Spent

I have a confession to make. I have been spending money as part of my grieving process. I have not really been in touch too much with how my grief is affecting me, I just know it's there. My husband had a big epiphany concerning his, followed by a total release from some significant baggage, and more power to him. Me, I just find myself crying occasionally and saying, oh, I bet grief has something to do with this.

And I'm spending.

That's probably not an uncommon outlet for grief. And I don't spend wildly and extravagantly. I also don't really spend all that much on myself, although there probably is some of that. I just keep coming up with things that it seems good for someone to have, and I go ahead and do it. Especially the kids.  And especially my daughter.

I get excited over something that the boys would like and I add it to their Christmas list.  I see something I know that my little girl will love when she's older, because I loved (or would have) the same thing, so I set it aside for her. I decide the boys would love these science and math videos from Sonlight, so I get them. They do, by the way. And I packaged it in such a way that it feels to Parker like it's part of his new reading program that I got him, to inspire him towards scholarly success, so you see these purchases are so entirely reasonable and justifiable.

I splash gifts around to other people like money doesn't mean anything, like we're not in a recession. Hey, these people have an emotional need, if not always a physical one, and I'm filling it. I sometimes spend with her in mind: my mother would have wanted you to have this, I'll buy it out of her (theoretical and metaphorical) legacy. More often, I just have a generous whim, I feel good about it, and I act on it.

I convinced D to spend a large amount on a new pair of designer jeans and clothes for work, because he finally found the sort of thing he was wanting. Justification: We never spend money on clothes for him. (And we're paying out the nose, so to speak, for the jeans, but he loves them and looks good in them; as opposed to the countless pairs of jeans, in prices ranging from super-cheap-on-sale to just below what we spent for these, which I have tried and returned because they don't fit him. And we had a gift card.)

Yes, he authorized the purchase... but I sort of hold the purse strings. You're wondering why, aren't you? I hear you pondering whether you should give D a small hint: Hm-hmm, an outlet for grief is all very well, but perhaps a little steadiness and economy, and a few other Jane Austenian qualities would not go amiss, have you considered having a little chat with your wife?

I am fortunate that the funds are, technically, there to be spent. And I came by part of this honestly from my mother, in the genes or the upbringing: she had a sanguine streak that allowed her to spend freely for something without robbing the whim of all its joy by subjecting it to an overly ponderous process of justification. Which is to say she justified it easily, and she did it immediately. I have to admit that learning to scrimp and save and make the most out of every dollar is not something I learned from her. It's not something I wanted to learn, nor something she wanted to teach me.

An acquaintance remarked to me that everyone she knew was cutting back for Christmas this year, whether they actually had to or not. I thought, we're not. In fact, it feels like we're going all out. She told me it probably feels that way because now we have three kids, but I know that it's not the three kids, because stockings can be filled inexpensively (although it would help if I had been raised to appreciate how a dollar can be stretched), it's the attitude towards what the three kids, and their mother's cousins, should have. (Actually, my cousins are not people I spend on, bless their dear hearts.)

And at the end of the day, it's grief, working itself out in a peculiar-but-not-strange sort of way in me. I recognize it, which is good. And I'm actually having little chats with myself (since I hold the purse strings).  I'm setting up budgets (not something I'm good at) and planning frugality for next year. Because first, of course, we have to get through Christmas — and if there's a time to splash gifts around and remember people whom you haven't talked to since hospice stopped coming to take care of your mother a year ago, for example, it's Christmas time. And the new year always feels so fresh, whether you're the resolutions type or not, so it makes it easier to tweak your life philosophy (or rather, your execution of it).

I'm looking forward to Christmas, and to spreading around all the joy in the form of packages that I want to. Last December, I went shopping for my mother for the boys and brought her back an assortment to choose from. "Why can't they have all of it?" was her loving, drained, near-whisper of a response.

I think I've carried that spirit with me through the whole year: a spirit of largesse, and an end-of-life perspective on what money really means, and what it doesn't.

