It’s been awhile since I’ve posted here. I’ve missed it! But I also have been enjoying my life…my very busy but extremely blessed life.
And…some exciting things have been going on! I’d love for you, my readers, to follow me as God leads me “further up and further in”
Over the next few months, I’ll be blogging over at a new place, Scripted by Love.
Click on over to read about my journey… to AFRICA!
Still Pressing On,
Rebecca
Had a sweet time learning this song with some friends tonight. It’s a reminder of who Christ is and who I am in Him. A reminder I need every single pride-poxed, worry-saturated day.
Soak in the gospel truth. Breathe deeply the love that overflows for you in your most lonely times, the love that seeks you out when you think you are beyond finding out, the love that calls you home and that is your home.
Make these words your own
The King of love is mine. And because of this, my life is good all the time.
The King of love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never,
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine forever.
Where streams of living water flow
My ransomed soul He leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow,
With food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.
In death’s dark vale I fear no ill
With Thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.
Thou spread’st a table in my sight;
Thy unction grace bestoweth;
And O what transport of delight
From Thy pure chalice floweth!
And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never;
Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house forever.
We have a problem every summer. A mysterious, ugly plant appears in our front garden, right by our porch. Well, it’s no longer a mystery since we all know by now what it is but everyone pretends we don’t. We ignore it’s exponential growth, we overlook the way it obnoxiously crawls over our walkway and our guests need to take a detour just to get to our front door. Finally, one day in late August, someone will make the flabbergasted yet equally expected announcement: “Guys, there are PUMPKINS growing in the front yard!”
It’s one of the first signs that fall is on its way.
Summer is ending. Signs of it’s departure are everywhere — the big yellow school buses that make my drive to work just a hint more stressful; the cool mornings ideal for early runs; the “autumn glow” just as the sun is setting.
Today our Junior High Sunday School class graduated and we said bittersweet farewells to girls who have grown so much in the past year. My sisters and I are also affected by this “growing up” phenomenon — now all out of high school, I watch my younger sister head off to college and my older sister to grad school. Both our trampoline and our pool were taken down this year, mementos of our childhood, reminders that snapshots in time do not last forever.
I love the changing seasons. The way nature naturally slips into a new mood and dons a new look. Familiar patterns fading away and making room for new ones. It’s a soothing reminder that though “time like an ever rolling stream” is fleeting so quickly by, God remains faithfully just the same as the seasons faithfully change every year.
Summer and winter and sprintime and harvest. Sun, moon, and stars in their courses above. Held together by the Author of Redemptive history.
Just as I am.
All the changes I see around me are symbolic of God doing new things inside me, the Holy Spirit changing me.
I am learning that sometimes I need to go through ugly times — vine-y, awkward growing stages — before I see the beautiful results God is planning all along. Often I resist from the change process, afraid of the pain it may inflict. When He touches the sensitive parts of me — that one relationship, that one sin I won’t let go, that one fear I can’t overcome — I cringe, much in the same way I shrink back from getting a shot at the doctor’s office, though I know the vaccine is for my good.
And yet where there is pain, there is also life. Where there is the seed of Christ’s life, there His Holy Spirit is moving and making with gentle, gracious hands. I may need to spend some uncomfortable time in the dirty “depths” so I might “learn by paradox that the way down is the way up, that to be low is to be high, that the broken heart is the healed heart, that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, that the repenting soul is the victorious soul, that to have nothing is to possess all, that to bear the cross is to wear the crown, that to give is to receive, that the valley is the place of vision” (Valley of Vision xxiv).
Sometimes I appear a haphazard weed, but God sees me as a work in progress, planted with care and being prepared in time for the harvest.
Let us fear the LORD our God, who gives the rain in its season, the autumn rain and the spring rain, and keeps for us the weeks appointed for the harvest.’ (Jeremiah 5:24). He is working His way — in history, in Creation, and in the garden of my heart.
Yes, from this overgrown tangle, You are making something beautiful. And for that I join with all nature in manifold witness to Your great faithfulness, mercy and love.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven….
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end…..I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him.
(Ecclesiastes 3)
I don’t typically think of myself as a super restless person, but it sure is hard for me to be still. Give me a Styrofoam cup and it will inevitably be shredded to pieces. Give me a pen and every scrap of paper in sight will be covered in doodles. Put me in a boot the size and weight of a small child, instruct me to spend a week with my feet up, and I will find innumerable excuses to disobey.
Ever since I came home from surgery with my leg in a trap, I’ve grumbled against the inconvenience. My movement is severely limited, I’m in a constant state of discomfort, and all my pretty sandals sit lonely in the dark garage. I can’t run, I can’t drive, I can’t work, I can’t play games or garden or shower or sleep properly. Basically I can’t live.
