My thoughts of late have been more long-run reflective than usual. As I've spent the past couple of months scrutinizing my life and faith and comparing them against my past, specifically considering what's actually been different for me in my new life, I've noticed a definite trade-off.
I won't deny that I don't live a prosperous life, and I usually feel very much alone. I'm depressed more often than not, and I often question what good end my life and suffering could possibly have. As I reflect, my life in almost no ways resembles what it once was, with regard to this world's standards of success and fulfillment. And while I was never remarkably successful by this world's standards either, I definitely used to be more so in several ways.
But even still, while I don't consider myself to be a happy person, my present circumstances aside, I have to wonder how I lived as long as I did before I had an intellectual knowledge of a purpose behind my existence. Looking back, I know I wrestled with existentialism in varying degrees for several years in my awkward, nihilistic in-between phase. My thought is that I must have survived that through a moderately hedonistic lifestyle; a thing that's instantly gratifying, but nowhere near permanent enough to permit me to take any considerable measure of satisfaction or gather any real sense of worth from it all. But somehow I usually managed to maintain just enough wisdom and foresight to refrain from making any mistakes that would be too overwhelmingly destructive to my future. I guess God was watching over me, even then.
The trade, then, was what was a generally happier lifestyle, for one that actually serves a higher purpose, for something greater than myself and this world's petty pleasures.
I am not content in my life. My hopes and dreams for it are yet unfulfilled, and some or all of them may always be so. I still go through a daily roller coaster of depression and hopeless feelings. And yet, I know those feelings to be fleeting, and I know my hopes and dreams are paltry when compared against what God has in store. Trusting in Him daily has been difficult, but not impossible, because I know that despite my present sufferings, I would not trade them for the empty, purposeless life I once lived. This darkness is only temporary, and I have to believe that God will see me through it, to a better result than I can comprehend.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Arrival of Love
I'm what you might call hyper-sensitive to my sins. After all, as introspective as I get pretty often, it'd be hard to not at least be aware of my shortcomings. And they are many. It's something I try, with mixed results, to work on. Still, even aware as I am, it's appalling how often I seem to lose control and fall prey to the patterns of sin I know I'll later regret.
There are reasons behind my sins, of course; things like getting distracted or overwhelmed under given circumstances, or just being undisciplined in general. Part of my growth is in learning how to deal with these issues. But my purpose now is neither to explain nor even address these problems and solutions.
I know I'm, by far, not the only one to go through this behavioral pattern. But I'm always ashamed when I mess up. Too often I lose my temper or fall into a deep, dark depression, say a lot of things I don't mean, and think even more things I can otherwise acknowledge as being completely irrational. When I later snap out of these negative mindsets, there's often a lot to account for to other people, ending with apologies that I'm sure sound progressively less genuine each time. They do to me, anyway.
Such a thing happened again recently. I'm not sure if my poor attitude and mindset actually manifested in a way that was noticeable to other people, but I was certainly conscious of it, and that was enough for me. Sin is sin, after all.
My normal pattern after losing control like that is to seclude myself somewhere and degrade myself in that solitude. But for some reason, that was not my reaction this time. While I did go off by myself and have some pretty negative thoughts, when it came down to it, what I felt compelled to do instead was address God directly. I asked Him for forgiveness.
It was amazing, what happened next. I had a wash of memories of people telling me how much God loves me, how pleased He is with me, and how He has great things planned for my life. I suddenly remembered God's love for His children. Not just an awareness, but an actual realization of His love for specifically me, at least to an extent. It felt like He was telling me that He loved me no less because of my sins, and that my repentance from them was what pleased Him.
This is evidence of God's predilection for taking our innate destructiveness and using even that to deepen our relationship with Him. A way of showing that not only is no one beyond redemption, but that when someone is so redeemed, it serves an even higher purpose: His glory through unthinkable grace and forgiveness.
There are reasons behind my sins, of course; things like getting distracted or overwhelmed under given circumstances, or just being undisciplined in general. Part of my growth is in learning how to deal with these issues. But my purpose now is neither to explain nor even address these problems and solutions.
I know I'm, by far, not the only one to go through this behavioral pattern. But I'm always ashamed when I mess up. Too often I lose my temper or fall into a deep, dark depression, say a lot of things I don't mean, and think even more things I can otherwise acknowledge as being completely irrational. When I later snap out of these negative mindsets, there's often a lot to account for to other people, ending with apologies that I'm sure sound progressively less genuine each time. They do to me, anyway.
Such a thing happened again recently. I'm not sure if my poor attitude and mindset actually manifested in a way that was noticeable to other people, but I was certainly conscious of it, and that was enough for me. Sin is sin, after all.
My normal pattern after losing control like that is to seclude myself somewhere and degrade myself in that solitude. But for some reason, that was not my reaction this time. While I did go off by myself and have some pretty negative thoughts, when it came down to it, what I felt compelled to do instead was address God directly. I asked Him for forgiveness.
It was amazing, what happened next. I had a wash of memories of people telling me how much God loves me, how pleased He is with me, and how He has great things planned for my life. I suddenly remembered God's love for His children. Not just an awareness, but an actual realization of His love for specifically me, at least to an extent. It felt like He was telling me that He loved me no less because of my sins, and that my repentance from them was what pleased Him.