I think that's exactly the way my grief was supposed to be spent.

Worship Song

Farther shall I go,

I cannot linger here.

Thy love compels me on,

I come to be with Thee.

Thy Spirit draws me on

To heights and depths in Thee:

Thyself, O God, the goal,

Thy presence all my plea.

With nothing in my hands

I come before Thy throne,

All self-will cast aside,

To learn of Thee alone.

Sergio Valori

A New View

My eyes have seen such beauty

I have pictures of these views

of lakes and mountains framed in ferns all summer long

and then in white when winter sweeps its crystal whiteness there

I have albums full of baby faces — laughing, sleeping, lashes long

for life has beauty everywhere
But all of these cannot compare to what is finally in view...

My pictures missed a color

never mixed on a palette

I've missed a shape no bended branch has ever sketched

I'd never before seen this depth, nor height

nor sheer intensity of Light

nor anything like this new sky:

Jesus, you have caught my eye.

— Hettie Brittz (May 2010)

Posted with permission.

Faith

Throughout the Bible, God's Word makes it clear that He does not respond to our needs. All mankind is drowning in its own needs over here; if God's business was to fix every need, He would have swept sin under the rug and let us all into heaven centuries ago. His business is actually far greater and of more benefit to us — while at the same time being less man-centric — than that. And He responds not to need, but to faith.

"And without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him." (Heb 11.6)

In Luke 7, a Roman centurion sends Jewish messengers to Jesus asking him to heal one of his favorite servants. The Jews are all saying, "Oh, this is a good man. He built us a synagogue, he's pro-Jew, he's really got his priorities in the right place. You should definitely help him." Without addressing this attitude, Jesus starts out to his house. But before he gets there, the centurion sends more people to say, "Lord, I'm not such an important man that I deserve for You to grace my house with Your presence, or to see You face to face. Just say the word, and heal my servant. I am also (like You) a man of authority; I say to a soldier, 'Go here,' and he goes, and to my servant, 'Do this,' and it gets done."

What he was saying was, "You have just as real a command over this sickness as I do over my battalion and my servants. You don't need to lay hands on the man; one word from you will be effective." Jesus' response is astonishment, and He says, "I tell you, I have never seen such faith before, not even in Israel." Here He is, surrounded by His own Jewish people, who are willing to go so far as to believe that something might happen if they can get their sick into actual physical contact with Jesus; but there is this Roman gentile who believes one word spoken from a distance has more than sufficient power to accomplish what he is asking.

In John 4, starting in v. 46, a Jewish official begs Jesus to come heal his son, who is at the point of death. Jesus' response reveals that he's a bit tired of the limitations surrounding the way people ask: "Unless you see signs and wonders, you won't believe." The guy doesn't quite seem to get what Jesus is saying, so he just begs again: "We're running out of time, please come before he dies." Jesus answers, "Go home. Your son will live." And the man, surprisingly, is content with that. He goes home in faith — Jesus said it, so that's good enough for me — and discovers that his son did indeed begin to recover at the exact time of day when Jesus had said he would live.

In Matthew 15, starting in v. 22, another gentile, a woman, comes to Him and asks Him to help her daughter, who is oppressed by a demon. Jesus tells her, "I was sent to the house of Israel." (It's true that His earthly ministry was directed toward them. It was not until He accomplished His real work on the cross that the gentiles and Jews were given equal access to God.) "So," He says, "it's not right for me to take the children's [Israel's] bread and throw it to the dogs [the gentiles]." Does she get all upset that the Lord of glory is discriminating against her socially? No, she humbly accepts the place of dog before Him, but points out that dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table. In other words, this is a little thing she's asking of Him. Casting out a demon? Just crumbs on the floor, for One so powerful. Jesus healed her daughter instantly, because her faith was so great.

