new beginning

You don’t know until you’ve hit rock bottom and you’re broken, thirsty, hungry and desperate, how desperately in need of love you are. And the perfect kind of love. Not the one that still leaves you thirsty. You don’t know until you’ve lost everything, how you never really had anything to begin with. Everything I used to bring to the table really was just filthy rags and only now have I begun to see how silly I must have looked when I prided myself in them.

Watching the prayer room tonight I felt God’s presence so near. The realization that were it not for my own weakness I could still be there right now, that place could be home, those people my family, hurts. I blew it. I failed. I screwed up. It’s a struggle not to keep those thoughts running through my head on a consistent basis.

The thing I have to remember is that God’s mercies are new every morning. How wonderful is that. Those things that kept me from Him and His purpose for me are as far from His mind as the east is from the west, they’ve been washed away into a sea of forgetfulness. He forgot them. Now I have to also. The Lord must be a big fan of the morning. Because it comes around every day, and with it mercies that are new and a slate that’s clean. He moves on. And so do I.

The burning the bridges part is where I keep getting tripped up. The Lord wants to make all things new but if I won’t let go of all things old it doesn’t work. My hands are full if I’m still clinging to the past, if I’m afraid to let it go. It’s what I’ve been thinking about constantly these past few days and it’s what Anna sang about tonight in the prayer room. Saying goodbye. Burning the bridges. It’s scary to stand with your hands emptied, scary to let go, scary to say goodbye. But it’s the next step in moving on. Letting go.

There are promises and they’re all yes and amen in Jesus. There’s a future, full of hope and good things. There’s a calling and a destiny that remain unaffected by my mistakes, my stumbles, my failures, my rebellion. But it lies on the other side. I may limp into it broken because I tried wrestling with God and lost. But that limp can become a beautiful reminder of grace that’s made perfect in my need, strength made perfect in my weakness. I just have to keep walking. Count all things as lost for the sake of Jesus, the greatest prize.

And the hunger pains I feel as I let go, the emptiness, the loneliness, the disillusionment. It’s a gift- a blessing, not a curse. Because the one who hungers and thirsts for righteousness will be filled. Period. That’s a promise.

she

Her generosity was the conditional kind. She gave herself over and over again, but only until she felt threatened. Then whatever she had given, she wanted back. It probably had something to do with control. She wanted to feel in control over how much things affected her. She wanted to trust, just not all the time. She wanted to give herself away, just not all of her.

It came back to trust.

But in trust, the gift and the burden are one and the same. Trust invests in something that can't be seen; almost like faith, but different... it's the embracing of both a blessing and a curse. She had written, read and talked a lot about trust. She had trusted and not trusted. She had been held there and left hanging. But maybe trust is a lot less complex than people think. Maybe it really came down to the moments, the ones at 1 a.m. when he said that he loved her, but this is something we just can’t talk about right now, or when he promised that things would get better, that they wouldn't always look this way, when he promised he would come back and things wouldn't change. It’s in those moments, that trust would have looked through and seen a bigger picture.

Love involves trust. Trust involves risk. There is no other option. She can't walk a ways, find where the road gets uncomfortable, draw a line and say, I will only love him this far. No… love risks, love gets uncomfortable, love takes those chances. Love hopes, believes and endures.

People talk about forever. And they pray hard. Because deep down inside, doesn't everyone know that hearts break every day, that things are fragile, that many of them end in this life?

Hadn't she already jumped off this cliff, already made the movement of faith... the one that took her past a point of no return? Turning around and trying to rebuild the bridges she burned behind her, the ones she could have escaped on, it only hurt them both. Maybe she isn't through running back to the bridges. She just realized they've never been her friends.

Did it really matter that circumstances were difficult? Why shouldn’t they be? People hope for health and love and a happy ending. But in the end, our lives are not our own. Her life was only hers to give away. To God, to the people she loves, to him. Over and over again.

So she keeps on loving. She keeps giving herself back to him. She stops trying to figure out how to apologize to him for something she keeps coming back to... she just comes back. She hopes, believes, endures. She chooses to look through and see a bigger picture.

She stops, she becomes small, she loves.

Learns to love.

the cross

This is a meditation on the crucifixion of Jesus I wrote for a homework assignment the other day... I know it's pretty long but it gave me a totally new perspective on Jesus and what He did for us on the cross. I love Him!

