed in His righteousness and never my shame.
It was one of those days...when my Heavenly Father rejoiced over me with singing.
It was one of those days...when I accepted grace by the lung-full without a second thought.
It was one of those days...when the God of the universe pursued and delighted and gloried in a costly relationship with me. Costly not because He could not afford me, but because I could never afford Him so He paid the price to cover me.
It was one of those days...when the Truth set me free.
I will bring praise.
Friday, February 12, 2010
wrapping up Exodus
The end of the book of Exodus begins the more tedious readings in the Bible: the beginning of the Law, specifications for the tabernacle, the building of the tabernacle along with all the accessories, utensils and garments, more laws to come followed by stimulating geneological accounts of the people of Israel. It is at this point that reading through the Bible in a year becomes a little less glamorous, a little more daunting, and honestly, a little more boring.
But something captured my imagination today as I read about Aaron's priestly garments. All along I've been trying to remind myself that these specifications are reflections of the original institutions in heaven, but I had never considered what that must mean for the beauty of Christ.
Exodus 39 says, "8 He made the breastpiece, in skilled work, in the style of the ephod, of gold, blue and purple and scarlet yarns, and fine twined linen. 9It was square. They made the breastpiece doubled, a span its length and a span its breadth when doubled. 10And they set in it four rows of stones. A row of sardius, topaz, and carbuncle was the first row; 11and the second row, an emerald, a sapphire, and a diamond; 12and the third row, a jacinth, an agate, and an amethyst; 13and the fourth row, a beryl, an onyx, and a jasper. They were enclosed in settings of gold filigree. 14There were twelve stones with their names according to the names of the sons of Israel. They were like signets, each engraved with its name, for the twelve tribes. 15And they made on the breastpiece twisted chains like cords, of pure gold. 16And they made two settings of gold filigree and two gold rings, and put the two rings on the two edges of the breastpiece. 17And they put the two cords of gold in the two rings at the edges of the breastpiece. 18They attached the two ends of the two cords to the two settings of filigree. Thus they attached it in front to the shoulder pieces of the ephod. 19Then they made two rings of gold, and put them at the two ends of the breastpiece, on its inside edge next to the ephod. 20And they made two rings of gold, and attached them in front to the lower part of the two shoulder pieces of the ephod, at its seam above the skillfully woven band of the ephod. 21And they bound the breastpiece by its rings to the rings of the ephod with a lace of blue, so that it should lie on the skillfully woven band of the ephod, and that the breastpiece should not come loose from the ephod, as the LORD had commanded Moses."
My mind and heart have been fascinated by the implications of the garments fashioned for those who were the foreshadowers of Christ.
First, if such ornate design went into the garments of the Levitical priests, how much more intricate is the perfection of Jesus for His duty as Great High Priest. How perfectly God formed Him in the virgin womb. How intentional every step He took on earth, every word that came from His mouth, every life touched by His hand. If no detail or extravagance was spared in the finite replica for Aaron, how much more confidence can we have in the perfectly, intentionally, infinitely extravagant Person of Jesus Christ?
Second, how beautiful He is. How holy He is. The breastpiece held 12 stones, the colors of which I am not familiar. How expensive and rare and precious. The garments were white with gold intertwined in the cords and embroidery. Literal gold that had to be flattened and shaved into threads. The priest was to shine, to be radiant, splendid. Oh how beautiful the body of Jesus. On earth we decorated His with stripes, with ribbons of crimson, with intertwined thorns. But when He returns He will shine in brilliant light, and He will not need a sign such as Aaron had. Aaron's sign was for his forehead and read, "Holy to the Lord." But when Jesus comes, there will be no question. No soul will doubt His holiness. He will be clothed in the brightest white, piercing darkness once and for all.
And every eye will see His beauty, His infinite worth, His all-consuming holiness. Not just Moses, not just the redeemed. Every eye. Physically. Face-to-face, as much as our faces can withstand.
And every knee will bow. The weight will be too great, the contrast too stark, the reality too humbling. We will realize how unworthy are our eyes to behold such beauty and we will bow our knees, our selves, before the King, the Savior, the Great High Priest.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus!
But something captured my imagination today as I read about Aaron's priestly garments. All along I've been trying to remind myself that these specifications are reflections of the original institutions in heaven, but I had never considered what that must mean for the beauty of Christ.
Exodus 39 says, "8 He made the breastpiece, in skilled work, in the style of the ephod, of gold, blue and purple and scarlet yarns, and fine twined linen. 9It was square. They made the breastpiece doubled, a span its length and a span its breadth when doubled. 10And they set in it four rows of stones. A row of sardius, topaz, and carbuncle was the first row; 11and the second row, an emerald, a sapphire, and a diamond; 12and the third row, a jacinth, an agate, and an amethyst; 13and the fourth row, a beryl, an onyx, and a jasper. They were enclosed in settings of gold filigree. 14There were twelve stones with their names according to the names of the sons of Israel. They were like signets, each engraved with its name, for the twelve tribes. 15And they made on the breastpiece twisted chains like cords, of pure gold. 16And they made two settings of gold filigree and two gold rings, and put the two rings on the two edges of the breastpiece. 17And they put the two cords of gold in the two rings at the edges of the breastpiece. 18They attached the two ends of the two cords to the two settings of filigree. Thus they attached it in front to the shoulder pieces of the ephod. 19Then they made two rings of gold, and put them at the two ends of the breastpiece, on its inside edge next to the ephod. 20And they made two rings of gold, and attached them in front to the lower part of the two shoulder pieces of the ephod, at its seam above the skillfully woven band of the ephod. 21And they bound the breastpiece by its rings to the rings of the ephod with a lace of blue, so that it should lie on the skillfully woven band of the ephod, and that the breastpiece should not come loose from the ephod, as the LORD had commanded Moses."
My mind and heart have been fascinated by the implications of the garments fashioned for those who were the foreshadowers of Christ.
First, if such ornate design went into the garments of the Levitical priests, how much more intricate is the perfection of Jesus for His duty as Great High Priest. How perfectly God formed Him in the virgin womb. How intentional every step He took on earth, every word that came from His mouth, every life touched by His hand. If no detail or extravagance was spared in the finite replica for Aaron, how much more confidence can we have in the perfectly, intentionally, infinitely extravagant Person of Jesus Christ?
Second, how beautiful He is. How holy He is. The breastpiece held 12 stones, the colors of which I am not familiar. How expensive and rare and precious. The garments were white with gold intertwined in the cords and embroidery. Literal gold that had to be flattened and shaved into threads. The priest was to shine, to be radiant, splendid. Oh how beautiful the body of Jesus. On earth we decorated His with stripes, with ribbons of crimson, with intertwined thorns. But when He returns He will shine in brilliant light, and He will not need a sign such as Aaron had. Aaron's sign was for his forehead and read, "Holy to the Lord." But when Jesus comes, there will be no question. No soul will doubt His holiness. He will be clothed in the brightest white, piercing darkness once and for all.
And every eye will see His beauty, His infinite worth, His all-consuming holiness. Not just Moses, not just the redeemed. Every eye. Physically. Face-to-face, as much as our faces can withstand.
And every knee will bow. The weight will be too great, the contrast too stark, the reality too humbling. We will realize how unworthy are our eyes to behold such beauty and we will bow our knees, our selves, before the King, the Savior, the Great High Priest.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus!
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