In Mark 5, starting in v. 24, Jesus is in the middle of a crowd, on His way to heal someone else, when a woman decides that all she needs is to just brush her fingers against His clothes somehow, and that will be enough for her to be healed. All of a sudden, Jesus stops and says, "Who touched me?" His disciples think he's starting to crack: "You are in the middle of a pressing throng, and you just now noticed that someone touched you???" It wasn't the physical touch He noticed, it was the fact that "power had gone out of Him." He sensed that here, in this sea of skeptics, His Father had (through Him) responded to genuine faith with the answer that He was longing to give anyway. The woman confesses what she did, and Jesus tells her that her faith is what made her whole.

Meanwhile, possibly due to this delay, the girl Jesus was on His way to heal has died. The situation at this point looks totally hopeless, and servants come from the house to tell her father, "Don't bother." It was one thing to cling to a little hope that Jesus might be able to do something for her when she was still alive, but at this point, what can even this miracle worker do about it? It's pointless. They had no idea Who they were really dealing with. Jesus replied, "Don't be afraid; only believe," and proceeded to go raise her up from the dead. But you'll notice that He wouldn't let anyone follow Him except 3 disciples, and He would not let anyone into the child's room except those 3 disciples and the parents. The lack of faith around Him was so strong, He refused to be hindered by it while He did this great thing. He would not "perform" in the middle of an atmosphere of unbelief.

It takes tremendous faith to give God a trusting response when everything to the natural eye looks like it is already swirling down the drain. When we pray, we are asking for something. The Word tells us to "ask in faith, with no doubting." (Jam 1.6) "Have faith in God... I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." (Mar 11.24) Faith says, "I trust You to do this. I put my trust in You as my Answer, even when other things try to convince me that Your answer is no good." If we immediately received the answer, what would we need faith for? Faith is not faith unless it is tested. "Do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised." (Heb 10.35-36)

We "walk by faith, not by sight." (2 Cor 5.7) That means that we have to trust God despite what our five senses tell us. Our "flesh" — the parts of our universe that we have not yet allowed the King to conquer, and which are therefore actively trying to put Self on the throne and keep it there — will be a tool in the hands of the Enemy, who is quite skilled in trying to convince God's people that He is not who He says He is. Therefore, there will probably continue to be all kinds of evidence that points to the hopelessness of our various situations, and we will continually have to bring ourselves back to a focus of faith in our Redeemer, and choose by an act of willpower to agree with Paul, who said, "I know Whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him..." (2 Tim 1.12)

"Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that [i.e. peace with God through Jesus, access into His grace, and hope of His glory are the main cause for rejoicing here, but there's more...], we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces [strength of] character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given us." — Rom 5.1-5

The reason hope does not put us to shame is that we have been "born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading..." (1 Pet 1.3-4) Jesus is that living hope; He is Himself our inheritance. If that sounds weird and, well, unglamorous to you, that's because you don't know Him very well yet.

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." (Jam 1.2-4) The testing of faith produces more than just the promised answer we've been waiting for. If we let it "have its full effect," it brings about our perfection and completion. Do you ever feel incomplete, like maybe there's just a little something about you not quite right, or still missing? Well you are incomplete! But you're not meant to stay that way. God has designed it so that our trials and tribulations strengthen us, produce "strength of character," as we read above. "Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves with the same way of thinking, for whoever has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin, so as to live for the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for human passions but for the will of God." (1 Pet 4.1-2)

The Lord is intent on securing for us far more than just those needs that we need to have met; He wants us to have that "strength of character" that will have lasting, eternal value. Nothing can stand in His presence that is not conformed to His own image, so we're not just talking about the kind of "character" that the world values; we're talking about me, Kit, and you, Reader, being made Christlike — so that when the King returns, and we see Him as He really is, and all the worthless parts of us that don't look like Him get blasted away by the sheer glory of His presence, we'll have something left besides the foundation which is Christ. (See 1 Cor 3.11-15. Actually, keep reading; the rest of the chapter is all part of the same thing.)