And clearly I don’t deal well with inconveniences. I lash out in frustration, I fight against it, I grumble and complain and blame. I try vigorously to restore “normality”. Which is why my I’m not the best patient in the world, as you might already know.
A bit of perspective was gained this Memorial Day as I sat dipping one foot in the pool, talking with my sister and neighbor. Both of them are preparing to leave for a foreign mission field before the year is out — one to Japan, the other to Cambodia. As I listened to them talk enthusiastically about the places they are going, heard the passion in their voices, and watched their eyes sparkle with excitement and glisten with compassionate tears, I felt a small stirring in my heart.
These two women were beautiful pictures of what it means to joyfully follow Christ. Each of them committed to leaving their homes, their families, their culture, everything familiar and comfortable and making their home among a people, culture, and language they do not know. But each time the challenges were mentioned, they were treated as small bumps in the road to a much higher end. They were so caught up in a passion for God’s glory and a love for people that little inconveniences were far from robbing their joy and purpose.
I looked down at my sorry foot. Some pool water had splashed on the bandage and the tape was loosening. What higher purpose was God calling me to? How was I allowing the small “hiccups” to distract me from the joy and fulfillment prepared for me?
The Good Samaritan was a hero because he was interrupted on his journey. Paul, Mother Theresa, David Brainerd, Jim Elliot — all embraced an inconvenient life because in it, they found the greatest reward. Their lives aren’t marked by a slavish resignation or passive martyrdom but by a radiant joy at experiencing eternal gain in the midst of earthly loss.
Who am I, sitting on the front porch on a sunny May morning, drowning in blessings to hold out happiness because of one thing I think I lack? How can I say to God: “It is not good?”
Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt? (Matthew 14:31). No situation, person or problem enters my world randomly. Each one is sovereignly injected by the omniscient God. Here is one microscopic moment I can choose to accept the wisdom of the Almighty. If I shut my grumbling mouth and open my clenched eyes, I see His gifts.
In these past days of forced quietness, there have been opportunities to spend long and meaningful times in Scripture. A stagnant sense of “duty” that dictated recent devotional times has been replaced by a vibrant desire to delve into God’s Word and discover daily truth. For that, I thank and praise the Lord.
I treasure the meaningful conversations I’ve had from the recliner — so often missed in the rush of life. I’m grateful for the patience and grace I’ve experienced from my family.
I love visits from friends. Especially when they include cheerful flowers.
Trust, faith, joy, and peace are attributes that can’t be fully grasped in convenient times. I’m praying that I learn this small lesson so when the larger trials come, I will readily, humbly, and joyfully embrace the life God’s called me to lead.
“Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love….
until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood,to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ,so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves…” (Ephesians 4)
Little sister is slamming cupboards and whipping oatmeal in the kitchen. Coffee pot is gurgling. Kari Jobe’s voice is drifting in from the other room.
I’m reveling in the noises of happy quietness this morning.
It’s the second morning I’ve woken up and had the luxury of asking “What will I do today?” Because school is officially over until the fall.
Big sigh of relief. And then I remember the war zone called my room I promised to attack first day of break. Ugh.
It’s a wonderful feeling to be free from an avalanche of assignments and flashcards and the pressure of racing against the clock and cramming all night long. But, the freedom doesn’t feel quite like I expected it to — I don’t feel like my mind has slowed. Like the treadmill has stopped but I’m still running and panting for breath.
In both times of busyness and times of quietness, I struggle to be still. There is the temptation to occupy my mind with a thousand things that don’t matter. I allow myself to be interrupted and distracted by dining alarms and flashing screens. My mind is like my cluttered room — piles of unfinished thoughts, jumbled and tossed about with no room to spare. Crammed to the max. No room, no room.
I don’t think I’m the only one. When Jesus came to earth, most people were too preoccupied with their earthly lives to receive Him. From the first unavailable bed in Bethlehem to his borrowed tomb, Christ came to a noisy world that was not willing to stop and consider Him.
But He still did come. And He calls me now — “Be still and know that I am God”.
There is a powerful, almost shocking influence of this call to stillness, a summons to come to a complete stop and to turn off the constant whirring and whizzing of my thoughts. This is the place I must be to know the truth of who God is.
It is an all-consuming knowledge. Knowing God requires me to be preoccupied in that one thought – a driven mental pursuit of “seeking the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (Colossians 3:1).
