Joy as a Gift

Nehemiah 8: 10 "...the joy of the Lord is your strength." 

This week, the joy of God has been so much more tangible and overflowing in my spirit than I can ever recall. I've certainly had joyous moments of rapture: my wedding day, the birth of our children, etc.  But never has the joy been so all-encompassing and yet so uncircumstantial. My dad fights cancer daily with constant pain and sleeplessness.  Our finances are lower than they've ever been, leaving us with unpaid bills and needs.  The kids have been sick a lot this winter. The weather is awful. The sun is absent.  I could go on, just as I'm sure you could. 

But my mind isn't on those things any more.  It has been.  And the focus reeled me into a pit of anger, doubt, and fear. My heart's emotions crowded out any place for God's Spirit to pour in joy.  The pit was already filled... with muck. 

I had to let go of the mud pie in my hands before God could place something delicious there.My earlier post explains what He did.  

He did what I couldn't and filled me with something I couldn't muster on my own.
 Also that day they offered great sacrifices, and rejoiced: for God had made them rejoice with great joy. Nehemiah 12:43

And that has led me to this place of utter wonder at who God is and how He fills us.  Because I believe that true joy, lasting joy, can't come apart from salvation. And that work is a complete effort on His part and a complete receiving on ours. 

His work is ongoing--saving us from ourselves and our natural tendencies to fall (or jump) into the pit.  Despite my misery, I clung to my putrid feelings, justifying my sin. I wanted to feel peace and joy, but I didn't want to let go of my anger.  Using it as a protective shield, I blocked God's Spirit and all the beauty that He brings with His presence. (Gal. 5:22-23).  After all, letting go is scary, especially when you think you carry some semblance of control--an illusion, yes. 

With repentance, God can clean us up and fill our spirits with such incredible Presence.  Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord, Act. 3:19
Not only did He take away the anger and doubt, He poured joy over my heart, and poured and poured, and keeps pouring. It doesn't make any sense, but that's the beauty of grace--such undeserved blessing. 

I feel like I am standing under a waterfall.  When anger or frustration or fear splatter on my soul, His powerful joy quickly washes it away.  I don't want to ever crowd His Spirit again.  So, for now, I boldly declare: there is no room for any but Him.  May I stand watch at the door, guarding my heart from those little "pet" sins that want to come in and take up residence.  

Prov. 4:23 Watch over your heart with all diligence, For from it flow the springs of life.

The Gift of Faith

For the last few weeks, anger and frustration have dominated my emotions. I’ve had moments of “breakthrough” in my thinking, trying to rest in trust.  But my heart and mind would fidget back to those all-encompassing questions of “why, God? Why don’t you relent?  Give my dad a break already.”  This weekend, anger settled into my heart as this putrid God-resentful bitterness.  After all, I already had it all figured out; I knew what God needed to do, and despite all my prayers to that effect, He wasn’t coming through for me.

Monday morning, I started reading my Bible study.  The day prior, in tears of utter failure and disappointment, I told my husband I needed to step down from my leadership role in our group.  After all, what kind of Christian walks around with their fist raised to God?  But I hadn’t had a chance to settle that issue yet, and out of nothing more than begrudging obedience, I started reading out of Luke 5.

Simon Peter has an encounter with Jesus, and I was about to have one as well.

 Jesus walks up to Simon, climbs into his boat, and after speaking to the crowd, turns to Simon and tells him to let out their nets for a catch.

Simon responds with doubt, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets” (Luke 5:5).

The words jumped off the page and sunk deep into my psyche.  I tried to go on, but God’s Spirit wouldn’t let me.  I couldn’t go on until I wrestled with it a little more. 

We’ve worked hard all night—We’ve already tried that, God.  All night long, we tried.  And nothing.

I couldn’t help but think of Dad.  Over and over, seemingly every method possible (chemo, radiation, alternative treatments, diet, prayer, healing rooms, on and on… over and over) has already been tried.  My net of faith is empty, God. 

But Simon didn’t just question, he followed up, “But because you say so, I will…” It didn’t have to make sense to him; it went against reason, but he did it anyway.  After all, Simon had cause to believe.  Jesus had already healed his mother-in-law in an immediate and miraculous way.  But he wasn’t fully confident.

The beauty of this whole encounter is that Jesus honored his obedience, even if his faith was weak.  I always think about Peter’s experience with Jesus later on, when Jesus rebukes Peter for doubting, “you of little faith” (Matthew 14:31).  I feel helpless at that point.  Being much like Peter myself—do now, think later—I probably would have been action-oriented without taking into account my limited faith. 