And He will use our current trials to do it. "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 Cor 4.17-18) Why does Paul say "this light momentary affliction"? Because he is superhuman and these things don't hurt him? No! Because when contrasted with what these afflictions are working for us, namely "an eternal weight of glory beyond comparison," we will one day understand just how "light" and "momentary" and utterly worth it all these trials are. The things we "see" (which really includes all the senses) around us do not feel in the least transient. They feel very real, and they sometimes hurt dreadfully. It takes faith to say, "What I see around me is not real; it is the eternal things, that I am being prepared to see, that are the Reality."

The good news is, we don't have to come up with that faith on our own. "I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." (Gal 2.20) It is His own faith that He offers us, and all we have to do is take it. Maybe that's more easily said than done, but the whole point is that we cannot receive until we are broken. Brokenness is the primary prerequisite to a place in the Kingdom: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Mat 5.3) If you feel like you don't have that faith, then ask for it, and be willing to receive the humbling that comes in answer.

What does a response of faith look like? If you are going through a trial, your prayers might sound a little pleading right now. That's normal and natural when we're in great need and in deep distress. But as we read above in Mark, if you "believe that you have received it," you will have it. It's already mine, that's what faith says. It doesn't matter that I can't see it yet. Faith counts her chickens before they are hatched, because God said there would be lots of chickens. So what does faith do? Faith praises! There are so many scriptures, like Psa 100.4 ("Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name!"), which indicate that praise is a key to getting into God's presence. Instead of begging God to do it, faith praises God that He is doing it. Faith acts like it is on the winning side, which is really an understatement, if we understood just how real it is that He has already won.

Only the Word will feed faith, because we have nothing to stand on except God's character as revealed through His Word. "God said this," faith says, "and that's good enough for me." What has God said He will do for you? Claim it in faith and praise Him! When you find yourself "double-minded" and "unstable" (Jam 1.6-8) in your stance, go back to the Word! Read it, speak it, praise Him for it!

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. [He is "for" you, and He has your best interests in mind.] Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. [He will try to slander God's character in a way that is very believable to you.] Resist him, firm in your faith [Refuse to listen to those lies, and listen only to what God has said in His Word], knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ [Note that you are called to something far higher than just getting those needs met, or even developing a character that can stand the tests of time — you are called to His own, eternal glory!], will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever." (1 Pet 5.6-11)

Guarding the Keep, Fighting for Joy

We have all gone through trials. Sometimes we are in the center of them, but at other times we are just on the fringe. The crisis touches us, but it revolves around someone else. There is nothing we can do about it, no help we can give the central characters but to pray. This seems like a situation of total helplessness, but actually we have just been placed in a position where we can focus more intently on our true calling. Whether we are in the soup ourselves, or just splashed by the hot bubbles as we watch nearby -- or even simply in a place of peaceful prosperity -- we are commanded to pray.

All of us who are on the outskirts, we have a job to do. We are like the old-fashioned warrior who guarded the keep. He had to stand out there in the cold and the rain and keep watchful and vigilant, even when he could not understand what good it did. The battle, the sweat and the blood were elsewhere, he was not in the thick of things, what did it matter when it seemed he could do nothing to help? But his work was vital, and so is ours, and we are not allowed to lie down on the job and be miserable. We just have to keep "praying through."

Picture yourself as that knight at the lone garrison. You did not ask for this job, but the King came to you and requested that you serve Him. It is lonely, and the terrain is hostile and wild. You do not understand why you have to stand guard in this out-of-the-way place by yourself. But whether you know it or not, this is a key point of passage between the King's main armory and the battle being fought in the mountains. Your orders are to stand vigilant to make sure that the unseen messengers from Him can pass through unhindered to reach the battlefield. You do not even have the satisfaction of seeing those messengers as they pass through, for they are swift and soft of foot, and they will not come where your mortal eyes can catch a glimpse. But you must not relax your vigil, for if you do, while your back is turned, the enemy might sneak in and overpower those messengers. He will rob them of the vital supplies they bear: answers to prayer.