To every cluttering impurity, the mind that is preoccupied with Christ says: “No room!” No room for selfish thoughts, no room for vanity, no room for man-made belief systems. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2)
Richard Baxter says “It is right that our hearts should be on God, when the heart of God is so much on us.” I am ashamed by how much my heart is on other things. It is almost as though I find security and comfort in earthly preoccupations — thinking about what I am going to do, what my friends are doing, what I’m wearing, what I’m spending money on — but in reality these preoccupations only lead to worrying and weariness because I am really not in control.
I am reaching out for this blessed promise: “You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You” (Isaiah 26:3). Being wholly consumed with one thought — Christ — is the only thing that will anchor me in this world and prepare me for the hope of the world to come. I cannot truly understand what it means to “be still”. As much as my soul fights the vulnerability of letting go, I am finding that the more I am still, the more I know God and the more I know Him, the more I value the stillness to meditate on what I know. Those quiet moments are when I am made most alive and when the mind of Christ – His glory, character, and image — most grows in me
While I am on break from school, I want to be intentional about being quiet before the Lord. I want to actively seek Him in prayer and to diligently meditate and treasure His word. I want to live conscious of His presence, His grace, His will, asking that He will quiet me by His love (Zephaniah 3:17).
It’s an enduring, pervasive, joyful quietness no earthly thing can shake.
Snapshot #1: Standing on the corner of a busy city intersection. The sun is blocked by high buildings and shade trees. I shiver from an early spring breeze, pulling the sign in my hands closer to my body. A woman leans out the window: “Are you standing here against abortion? You are in the wrong place – don’t you know this is Planned Parenthood?” She pulls away before I can answer – Yes, I know I am standing in a place marked by death and the defeat of life. I am here for the lives quickly ended like little lights that were never given an opportunity to shine.
Snapshot #2: Standing in a tranquil forest peering beyond an iron gate to Thomas Jefferson’s grave. Though it is mid-day, large trees keep this spot ever shaded. Two little boys beside me eagerly run up, clutching nickels in their fingers. “Thomas Jefferson is right there!” one of them exclaims impressively. Yes, here is the stone to mark a great life, in a few moments I will walk the gardens the president tended and stand in the hall where other great men from around the world waited to speak with him. But no one waits there now, expecting Mr. Jefferson to step out of the library. He will not be coming, because he is not really here.
Snapshot #3: On my hands and knees picking up a thousand shards of broken glass. In a clumsy moment, a lamp was knocked off the table, the bulb hitting hard against a chair and shattering at my feet. The light snuffed out can’t be restored. Simply flipping a switch or plugging in a cord can’t bring it back. Even if I carefully and perfectly re-glue every piece of glass back into its original place, there is no way I could bring back the bulb’s ability to shine. Anyway, the glass has shattered so completely there is no way I will be able to find every speck hidden in the plush carpet.
Life is so fragile. It must have seemed that way to the disciples kneeling broken-hearted at the foot of the cross and to the women coming to a tomb to mourn their Master’s death. Hope –for a fleeting moment, a bursting song of joy – was now silent as the grave.
And yet…Jesus. Jesus does not stay silent when darkness and death happen – even when they happen to him. He does not stay hanging on a cross or behind a stone-sealed tomb. No, He enters in and breaks through – a gleaming shaft of light in a dark room, a spring of water bursting out of dry ground. He came to earth and here spilt His blood, leaving it forever changed.
Jesus changes all of it. Jesus changes all of me.
He, the Holy Son of God, became fragile and broken just like me, sharing in all the pain and grief of humanity, so I could share in the transformation of His resurrection. All things made new. I no longer need to keep on sinning because sin’s power over me has been vanquished. I don’t suffer alone because Jesus has borne the full weight of my sufferings. I have a hope and a purpose for my life because eternity has been secured by my risen, reigning Savior.
“Amazing love, how can it be? That God should plunge the knife in His heart for me — all the while, me, dry and indifferent, cool and detached. That He, the God of life, should conquer death by embracing it. That He should destroy the power of sin by letting it destroy Him”
- Joni Eareckson Tada
How grateful I am that Jesus did not leave me where I was – alone, broken and helpless. How grateful I am that He did not stay where He was, but is right here!
Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ! Not the deadliest, most condemning sin; not the most painful suffering, not the solitude of death or the darkness of the tomb. Nothing can sever my tie to the One “who died — more than that, who was raised — who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (Romans 8:34). In Him, because of Him, there are no moments in my life that His resurrection does infiltrate. Even death holds no sting – to live is Christ, to die is gain! I am resurrected to a new life.
To know the Savior is to be made complete. Made alive. Made joyous. He is risen!
Rounding the corner, a long line of brake lights came into view. My already rapidly beating heart flew into my throat.