This day had been in the mind of God for ages, more than ages. Before the Fall of His favorite ones, His image-bearers in the Garden. Before the seizing of the apple, the tasting of sin, the rebellion of the ones created to love. Before even the very creation of the earth, the forming and the fashioning of the Garden, the knitting together of mankind. From before the very foundations of the earth, the Lamb had been slain. Jesus had been born into the world to die. He had taken on the form of a man only to lay it down in a death far more painful, a separation far more tragic, a sorrow far deeper, to pay a cost far greater, for a treasure far more costly, than any human heart will ever know. And entering into that hour, the darkest of hours, that day, the darkest of days, Jesus knew this. He knew that this had been written about in the book. It was written that He delighted to do the will of His Father, that a body had been prepared for Him; He had lived so that He could die. And in that hour His face was set. There was a joy laid before Him no human eye could see on that day. No disciple, no soldier, no king, no chief priest no scribe saw what He saw in that hour. And no angelic being, nor demonic power, not even Satan himself could understand what He was about to do, why He was doing it, the worth of the ones He was doing it for. They saw clumps of dirt, alive only because of the breath He had breathed into them, made precious and lovely only because He had set His love upon them, made dirty and dead because they had rebelled against Him and rejected His love. Now He was taking up the cross to pay for the crime He had not committed, to buy back the harlot with His blood. The Lion had become a Lamb for her. When the cross was laid upon His back, the powers of evil and darkness shuddered at the taste of victory so close, so near, so long awaited. The One who was born to crush Satan, to destroy forever the powers of sin and death, the One who had struck terror into the heart of the serpent since that day in the garden- He was bearing a cross. And not just a cross; He was bearing the sin of the world, and not just that, He was becoming sin itself. And He was about to die the death of a sinner. He was about to be crushed beneath the weight of His own hammer of righteousness. He was about to experience the fury, the vengeance, the wrath of His Father’s holiness hurled against the sin that He had become. The weight of His own law rested heavily on His shoulders and it screamed its just condemnation into His ears. He was hours, moments, maybe seconds from death. And the powers of evil and darkness shuddered. It was so close.

A multitude thronged about what was known as the Via Delarosa; the mingled shouts of the mob and the lamentations of the wailing women filled the streets of Jerusalem with chaotic clamor. A blood-stained, blood-soaked, blood-spattered man carrying a cross far too heavy to be handled by one with flesh so torn, body so broken, so weak and near death as this, finally stumbled and fell to the ground. He hardly looked like a man any longer. Deep pockets of bloody flesh cradled the thorns of a crown that had been thrust onto His head. Pieces of hair had been torn from His head. His face was swollen and disfigured, marked by gashes left by the weapons of torture that had been used against him. Bloody patches of skin remained where His beard had been ripped from His face. His garments were so stained in red it was difficult to imagine what laid beneath them; however the effects of scourging were always horrific. Most human beings would have died already beneath the excruciating torture this man had already experienced. The soldiers pulled a man from the country out of the multitude to help the criminal bear His cross. Simon the Cyrenian. The shame and the reproach of being made to bear the cross had burned a deep red across Simon’s face and he looked with disgust upon the one it had been made for. But this Man didn’t look like a criminal. And as He raised Himself to take up His cross once again, just one look into His eyes struck Simon’s heart like the point of a knife. He would always have difficulty describing what He saw there. He only knew that in an instant He was sure this Man wasn’t a criminal. And suddenly He the shame and the reproach were forgotten. He was glad to bear this Man’s cross for Him. He was so glad that he was the one who had been picked. He would always remember the eyes of that Man, Jesus of Nazareth. And the way He clung to His cross. He clung to it as though somehow it was what He wanted. The walk up the hill was long and hard. Jesus stumbled many times.

When they finally came to Calvary, Jesus was laid upon the cross. His clothes had been stripped off of Him. Nails were driven through His hands and feet. The crowd looked on as it happened. Somewhere in that crowd were the ones who had followed Him, ones who loved Him. His mother was in that crowd. The disciple He loved was there. And they watched in agony as the Man they had called Rabbi, Friend, the Son of God, the One they had trusted in, believed in, placed their hope in, was tortured, nailed to a cross, made to die the death of a criminal, the death of a condemned man. They heard every piercing cry of pain. They saw the blood run like streams from the holes in His hands and His feet. They also heard the mockery of the crowd, especially the religious leaders and rulers. They watched as the Son of Man was lifted up, but on a cross, and He was dying. Above Him was a sign that read, “This is the King of the Jews.” Their hearts broke over the coldness, the hardness of the ones who had done this. They were angry, they were crushed, they were scared.

Then Jesus lifted His voice to say something, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” He heard the mockery of the ones He was dying to save, He saw the harlot He was buying back spit upon Him, look upon Him with disgust. But louder than their voices, more crushing than the looks on their faces and the hardness of their hearts, was the weight of His Father’s wrath pressed against Him. Law screamed its condemnations against Him. Sin was exulting in its victory over the One who was born to break its power. Death stood ready to lay hold of the only One with the power to overcome its curse. The Son of God, the Son of Man, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah would be crushed in only a matter of moments. The wrath of God burned hotly against all the sin, the transgression, the iniquity of the human race taken into one Man and the weight of it was breaking Him. Suddenly Jesus heard a voice. “If you are the Christ, save Yourself and us.” It was the thief next to Him. Before He could speak in response, the thief on His other side rebuked the one who had spoken. “Do you not even fear God, seeing you are under the same condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man has done nothing wrong.” The thief paused and looked hard into the face of the Man dying next to him. Then he said, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” Here it was. The joy set before Him. Jesus remembered, not that He had ever for a moment forgotten, but God in His mercy had set the first of the redeemed on the cross next to Him and love for this one filled the breaking heart of the God-Man. “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in paradise.”