This may sound like a wild fantasy tale that you want no part of, but spiritual warfare is real, and we are all caught up in it whether we like it or not. And the battle is gained or lost through prayer. The kingdom has already been won on the Cross, but each one of us must go up and possess our land in the name of the King, and that is never done without bloodshed. The enemy has no use for people who are no threat to him. It is the people who are in danger of taking back one of his key strongholds -- those are the people whom he targets hot and thick with his arrows. The greater the saint, the hotter the devil builds the fire, not realizing that all he can really do is fan the flames of the refiner, and out will come a purified vessel unto the King's glory.

When your loved ones are in the flames, remind yourself that you are a warrior. The Word is your armory, and you have two main weapons that the enemy knows nothing of: Love and Joy. The way to wield them is to praise. Speak only praise of your King, glorifying Him aloud for His wisdom, which is higher than ours; His power, which is unconquerable; His love, which shields each one of His warriors so that not an arrow can touch them; His mercy, which knows perfectly when to let the arrow find a mark in the best interests of His child; and above all, His blood, which redeemed each of us from the hand of a crafty enemy and made our blood-sprinkled hearts holy ground on which the enemy dares not tread.

We know we need to pray, but we lose sight of how important it is that we spend much of our prayer time in praise. The eternal outcome of the battle has already been determined, but it still rages in the hearts of men on earth. Praising even in the midst of terribly dark circumstances is what keeps the enemy from reclaiming any territory.

Someone recently said to me that she "wished there was joy in the journey." The joy is there, but sometimes we have to fight for it. The enemy works upon our minds and emotions to try to convince us that reality is what is seen, felt, tasted... In short, that he defines what is real. It is sometimes hard to remember that we have the privilege of being defined by something higher, something unseen. Something more Real than the world around us.

It can be so much easier to be where the heavy fighting is, because there is no time to think, no time for emotion. You just do what you have to do until the job is done or you "die trying." It is the watchmen, who have nothing to do but be vigilant, who find that war drapes so heavily over their shoulders. Why does our King not come and put an end to it all?

What if you were the King, who had sent His Son to a greater suffering than any man can ever know, in order to save His people from the hands of a terrible enemy? Would you be interested in a people who expected only good at your hands? Or would you delight in proving that a small handful of your subjects were so fully yours that you could do anything with them, ask anything of them, and they would still follow hard after you, willing to pay any price for love of you? God does not lightly afflict His people (Lam. 3.33). He does not charge us a single penny that He does not pay for us out of His own resources. But the hotter the fire, the more fully He proves that we are His and can stand in the face of anything the enemy might hurl at Him through us. Thus, the greater His ultimate glory, and the greater the final loss to the enemy. And while He has given a portion to all who call upon His name, yet the more territory we take for ourselves in the name of the King here, in Time, the greater our inheritance in eternity.

If the Lord has required you to walk down a dark hallway, then listen closely: He is asking you if you will sing while you do it. Can you sing, even while your heart bleeds? Certainly not, if you are so weighed down that all you can see and feel is the sorrow of your situation. But He can lift you up to sit in heavenly places in Christ Jesus (Eph. 2.6), so that, with Paul, you are more in touch with the glory you are winning for Christ by partaking of His sufferings, than you are with the pain of the suffering itself (Rom. 8.16-18).

No one should pretend they are not hurting when they are. (Look at Job. His friends tried to get him to admit that his rantings at God were sin, but he was just being honest. He was in pure misery, and he was not settling for anything less than God Himself as an answer.) Yet, forcing yourself to open your mouth and utter words of praise when you are miserable, of promise when you are fearful, of joy in His character as a God who loves even when you cannot understand how this affliction could spring from love... That is what keeps the enemy from, to use my father's phrase, "having us for snacks." That is what reclaims for us the joy of the Lord, which is both our strength(Neh. 8.10) and our rightful possession as children of a covenant symbolized by laughter (Gen. 17.19).1

We give glory to the Lord by showing Him that nothing the enemy can throw at us or our loved ones can convince us that God is less than His Word reveals Him to be.

