Any Root of Bitterness

Last Saturday night I was up until 11pm stirring a new peanut butter jar. It was a particularly difficult one to stir, and it took me a while, and I found I was dealing with a little bit of self-pity. It was not the part where I was having to use remarkable effort to churn the (natural, non-hydrogenated and therefore non-homegenized) PB for my husband—my husband, who does more sweet, kind and helpful little acts of service for me in a week than most men do for their wives in a month. It was the part where I was the last one awake in the house.

The last one awake, and also the first in line to get up again in just a very few short hours, since no one else can nurse the baby.

So there I was, all alone, with not even my "morale committee" around to show me how much he appreciated the fact that I was staying up late to do this for him so that he could have his favorite breakfast in the morning. In fact, the morale committee had brought me my water and then crawled into bed while I finished nursing the Pea, not having really heard me a few minutes earlier when I told him my water bottle was overdue to be washed. He almost certainly had not meant to leave me all alone, but a prone position in a dark room had worked its magic, and he was now sound asleep.

All alone? I heard the question. No, I was not all alone. We had just recently had a little fun with the 5 Love Languages test, and almost everyone in the house scored highest on Quality Time. (I guess that's why I wanted my husband with me while I stayed up late in the kitchen.) If quality time was so important to me, then why was I balking at giving a few minutes of it to my heavenly Husband? What was wrong with a few quiet minutes spent alone in His presence, a little silent conversation?

The first thing I said to Him was that I had a little problem with self-pity that refused to go away.

That Sunday morning I got up with Ellie at 6:30, leaving my husband to sleep. It's what I always do, and then sometimes I go back to bed later when she does. It was the right thing to do, and I did not begrudge him the rest. I was also grateful for the night, in which I only had to get up once. And yet, I found myself feeling tired and discouraged, not least because Damian and the boys were going to church, leaving me behind with the baby, since she is still not yet in a place where we can spend a large chunk of the morning away from home. This should have been a restful idea: nap when the baby naps, etc. But actually, it often works out that she is fussy when I am home alone with her on a Sunday, and so self-pity was playing off of my fears of what the morning might bring.

Before Damian could get out of the house with the boys, I ended up absolutely screaming at Liam. I had told him that their socks were "on the ottoman." I actually did not mean the big ottoman in front of the couch, I meant one of the small ottomans (ottomen?), of which there are three in a row against the living room wall. While Liam was remarking very loudly that he did not see any socks on the ottoman, Parker cheerfully announced, "Here they are!" To which Liam, in a derogatory whine, replied, "But those are the ottomans, and you said ottoman, so how was I supposed to know...?"

I let him have it. It's a wonder I did not wake up the fragilely sleeping baby upstairs. I had quite a few choice things to say to him about how tired I was that my seven-year-old is always correcting me, and how if he were not so busy finding all the ways in which the people around him are imperfect, he could simply have used his brain to translate my mistake into the correct location of the socks. His wailed reply was, "But I'm a Beaver, that's just the way I am!!!"

Oh, I rose to that occasion. We didn't mean to arm this little pack-rat of facts and factoids with the implications of the four personality types, but it happened, and now we have to clean up after it. I have told him many times that it is fine for him to be a Beaver-Lion, there's nothing wrong with it, but he's going to have to recognize that there are some things that don't come naturally to either Lions or Beavers which he is going to have to learn in order to get through life. So my response to him this morning? "Yes, you're a Beaver, and there's nothing wrong with being a Beaver; but if you say, 'That's just who I am...' and let yourself be limited by your personality type, you will miss the whole point of what Jesus died to give you!!"

Does it strike you that perhaps those words are way too far above a seven-year-old's head for him to take in? And that, maybe, even though he won't be able to ingest their meaning, he will pick up on the weight attached to them? And also that it's probably too great a weight for a seven-year-old to bear?

You see, my seven-year-old is intellectually incredibly advanced for his age—it is not parental pride, but a certain wary objectivity, that makes me say he's at borderline genius levels—but emotionally, he can't keep up. (I think this finally really hit me last night when we had the Monopoly fiasco that I was writing about on my other blog.) My mom had the same premature brilliance, and she lived to tell about the disadvantages of being treated according to her IQ, while emotional development lags behind.

So Liam is constantly and unwittingly trapping me into trying to reason with him the way you would with a much older person, when what he really needs is for me to recognize that he's only a little kid. No matter how well he wields the mental rapier, he is too little to bear the weight of armor needed for a real duel. Therefore, I am the one who needs to be emotionally objective and hold him to a much lower standard than he appears, superficially, to be capable of.

And you know what the real problem is? That thing that prevents me from the sort of compassionately detached parenting that Liam needs? It's the same thing that keeps me from singing over the peanut butter jar: a little root of bitterness.

"Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: Looking diligently... lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled." —He. 12:14,15

There it is: what prevents me from peace with Liam is bitterness. I get irritated with him for being such a snobby little know-it-all. I even take what he says personally and allow my feelings to get hurt. And I am downright miffed that I should have to deal with such disrespect, not to mention the way the constant whinging and fighting with each other grates on me, when my children are supposed to be softhearted and obedient. But the real problem is me. Why should my joy be so dependent on whether or not other people are being sweet and kind?