But the overwhelming power of Jesus’ display humbles Simon to the point of recognizing who he is in front of the Christ. “When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees  and said, ‘Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!’” (Luke 5:8).

Like Peter, I felt broad-sided by God’s power and holiness.  Shame washed over my bruised and angry heart, and I started repenting of my arrogance.  Forgive my pride. Forgive my anger. Forgive me for not treating you with reverence.

God, you do whatever you please. I trust you. I am nothing without you. What do I, a mere sinful and finite being, understand?  Who am I to hand you a list and expect you to do my bidding?  Who am I, Lord?   I am forever in your debt for your redemptive grace over me. You are good. So good. Thank you for your mercy and grace to me. I don’t deserve it, but I’m so glad you don’t give up on me.

As soon as I prayed, God swept away all my anger, doubt, and fear.  Gone.  And in its place came this overpowering joy.  I just started praising God, thanking Him for freeing me from such an ugly burden.  For lifting that which didn’t honor Him and replacing it with such a beautiful gift—faith.

God led me to 2 Corinthians 4:7-18, and I knew God wanted me to take a step of faith.  I knew God wanted me to throw my net of faith out into the waters.  I needed to lay hands on Dad and pray for him. No confidence came that He would heal Dad, but I certainly knew he could.  I trembled with nervousness; after all, who was I to pray a prayer of faith over Dad?  My faith net was torn and full of holes.  But as 2 Corinthians 4:7 reminded me, I am a weak vessel, a jar of clay, “to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from [me].”

I knew that if I cowered to my fear, I would be picking of the chains and re-shackling myself to doubt. I didn’t want to go back—never again.  Plus, I knew if I didn’t obey, I would explode. God’s power was so mighty in my spirit.

God, regardless of what you choose to do, I will obey and I won’t doubt.  If Dad feels immediate healing, if his healing comes gradually, or if you choose to take him home, I will trust you.  You are good.  You are God. 

“Therefore, since we have such a hope, we are very bold.” 2 Corinthians 3: 12 

My parents and I had a beautiful time of submission and humble faith-prayer.  And as my dad struggled through pain last night, I ached inside, but my faith didn’t crumble.  The anger didn’t resurge, and my joy continued to feed my hope. 

This morning that joy greeted me again, reminding me of God’s merciful gifts: faith, hope, and love. 

Joy in Pain

One of the verses my daughter is memorizing right now is Phil. 2:14, "Do everything without arguing or complaining."  As usual, these verses convict me more than I think they even impact her.  I'm not a big arguer, and I'll pass on the whining, thanks.  Leaves a sour taste in my mouth.  But, unfortunately, I'll take a rather large helping of complaining, peppered with a tablespoon of anger.  I might feel that my sense of justice validates my complaints; after all, "such and such" is so unfair. 

I've had some frustrations this week, and a few set-backs to my schedule, but they've just been little bumps in the road.  Couldn't even call them potholes--not compared to what life can serve up.

And yet, I let these little perturbances dampen my joy.  I so crave the elusive control over my life, that my "inflexible" spirit becomes anxious and angry when life just doesn't ride smooth.

And yet, this morning, as I dropped my kids off at their grandparent's house, I was convicted of my attitude.  My dad made his way to the foyer and greeted his granddaughter with a big smile.  He held his hand up and teased, "Give me five, God's alive!"  She gladly joined in and he added, "Give me ten. He's comin' again."  

Now that may not seem so extraordinary.  After all, most granddad's are fun-loving and jovial, especially around their grands.  But what you may not know is my dad is fighting cancer right now.  Pain is a constant companion, and migraines still plague him.  Last night he got a meager three hours of sleep (above average actually).   How he even has the energy to make it downstairs for breakfast every day amazes me.  

And yet, he was walking the circle in their house, humming and praising God.  And I think, what a beautiful representation of praise.  

Hebrews 13:15 comes to mind. "Through Him then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name." 

Does he always feel like praising God?  No, I'm sure the physical often overwhelms the spiritual in his body.  But he is choosing, because He knows the truth that God is good and God is loving--even when he doesn't feel it--to acknowledge who God is and joyfully proclaim His name. 

That's what I saw this morning, a joyful proclamation in the face of pain. It was stunning really and made me want to dance.  

Do I hate what he is going through?  Yes, more than I've hated anything in a long time. 

And yet, I see how my dad can hold onto joy, hold onto the future hope, hold onto "his grace is sufficient" and I want to slough off all other complaints and skewed perspectives and reach for Him.   

John 15:11 These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.