____________________
1. Isaac means "he laughs."

The Master Weaver

The following is a journal entry by Martha Wing, dated April 30, 1898.

What a strange contradiction is a human being, with its weak will and strong desire! We least wish for that which is the easiest to obtain, and that which is the farthest from us is the object of our greatest longings.

Who is satisfied with the obtainable? Who would admire an edelweiss growing in a home-garden?

There is no satisfied ambition in this life. He who at morn sighed to reach a distant mountain height stands at noon on the sought-for pinnacle and turns his longing eyes to higher and more difficult ascents and plans to reach them at even. (Fortunate is he if the even comes to him.)

Do the duty that lies nearest. The easiest advice in the world and the most difficult to follow! How much pleasanter to ignore that familiar, tiresome work close at hand and reach for something higher, of more seeming importance! How often we do so, and how miserable the result!

I have been thinking today how easily we may pass by longed-for opportunities. We have some pet ambition, some desire that we see no way of gratifying. Unseen forces are at work; a strong Hand takes the thread of our life and weaves in and out and turns it here and twists it there, until all unknown it has almost reached the longed-for goal.

Then our willful selves take a hand. Some little question of right or wrong comes up. It is such a little thing, and desire is strong. We take the thread from the Hand and weave with our untrained fingers, for such a little way. But the pattern is wrong just in one place, so small a place no one will ever notice. It does not matter, or it does not seem to matter. But the Great Weaver knows we have woven out and around and beyond the longed-for position, and the opportunity is gone by forever.

When our spirits look back on that woven tapestry of life and read the pattern as it was intended, I wonder how many places will be woven wrongly, how many neglected oppor­tunities will show, how well or how ill will appear the finished work.

I often think about this tapestry of life and wonder if the pattern is all laid and planned. Perhaps it is a beautiful, bright-colored pattern, flower-strewn and garlanded; per­haps it has soft greys and tans; perhaps it is dark and sombre. I fancy the warp and woof is all ready, just so much for each tapestry, colors all selected, pattern all planned. Under the Master Weaver we begin our work slowly and painstakingly. Every line and curve of the pattern is known to Him; there can be no mistake when He guides the threads.

And the tapestry is begun. Bit by bit, day in, day out, the work goes on; some portion of the pattern is finished. But mayhap the colors are dull at first. Our nearsighted eyes cannot see nor understand the meaning nor the beauty of the great plan as a whole. We chafe and fret as we watch the work go on. We cry that our lives must have some brightness, there must be some beauty in that growing pattern.

Alas! if our discontent becomes too great, and we take away the thread from the Master’s guidance. Here, where the Lord sought to have us weave a grey, we substitute a rose-color. That is delightful; how great an improvement is our way upon His. We weave on gleefully for awhile; then comes the discord. The rose-color, woven in, never to be released, after all does not harmonize with its surroundings.

Looking back, we see what we could not see before ‘tis done, that the change we have made has spoiled the pat­tern. Desperately, we strive to remedy the mistake. With­out reflection, without comprehension, without higher help, we try one color and then another, but as fast as one is woven in we see some other would have been better. So we weave on, adding mistake to mistake in a miserable effort to rectify the first. How many tire, at last, and give up all effort to make a fair piece of work. Despairingly or indifferently they gaze backward at the soiled and ruined tapestry, or look forward to the future with no desire or effort to improve upon the past.

Others, working with a desperate defiance, cry, “We will make the life-tapestry beautiful. We will enjoy these beauti­ful colors that lie at hand.” And they weave them all in. After a time the brighter colors are gone; they have used them all; and oh! what endless measures of sombre colors must be woven in with no brightening tints to cheer the weary workers. In vain they cry out at the hardness of their fate. They have enjoyed their sunshine all in one long day; now come the shadows.

Or again, I fancy the weaver growing impatient of the slowness of the work, weaving double threads of brilliant colors, breaking, snarling, entangling them, and, too, life’s best forces are sapped, the threads give out, the pattern lies unfinished, the weaver’s hand is still.