Hours passed. The sun was darkened and light crept off the earth as the moment came when it would please the Father to crush His only Son. Suddenly the veil of the temple was torn in two as a way was made for all to enter in and for the presence of God to be released into the midst of His people. Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” He spoke those words. He drank the last drop of the cup that had been given Him by His Father. His last breath left His broken body. And in an instant, everything changed. The centurion looking on glorified God saying that certainly the Man on that cross was a righteous Man, the whole crowd gathered there to watch Him die beat their breasts and returned to the city, the earth shook under the weight of the curses broken, the death of the God-Man, the end of the Old Covenant, the beginning of the New. The powers of darkness screamed in the shock of defeat as death and the grave lost their sting, their victory, the curse of sin was broken, the head of the serpent was finally crushed beneath the foot of the Son of Man, the Son of David, the Seed of the woman in the Garden. The Son of Man had died, but the grave would not hold Him long. In an instant, it was accomplished forever, once for all. The Last Adam had made a way. The labor of His soul would be satisfied in the love of the Redeemed, the harlot would become a Bride, and the sinner would be washed in the blood of the Lamb.

My Beloved.

I am my Beloved’s and He is mine. My Beloved is mine and I am His.

There is no one so tender as my Beloved, so perfect in love, so relentless in pursuit. Taste of His goodness you who are weary, you who are restless, you who are discontent, you whose hearts long in deep places.

While I was unaware, while I chased other lovers, while I longed for what I knew not, He fixed His gaze upon me.

His heart churned within Him. He determined He would have me. And He would. He won me. He drew me away. He drew me to Himself. He brought me into the wilderness.

He caused every broken cistern to run dry. He hedged my way in with thorns. He walled my heart in so that it could not find its paths.

My heart was unfaithful. Yet He reached out always. He would not relent. He called to me. “Oh Sarah, what shall I do to you? For your faithfulness is like the morning cloud, and like the early dew it goes away.”

He taught me to walk, taking me by my arms, but I did not know that it was Him. I did not know that over and over again, it was He who healed me, He who upheld my steps, He who guarded my wondering heart.

Yet He did not forsake me. He only drew me, drew me to Himself, the Great Lover, the God-Man Jesus, the One beautiful from everlasting to everlasting, the Darling of Heaven.

He bent to feed me. He drew me with gentle cords, with bonds of love. And He was to me as those who take the yoke from my neck. I was hopeless. I was empty. I was broken.

He said to me, “Sarah, you are destroyed. He has done it. But your help is from ME. I will be your King.”And He healed my backsliding. He loved me freely.

He delivered me because He delights in me. He ransomed me from the power of the grave. He said to my enemy, “O Death I will be your plagues! O Grave, I will be your destruction.” And He crushed the head of my enemy. He paid a price I cannot know, to purchase me back for Himself.

Yet still my heart was cold. Still I was not found faithful.

I heard him knocking. He says, “Open for me my love, my dove, my perfect one.” Yet I slept! I had taken off my robe; how could I put it on again? I had washed my feet; how could I defile them? He, the Lover of my Soul, put his hand by the latch of the door. My heart was awakened. It yearned for him. I arose to open for Him. I opened for Him, but my Beloved had turned away and was gone. I sought Him, but I could not find Him. And I was made lovesick.

Then behold, He allured me, He brought me into the wilderness. There He spoke comfort to me. He made my Valley of Compromise, a gateway of hope. He spoke comfort to me and I sang to Him there. For though He had torn, He healed me. Though He had stricken, He bound me up. He revived me.

He betrothed me to himself forever. Yes, He, my Beloved, betrothed me to Himself. In righteousness and justice, in lovingkindness and mercy, He betrothed me to Him in faithfulness. He told me to no longer call Him ‘My Master’ but said to me, “You will call me my Husband.”

He took from my mouth the name of every other love; I don’t remember them anymore. He is like the dew to me. What have I to do with other loves? What have I to do anymore with idols?

For I was dark, but He called me lovely. And His love is better than wine.

I am lovesick for Him. He has said to me, “Rise up my love, and come away! To the secret places of the cliff, to the clefts of the rock.” For He wants to see my face; He wants to hear my voice, for my voice is sweet to Him, and He has called me lovely.

I have found the One my soul loves. And when I found Him, I held Him. I will not let Him go. He calls me fair. He sees no spot in me. I have ravished His heart. And He has ravished mine. Therefore, until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, I will go my way to the mountain of myrrh.

My beloved is handsome! Chief among ten thousand. His head is like the finest gold. His countenance is like Lebanon. His countenance shines like the sun in all its strength. His voice is as the sound of rushing waters. He is altogether lovely. This is my Beloved, and this is my friend.

I am a garden enclosed, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. But awake, O North Wind, and come O South! Blow upon my garden. Let my Beloved come into his garden. For He has won my heart forever.

I will set Him as a seal upon my heart, a seal upon my arm. His jealousy is as strong as the grave, and many waters cannot quench this love.

Oh love Him with me, you His saints! Long for Him with me, you His Bride! Awaken unto love, Wife of the Lamb! This is Your Beloved. Look upon Him and love.