“Dig”

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and lead her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her; and I will give her vineyards from thence, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope. And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth…”
(Hosea 2:14,15)

A year and more has gone by since you gave me that verse. So much has happened, and yet… One tends to feel dull and dry when wandering in the desert, I suppose. But recently you told me,

“You’re done walking and wandering. You’re here now. I want you to stop and take a deep breath—take in the scenery! Yes, here may not look much different than all the rest of the desert spreading away in all directions, but it’s time for you to abide awhile. I want you to enjoy the moments fully, to do whatever you do with all your focus and attention. You’ll need to start by digging for Water, so I also have something for you—a shovel: the Time has come for you to dig.”

Desert can become Oasis.

But, I’ve gotten used to this wandering around in the desert… It doesn’t take much of me. I used to have a garden, and lots of projects, but then my eyes began to gaze at the sunsets, and then you took me beyond the sunrise, and let me travel! But, when I got back, I hadn’t the discipline to resume the duties of home, and so I floundered…and then eventually came your call…

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and lead her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her…”
Last Spring I was making plans to travel, because I wanted to, but I wasn’t at ease about them—and then right in the midst of those plans you called me—called me to drop them and come out here with you into this desert, and you promised that it would be just me and you…that I would have to do hard things, but that I would learn and grow and learn to love you more than anything else in the whole world! And so I followed you out here…

And it’s been hot, and dry, and awfully lonely, and…so full of change! Most of the time the thoughts and emotions inside me have been many, many! But they are buried so deep, they are tangled so tight—I couldn’t even begin to express them into words. They wouldn’t even melt themselves into tears and relieve the ache inside me. So I just had to keep plodding on, putting one foot in front of the other. I’ve learned to appreciate seasons of dryness, the beauty of the desert landscape. Its been said that dry seasons produce maturity. You’ve been there the whole time, though, so even when I am completely weary and can’t talk at all, at least I know you are there. But I feel dull. Am I even learning anything?

“…And I will give her vineyards from thence…”
It sounds strange to say it, but out here in this desert, you’ve given me a vineyard. The green leaves and purple grapes may be a total metaphor (even for a metaphorical desert), but you dropped a paying job into my lap that I never would have had the courage to seek out on my own. It’s a livelihood. Along with it have come some tools and a lot of experience! It’s been hard, but the easy kind of hard where I’m motivated by outside sources. I thank you for it.

 “…And the Valley of Achor for a door of hope…”
The Valley of Achor. Achor! Where long ago, in the Bible, Achan decided to steal some of the devoted gold from the destroyed Jericho and hide it in his tent. Because of that, so many men died in the battle at Ai, and when God told Joshua about it he had all the people stone Achan and his whole family! It is the Valley of Trouble. I cannot say I have had trouble, in that sense, but I take the shade of meaning that it is a Valley of Confrontation: of facing of demons. It has been for me a Valley of Identifying with Jesus and his 40 days in the wilderness. When the season of Lent came, I took comfort in the thought of walking along the same road with Jesus in those 40 days—I had so many temptations and struggles to fight. I thought that Easter would be the end, the climax, the culmination that would end in the last part of your promise to me: “And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth!”

I was disappointed. Not to say that Easter was nothing, but it seemed to me that on that day all you did was simply steer me in a different direction from the way which I had been going—a direction which didn’t seem to look much different than all the rest of this vast, open wilderness. There was certainly no breathtaking change of scenery, no sudden discovery of a hidden oasis. But, it wasn’t long after Easter that you said, “It’s time to dig.”

Why would anybody dig in a desert? Water.

Water means life. Water in the desert means an oasis! If that’s what will come of my digging here then I had better get started!

And yet . . .my flesh protests, “I’ve gotten used to this wandering around in the desert… It doesn’t take much of me… I used to have a garden, but…” Digging means sore muscles and stiff hands and sweat and being hotter than the hot you get by just walking. It takes discipline. Diligence. Digging means putting your back into it, and keeping it up, on and on, and not quitting till the job’s done. Digging means being faithful. “I don’t know if I can do that anymore! Maybe a few years ago, but I’ve become quite the wimp nowadays! Haven’t you seen how many things I’ve been failing at?!”

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The rebuttal to my indolence comes instantly. Oooh boy.

“Dig.” And here I am, still staring at the shovel and shifting uneasily as if it were a foreign object which I had no idea how to use. Why haven’t I picked it up and begun to dig like you told me? I’ve wasted weeks camped out here by this place, and I haven’t even done much of anything else either. What in the world have I been doing? Why does it take me so long to obey?

Fine. The time is now. Today’s the Day. I’ll pick up that shovel. God, give me strength to actually keep at it and get a well dug.

“And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth…”
The last phrase of your words echoes through my mind as I stand and take up the handle. Lord, when will the day come when you give me a song? You promised…

Pride and Wretchedness

“Knowing God without knowing our own wretchedness makes for pride.

Knowing our own wretchedness without knowing God makes for despair.

Knowing Jesus Christ strikes the balance because He shows us both God and our own wretchedness. Jesus is a God whom we can approach without pride and before whom we can humble ourselves without despair.”

~Blaise Pascal~

 

This was a devotional reading for June 7th, and since that day it has kept coming back to me, and I have realized that for my whole life I grew up in a Christian home and I “knew” God—I think I can truthfully say that I do know God, however small a knowing it may be. I also know I’m not perfect and I have my faults, but on the whole, I’m probably what people would call “good”. Even now, people are always calling me sweet and adorable (and I’m like, “if you only knew me at home…”), but I guess part of me believes it.