Perhaps, when the work is done, the weaver, looking back at his work, cries unto his Master, “Why need my life have been so wretched? Look at the ruined tapestry with its hideous combination of colors. Was it for this that You taught me the art? Was it for this You placed me at the loom of Life?” And the Master Weaver answers, “Nay, not so; fair and good was the tapestry I planned for you. See, here is the pattern as it would have been under My guid­ance. Out of your own willful pride came that piece of weaving you despise.”

But I fancy there are those who, when they have first learned their own weakness, looking at their work, cry, “Our Master, we have done ill. We cannot weave without Thy help. We cannot understand Thy plan. We know our work is wrong, all wrong. The tapestry is ruined. Were it not better to drop the threads and destroy what is done?”

But the Master, looking down at the pitiful results of human weakness, smiles. “Nay, My child, you have made mistakes, but your work is not ruined. Know you not that, ‘out of evil, good may come’-” And, “all things work to­gether for the good of them that love the Lord? Are not all things possible to Thy God? Can I not make even sin turn to My glory? ‘Tis true, the wrong is done, but My skill can weave the threads remaining until, altho’ the pattern is changed, it need not be less beautiful.”

Then, under His guidance the human weaver begins again, toilingly, taught care and patience by his earlier carelessness.

And the tapestry grows strong and fair and beautiful, and we, looking on, cannot see the one spot where the weaver erred. It is forgiven and forgotten by the Great Master, but the weaver knows, and knows too, that from that early error good has come, because, at once the faulty threads were put in the Master’s Hands, for He alone could use them aright.

Transcribed from chapter 8 of Radiant Glory: The Life of Martha Wing Robinson, by Gordon P. Gardiner.

The Door of Humility

Have you ever been misunderstood? I hear you laughing at the absurdity of such a question. Or perhaps you cannot laugh about it yet.

A preacher I sat under as a child used to say that perhaps the greatest cross in our lives is when we are misunderstood. That preacher also said that we don't have the Holy Ghost's perspective on something until we can laugh about it.

I was misunderstood once. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend. [Pro. 27.6]" I repeated this to myself over and over, all the while wondering resentfully where exactly the faithfulness came in. "Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and let him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head... [Ps. 141.5]" So I told myself, while clutching what felt like a broken head and wondering with what right this person should be considered among the righteous, after such a nasty mess.

It took months, years... a long time of slowly working through it to get to the real crux of the matter.

"There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. [Pro. 18.24]" A friend, not many friends. While Damian and I fondly quote that to each other to describe our own relationship, we are both aware that there is only one Friend who will never fall short. This is the Friend who wounded me. Another friend, with what he thinks are the best of intentions, can wound out of the corruption of his own heart; but the wounds of this Friend are always, faithfully, for our good.

Only when this Friend smites me, is it a kindness. Only when He reproves, is it an anointing oil. I have been rebuked by those who not only had no authority over me, but were entirely wrong in their assessment of the situation; and I have been rebuked by those who were truly speaking the Holy Spirit's wisdom to me. But in every case, it is the Lord Himself who allows the rebuff, and it is He, not man, who is the teacher -- and He is not always teaching the same lesson the human agent thought I needed to learn.

Moffat translates the latter half of Ps. 141.5 as, "I would pray ever to have their [the righteous'] goodwill." Why do I need to desire the goodwill of believers? So I asked myself as I pondered that verse in my pain of rejection and betrayal. That, however, is the wrong question. What I should be desiring is the goodwill of the only One Who is righteous, for without His goodwill, I cannot stand in His presence. It is this righteous Friend who smites me. "There is none righteous, no, not one [Rom. 3.10]" except the King of Glory Himself, and no blow can fall that is not sanctioned by His will. The NKJV translates, "...let my head not refuse it." Indeed, let me not refuse that anointing oil of rebuke from the King Himself, for it is His good opinion I desire, and no one else's. And His judgment is always redemptive. He does not expose except to correct the source of the problem.