My first reaction was to look at the gas gauge. Dead on Empty. Dropping every minute. Next I looked at the clock. 4 minutes to get to work on time. Hope was fading fast.
I had no idea which would run out first, gas or time. Either way, I wasn’t gaining either by sitting here dead still in traffic. I wish I could say I prayed, but I was too concerned with my pounding heart-rate and racing thoughts.
With a sputtering engine and a handful of seconds, I fell out of the car and dashed into the coffee shop. Only to find out I was never scheduled to work in the first place.
If I was a few decades older, I’m sure I would have had a heart attack on the spot. I immediately felt relieved, stunned and foolish all at the same time. All that hurry and stress and now what did it matter? I filled up the tank with gas and took the long route home, all the way reevaluating my priorities (or lack thereof) with how I spend my time.
Always in a hurry, running between appointments and schedules and meetings. Balancing work with school with church activities. Packing lunch to eat on the road. Digging through piles of clothes for your sweatshirt because whohastimetohangandfoldthingsanyway?
It’s highly doubtful I need to explain to you what busy feels like. In a nutshell: sore feet, wet hair, and wrinkled clothes. That’s what busy feels like.
And what is the point of it all? Going nonstop lately, doing many things and yet none of them very well. I’m not proud = that I submit online assignments minutes before they are due (although that 11:58 submission was pretty impressive). When I got lost trying to follow chicken-scratch directions hastily copied onto a paper towel, my mom told me I had to stop living on the edge and learn how to read a map. If I could find one…
It’s times like these I need an Christ-intervention like Martha had: “”Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41-42)
Like Martha, I am easily distracted by things that in the light of eternity do not truly matter. I like to be busy. And to be busy is good. But is there a purpose in my busyness? For whose kingdom am I expending my energy? Like Martha, above plans and deadlines and obligations, there is one greatest possession that should be the driving force of what I daily do: the greatest possession is close fellowship with the Lord as my portion in life.
To love this life, but not be too attached to it is one of the greatest struggles. We can’t see, plan, or fathom eternity so we build our “secure” earthly homes, accumulating and tying ourselves to material tangibles as if they will create identity and purpose.
We long for heaven and the peace promised there from all our earthy cares and labors. But do we want to get there and feel that there was more work for Christ we could have done? Or that we wasted the time we did chasing after the wind? The challenge we have before us is to live fully, with the goal of heaven and fellowship with Christ always in our view. Seeing the finish line before us, running as hard and focused as we can, determined to hold nothing back.
I think of all great heroes of the faith who lived to the utmost because they were mindful of short time on earth:
Jim Elliot’s passion was the unreached people of the world and his purpose throughout college was to study the Bible so he could bring it where it had never been. In 1956, he and four other missionaries were killed bearing the gospel to the Auca tribe in Ecuador:
“God, I pray Thee, light these idle sticks of my life and may I burn for Thee. Consume my life, my God, for it is Thine. I seek not a long life, but a full one, like you, LORD Jesus.”
David Brainerd spent his youth as a missionary to the American Indians in the 18th century until he died of tuberculosis at the age of twenty-nine.
“ I love to live on the brink of eternity…Oh, that I could spend every moment of my life to God’s glory!”
As a college student, Betty Scott Stam met her husband John at a meeting for the China Inland Mission. Only a few years later, twenty-eight years old and the mother of a three-month old, Betty was captured by the Chinese Communist and sentenced to death.
“Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt, work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever.”
Were these wasted lives? No, they were lives determined to give all for what truly matters – knowing Christ and making Him known. They looked carefully how they walked, redeeming their time because their time was short. Busy, not but foolishly hurried. Living fully, but not afraid to die.
Lord, teach me Your way.
How is twenty supposed to feel?
It has come and I still have no idea.
I thought by now I’d be finally grown up, but I find my “little self” is still very much here.
I still panic at needles, big dogs and stepping on the down escalator. I still spend money on foolish things. I still think my pajamas are the best clothes I own. I still need my dad to change the oil in the car.
And still, the older I get the more I see how far I have to go.
What does twenty feel like? Just a greater realization of how needy I am. A growing understanding of how dependent I am on God. A greater appreciation for the relationship that supports my existence.
I just heard a missionary speak of the need to “evangelize believers” — the idea that the gospel needs to be preached not only to unbelievers but is vitally essential to those who claim to live their lives by Christ’s name.
How true this is. Every day of my twenty years has been marked by the gospel. It has been about ten years that I’ve acknowledged it. There are still days I fail to recognize it’s presence in my life.
Forgiveness, grace, love. Every single day.
And if I’m blessed to live another twenty years, it will be more of the same.
Because God never changes.