I have never wondered if God cares about me; I know He does. For you see, I am a creative person. I loved making models and little projects and things growing up. I know that God is a Creator too, and since I know the interest I take in my creations, I know that God takes an interest in me. Can you imagine making a miniature model of a gorgeous dollhouse—one of those that is basically the exact replica of the original building? (I’ve heard of somebody doing that for Buckingham Palace!)—and then carefully decorating and furnishing it, and finally, making dolls to live in it—dolls that are autonomous and able to really live in it and think and make their own decisions and have their own life, and even love me back? OH MY!!! I would be so captivated I would not be able to stop watching if that were something I could make, and since that’s basically what God did then how could He not care about me, His creature?!

But one thing the above quote made me realize was that although I have known God my whole life, I have always struggled with knowing my own wretchedness. I would hear stories of people converting to Christ after they had been prostrated at the realization of how sinful they were, and how they were like a worm in their own sight and God’s. I would hear this and think, “I don’t get it. I know I’m sinful, but why can’t I see my sin as something so horrible?”

One of my problems is a personality weakness: since I like perfection of detail, I am terrified of making mistakes, and that prevents me from attempting new things. For years I was too scared to try things. I carefully put up protecting walls of good habits, good manners, nice clothing and hair styles (based upon tried and true styles of past eras, of course!),  and reading of good, old books. I actually took pride in the fact that I didn’t get “giggly” over any guys—wouldn’t give thoughts of them the time of day—and therefore I didn’t make any stupid mistakes, especially in the realm of relationships.

Relationships. That is probably the area common to all people that I am most ignorant in. Sure, I have a family, sisters, but I boss them around, and it’s hard to sympathize with people you’re always talking at instead of with. Since we have no brothers I definitely didn’t know how to talk to guys, so I didn’t. Instead I read lots of books on the subject and wrote up quite a list of what my future husband ought to be. I was all set. The problem was, I still couldn’t talk to them, and none met the requirements of my nice long list.

I remember one of the first conversations I had with a young man, who was still quite a bit older than I. It was at a reception. The conversation went amazingly smoothly until I said something with a gesture and my plate contents landed on the floor. I stood there dumbly while the very nice young gentleman actually picked it all up for me. Oops. Thankfully conversation continued on much as before, and somehow I didn’t feel mortified. I think he somehow kept me at ease. That was one occasion that made me realize that mistakes aren’t always mortifying, and, depending on how you handle them, they can turn funny.

I think God has a lot of work on me to do. Through the years I have been a pendulum, and as a newly discovered author so eloquently puts it, “any pendulum worth its weight…finds it difficult to swing from one extreme position and settle directly in the middle, without first hurtling all the way to the opposite extreme.” (Guy Deutscher) I went from being very in control of myself and my environment to not being able to get up early in the morning and losing sight of all goals and being pulled to and fro by that tyrant The Urgent. In the meantime, I was beginning to enjoy life a little more, in different ways…mainly the kind you find when you learn to “let go”. Things like not getting mad when the schedule gets interrupted, or staying up really late to watch a movie.

But still, my own wretchedness? Didn’t see it. I read more books, went travelling, met more people, got various jobs, gained in life experience.

The world began changing drastically and as I read news articles I had to wrestle with things I never even wanted to think about, much less have them talked about in the press. Why do the minorities get so much attention that they sway the opinion of the entire nation? Pendulums again.

More time passed. I got too busy to read books,  I tried to take an online course and failed to complete it within my time goal. WHAT? This is not me. I began to feel a failure. I have no local friends, I can’t keep a schedule anymore, don’t practice music anymore unless I have to and sometimes not even then—and then it comes back to slap me because music is my vocation now! I’m just now thinking of career options, and I only just got my first car a couple of months ago…I’m so late at everything.

But, I have always been good at maps, and this past weekend I drove on my first road trip with my mom and sister. I thought we would find everything just fine! But nope: Tension thickened the air more than once as communications between driver and navigator deteriorated. Failure again.

And that’s when the quote would keep coming back: “Knowing God without knowing our own wretchedness makes for pride.” I have been proud my whole life. Proud of my good upbringing, proud of my walls that protect me from making stupid mistakes, proud that I knew the Bible better than most people, proud that I never liked a guy and had my heart broken over it, proud that we eat healthy and make all our meals from scratch…and the list could go on. God help me.

A week or so ago I was mad and decided to throw rocks at a fence post until I hit it. It took probably 15 tries or more. Who am I kidding? I’m not better than anyone else. I am such a slow learner. If anything I’ve hurt rather than protected myself all these years. All those walls I put up…do I even know what it is to love someone—to really love them like God wants me to? But God is merciful and He is a great Redeemer, taking my mistakes anyway and using them in what He is doing—and whatever He is doing is going to be epic! I believe that!

To close, I want to apologize. If you know me, if I have ever wounded you because of my own pride, please forgive me.

A topic for another post is the “desert” I’ve been in. I thought I was out of it, but now it seems God just had another lesson to teach me before I’m fit to leave it, and believe me, my eyes are only just opened to this pride/wretchedness business. I’m sure it’ll take a few more months or years to sink in completely.

(Written June 28)