I am depressed by the fact that my word doesn't mean a whole lot to these boys. I'm annoyed that I have to tell Parker several times to do (or not do) something before he decides he wants to comply. And I just let him get away with it, because until I know how to deal with it consistently and successfully, I don't want to die on that hill. I am sick of Liam arguing (or negotiating) with me over almost everything that comes out of my mouth. I am oppressed by the way that most of what I hear around me is spoken in an urgent, screaming tone, like those boys are two emergency sirens, continually setting each other off. And I am tired (literally, so very literally!) of the fact that my baby is not sleeping the way I can see for myself that she should be—needs to be.

Translation: I am dissatisfied with the lot my Lord has chosen for me, most especially because I have to deal with the imperfections of my family. (My husband has none, by the way. Ten years of marriage to me has apparently refined him to absolute purity.) Does God get impatient with my imperfections? No. So why am I allowed the luxury of irritation over theirs? I just recently pointed out to someone that if we wait until a person is lovable to start loving them, we are not showing forth the love of Jesus, who died for us when we were yet sinners. Psalm 16 tells me that my lot is good, and the lines are drawn in pleasant places. I know this by faith, whether I happen to feel like it's true at the moment or not, so I have absolutely no right to complain—by word, tone, look or gesture. Anything other than joyful praise starts to look suspiciously like there might be a little root of bitterness growing in my soil.

"...and thereby many be defiled." Could it be that the bitterness in my own heart fans the flames of arguing, fighting, back-talk and discontent in my children? What would silence those blaring sirens? Would Liam grow into a happy, flourishing plant (and Lael into a rock-strong, polished jewel) if I could let them be, stop trying to mold them into the right shape, give up my need to see the right things going on around me, and simply show God's irresistible, undeserving love to them?  Peter would agree: he tells me that fervent love would cover a multitude of sins. 

What Liam needs more than anything is to be shown the love of God until it melts his heart into softness at the wonder of it. I cannot convict him, anyway; only the Spirit of God can show him (gently, and as he can bear it) what an awful little prig he can be. Lectures and sermons never did anything but drive a sinner as far away as he can run; it is the joy of God visibly manifest in someone's heart that draws a person to say, "Where can I get that?!"

To indulge in self-pity when I'm serving little whiners is rather silly when one considers how patiently Jesus looks past my whining to offer me all God's riches. His joy, the joy of the One whose very nature is to live for another, is my strength. Let me just pull up that root of discontent and bitterness, and there will be nothing to prevent me from taking in the love of my Father and scattering it around me like precious dewdrops falling from my feet wherever I go.

Thanksgiving

Thank You for the blood of the Lamb by which I can come into Your presence.

Thank You for 32 Christmases with my mother, who was the best mother a person could have, and my first and longest best friend. Thank You for the gift of taking her on Christmas Day.

Thank You for the wonderful, terrible experience of having her in my own living room, caring for her to the best of my ability for eight months. Thank You for what that wrought in me and for me. Thank You that I have more of you today than I did before I went through it. Thank You that, while I fell short in so many ways, I went into it and came out of it praising Your name.

Thank You that eight months after You took my mother, You gave me a daughter: the daughter I asked for by name.

Thank You that she has such a sweet and cheerful temperament.

Thank You that nursing her is not only possible, but easy, just as I asked.

Thank You that You are making her a better sleeper than her brothers.

Thank You for the allergy elimination treatments, which You have provided for her to once again pull us out of a deep hole.

Thank You that You meet me where I am, and that You will not leave me where I am, but draw me ever further and deeper in Yourself.

Thank You for the wisest and best of fathers. Thank You that he lives close by and can be a regular part of our family. Thank You that I am closer to him, and know him better, than before You took my mother.

Thank You for my two sons, who are loving and lovable, intelligent, healthy and strong. Thank You that You are keeping their hearts soft and tender. Thank You that You show me little by little how to teach and train them and how to be a better mother.

Thank You that we are all walking in better health now than in years past.

Thank You for my husband, my best friend. Thank You that You have made him a prince among men: loving, gentle, strong, helpful and supportive, faithful, giving, observant and solicitous, patient, peaceable, slow to anger, wise, kind, always interested in me, fully vested in our children, and sold out to You.

Thank You for my mother-in-law, who loves each of us passionately, and who bends over backwards to help anyone in any way she can.

Thank You for my brother-in-law, and that You have marked him for Yourself.

Thank You for each one in our extended family.

Thank You for friends who love you.

Thank You that You are teaching me to pray.

Thank You for those who pray for me

Thank You that our lives are so comfortable, but not so comfortable that we do not have reason to cry to You.

Thank You that You are increasing my hunger for You, that You do not allow me to sit down satisfied, but stir me up and on.

Thank You that You do all things well.

Thank You that your blessings make rich, and You add no sorrow with them. Thank You for all of Your countless blessings in my life.

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.

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1. Isaac means "he laughs."