He will continue to show Himself strong in my weakness. Faithful in my emotional swings. Sovereign in my future. Patient in my slow understanding. Active in my sanctification.
I may not know who I exactly am, but I do know who God is. And that makes all the difference.
Without Him, I would be frightened to “press on” into the future…especially if it contains needles and big dogs.
Oh, but with Him?
It is good to be alive.
For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. ~ Ephesians 2:10
I’m a people watcher.
I just know that one day I’m going to be one of those old people who sit for hours on a bench in the middle of the mall. People are so interesting.
Working in a coffee shop gives me ample opportunities to exercise my observations skills. The door jingles open and immediately I build a profile for the customer opening the door. Laptop, bookbag, must be a student…Aah, no what’s that he’s holding? A photo album…he’s waiting for someone. A couple’s walking in…she’s got a ring…Aha! He’s a wedding photographer!
Clearly, I’m easily entertained.
Sometimes, though, I am not always right. Sometimes I make up dramatic identities that wind up being wildly far from reality. Those are usually the “regulars,” the people I’ve gotten to know. .
I am really growing fond of the regulars, despite their surprisingly “normal” lives. I like the way their eyes light up when I remember their special latte flavor — one lady nearly melted when I saw her coming and started making a sugar-free iced pumpkin chai with half skim milk and half whole milk. I had a long conversation over glazed doughnuts with a new friend needed someone to listen to his job stress. One elderly man was so tickled over our common nutrition and fitness interests that he brought me a present: a small bag of chia seeds. That I even knew what they were thrilled him.
This little moments make me realize how just a small effort to know someone means so much. To them, to me.
I’ve been reading Hosea for the past few weeks and been blown away by the treasures found in a book I used to think had little application for my life.
“I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord.”
What I’m learning from Hosea is this: Knowing Christ is the oxygen of my existence. I bring glory to God when I actively pursue my created purpose to know Him.
Israel’s greatest sin was failing to know God. They were chosen to be in a binding grace-driven covenant with the Creator and yet they failed to keep their covenant obligation by rejecting the gospel and living in willful forgetfulness of God’s call upon their lives.
So ungrateful. So like me. God has made Himself known to me and chosen to reveal Himself in my life. “To you it was shown, that you might know the Lord Himself is God; there is none other besides Him.” And somehow, I don’t see Him.
His truth is all around me; His love sustains me; His grace saves me; His strength carries me. His Word is living and active. His ears are attentive to every sigh of prayer. To not know the Lord is to shut my eyes tightly against reality. To fight blindly against all that is true. To deliberately bury my head in the sand and there complain for lack of air.
The marvelous truth: God doesn’t leave me alone. He graciously enters my life and engages my heart. He desires that His people know Him, that they participate in worship with a full steadfast heart. ”I will give them a heart to know that I am the Lord, and they shall be my people and I will be their God, for they shall return to me with their whole heart” (Jeremiah 24:7) He is gracious when I am inattentive and ungrateful and lovingly restores our covenant relationship. In my heart is planted a hunger that is satisfied — and at the same time enlarged — by worship.
I desire to give attention to observing God in the same way I enjoy watching and learning about other people. What pleases Him? What does He do and what does He think about what I do?
It’s the little moments of growing in God-consciousness that make me realize how much knowing the Creator of my soul means. No one can see so deeply into the crevices of my thoughts and emotions. The more I learn of God’s character and the bigger vision I have of who He is, the more blessed I feel that such a big and holy Lord knows me.
“Let us know; let us press on to know that Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth” (Hosea 6)
To know You is to want to know You more.
Suddenly, I have an urge to sit on the bench in the middle of the mall and contemplate the big truths of life.
Valentines Day has come and gone.
Relationships are formed and relationships are broken.
The concept of love in our culture is a sorry tangle of conflicting messages and images.
And yet, the love that holds me close is the same today as it was yesterday and will be forever. Every day, the One who wooed my heart reminds me again how much He cares for me. The longer I know Him, the more I realize how much there is to learn and it thrills my heart to think I have an eternity to do so.
“And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD” (Hosea 2:19-20)
Sweeter than the most fragrant flowers or creamiest chocolate is the love Jesus has poured into my heart. Precious because it is much more valuable than I will ever know. Undeserved, unearned, and yet given freely.
When the storms of life knock me about, when way ahead is hazy and unclear, this one thing I know: “Neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers,nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39)
To know this is true, complete joy.
Lord, I do not want to be merely satisfied by Your love. I want to be enlivened, transformed, and overflowing. My feeble affection is a small droplet beside Your vast ocean, and yet I pray that would be all Yours.
O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