Damian once told me that Cain's ultimate downfall was not that he brought fruit to the altar. It was not that he killed his brother. It was not even that he lied about it to God when He brought it up. By refusing to respect Cain's sacrifice, God was placing His finger on something in Cain that needed to be dealt with. The problem was that, instead of welcoming the redemptive judgment of the Lord -- for He never exposes sin without offering the antidote for it, therefore His judgment is always redemptive -- Cain became angry and his "countenance fell" (Gen. 4.5).

That is so often what we do when we feel the finger of the Lord touching something in us. Instead of saying, "Lord, what is it that you are showing me?" we try to bite the finger. We get angry. When I was so terribly misunderstood, that is exactly what I did. I got angry. My rights had been violated, and I was incredibly hurt. It was a long time before I understood that it was the Lord I was angry with. He had allowed this undeserved wrong, and in so doing He was putting His finger on something in me that I did not want shown up. It is funny how what comes to light often has little to do with the obvious circumstances. But we don't even have to know what it is in us that requires the purifying heat from the finger of God. What matters is how we respond to the finger.

The only appropriate response is to open ourselves up to His searching, that He may make us acceptable in His sight. If Cain had done that, there would have been no murder. Even if He had done it belatedly -- if, instead of saying, "My punishment is greater than I can bear, [Gen. 4.13]" he had said, "I know that this whole thing started because I did not want to hear what you had to say about my heart..." -- I believe that the end of the story would have been very different.

But opening ourselves up to that faithful Friend requires humility. Cora Harris MacIlravy, in the third chapter of her wonderful, out-of-print exposition of the Song of Solomon, Christ and His Bride (which I was amazed to find transcribed on the web), speaks of some of the chambers into which the King brings us. In order to go on at all with the Lord, we must enter the chamber of Humility. The door of this chamber is very small and low, and to enter it we must stoop and crawl. No one wants to do that. We will try to find any other way before we will lie down and creep on our bellies into that place of humility. There are times when I have asked the Lord to humble me, and in response He, in His mercy, has knocked me to my hands and knees in front of this door. But it's a peculiar thing that it is not enough to grovel in the dust outside the door. We actually have to crawl through it.

This is what seemed so impossible to Cain. It is what I wanted to refuse to do so long ago when my Friend afflicted me through the hand of someone else I thought was a friend. Like Cain, when God warned him that to open the door to sin would mean that "unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him [Gen. 4.7]," I want to hoard my sin away, to protect it from the exposing Light of the Word. Only recently I found myself on my knees once again in front of that ubiquitous door, angry with the Friend who had afflicted me and crouching protectively over the secret places of my domain. I knew that I was going nowhere until I released my right to rule over myself and, clinging to the feet of my true King, began to crawl on my belly through that doorway.

This is the cross. The servant is not above his lord. [Ma. 10.24] Our Lord was misunderstood. He was wounded by those who called themselves His friends. He was rebuked and reviled by those who had not the smallest claim over Him. Why are we always so astonished when we are asked to stoop down in the dust and follow our Forerunner as He takes His cross upon His bleeding back and stoops down to enter through a door impossibly low? Why are we so indignant when someone misunderstands us, when not one person on this earth grasped what our Lord was really about? "It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes. [Ps. 119.71]"

When, through the enabling power of the blood of the Lamb, we finally stoop to enter, we discover that the place of Humility is one of the loveliest of all the chambers in the King's house. There we find the Holy Ghost's perspective. There we find laughter. There we find the Cross.

Your hands made me and formed me;
give me understanding to learn your commands.
May those who fear you rejoice
when they see me,
for I have put my hope in your word.

I know, O LORD, that your laws are righteous,
and in faithfulness You have afflicted me.
May your unfailing love be my comfort,
according to your promise
to your servant.

Let your compassion come to me
that I may live,
for your law is my delight.
May the arrogant be put to shame
for wronging me without cause;
but I will meditate on your precepts...

- Ps. 119.73-78