This is evidence of God's predilection for taking our innate destructiveness and using even that to deepen our relationship with Him. A way of showing that not only is no one beyond redemption, but that when someone is so redeemed, it serves an even higher purpose: His glory through unthinkable grace and forgiveness.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Trust
Over the years, I've watched many people rebel against God, or give up their faith and walk away from Him entirely. It's only increasingly pursuing Him myself over the past couple that's caused me to feel the weight of sorrow at the sheer tragedy of that.
It's hard acknowledging that there's no person with all the answers; no person that will never falter; no person I can use as a rock, to keep me steady. With this on my mind, I'm reminded of how much I put other people on pedestals. And as time passes and life happens, bringing with them the trials that truly test us, one by one, these people fall off their pedestals, leaving me with a lot of trouble trusting again.
Ultimately I know this is another cleansing fire for me. And what it means is that it's time for me to start putting all of my trust in God, which is something I've always had trouble with. That's what lies at the very heart of my doubt. It's never been a question of disbelief, only of trusting that God has me, my life, and every circumstance therein carefully cupped in His hands, and that He cares enough about it all to take care of it.
I don't believe this means I can't trust other people. But it does mean to trust them within the confines of the understanding that they will fall and fail, whereas God never will. This, too, is something with which I've struggled, because of my desire to be able to completely trust someone who's physically and tangibly there. But where wisdom from others has fallen on my deaf ears, repeated experience has proven futility in such a desire.
It's always been more or less binary for me: either a person can be trusted universally, or they can't be trusted at all. But that's not the truth. Trust between people has to be gradual, and never absolute. That's an aspect of relationship that's exclusively for God, and I think will be a sign of maturing faith when it's there. He wants my absolute trust, and it cannot be shared with other things.
It's hard acknowledging that there's no person with all the answers; no person that will never falter; no person I can use as a rock, to keep me steady. With this on my mind, I'm reminded of how much I put other people on pedestals. And as time passes and life happens, bringing with them the trials that truly test us, one by one, these people fall off their pedestals, leaving me with a lot of trouble trusting again.
Ultimately I know this is another cleansing fire for me. And what it means is that it's time for me to start putting all of my trust in God, which is something I've always had trouble with. That's what lies at the very heart of my doubt. It's never been a question of disbelief, only of trusting that God has me, my life, and every circumstance therein carefully cupped in His hands, and that He cares enough about it all to take care of it.
I don't believe this means I can't trust other people. But it does mean to trust them within the confines of the understanding that they will fall and fail, whereas God never will. This, too, is something with which I've struggled, because of my desire to be able to completely trust someone who's physically and tangibly there. But where wisdom from others has fallen on my deaf ears, repeated experience has proven futility in such a desire.
It's always been more or less binary for me: either a person can be trusted universally, or they can't be trusted at all. But that's not the truth. Trust between people has to be gradual, and never absolute. That's an aspect of relationship that's exclusively for God, and I think will be a sign of maturing faith when it's there. He wants my absolute trust, and it cannot be shared with other things.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Tragedy and Triumph
For years I've wondered something about the way God works. Now first, let's work around the fact that we aren't always meant to understand God's ways; that's another discussion. But I've always wondered why He doesn't reveal Himself to those seeking Him in an obviously supernatural, benevolent way, to reassure us during trials of faith.
The clear answer behind this is the abundance of examples given in the Bible, during which times God's hand was supernaturally obvious, and yet the people were still unfathomably faithless. There is no one passage for this, because that's basically the theme of humanity throughout the Bible and history itself.
The primary example that comes to mind is all that befell the nation of Israel throughout the entire Old Testament. My thoughts begin in Exodus, with their enslavement and subsequent liberation that could have been nothing but God's work. Plagues of the nature and magnitude shown don't just happen. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that ours is the one true God.
Yet, two things we see.
The first, and smaller to scale, is the repetitive reaction of Pharaoh. Despite seeing things progressively more supernatural, things that could not be explained but by the hand of an all-powerful God, still his heart was hardened. It wasn't until after the people had suffered ten plagues, his staff had acknowledged God's sovereignty, God had answered a plea on his behalf, he had claimed repentance (but apparently wasn't genuine), and he had lost his own firstborn (along with everyone else's throughout Egypt), that he finally relented to God's will. And even then, he still went back on his word. These actions can't be justified by saying that Pharaoh didn't believe that God is almighty and worthy of his worship and obedience. Pharaoh's was a simple rebellion against what he must have known to be right all along, but had too much pride to truly repent and make amends.
The second, on a much broader scale, is the redundant theme of faithlessness from the Israelites. Time and time again we catch glimpses of them worshiping other gods, even as soon as right after their liberation from Egypt, and pretty much onward from there. Meanwhile, all throughout the Old Testament, we also continue to see undisguised acts of God. But again, these miracles did nothing to make the people more faithful.
Speaking from firsthand experience, I've been forced to acknowledge God's work, because some things just can't be chalked up to coincidence or imagination. Therefore, intellectually, I know and believe that God is there, almighty, and worthy of our full devotion. Yet, a cheerful, joyful, eager servant has never been a descriptor I would use for myself (though rest assured, I want to be that).
From these examples, it's clear that knowledge of God's will and willingness to lovingly do it are two separate entities.
Now, finally, let's observe a modern-day relational dynamic: that of a parent and child. All too often I've seen the effects of bad parenting manifesting as not enough discipline. The consequences are twofold. One, the child becomes spoiled and self-centered and develops a sense of entitlement. Two, the child has no respect for the authority of the parent, or anyone, for that matter.
As followers of Christ, we are God's children. And as our Father, He knows best how to parent us. Discipline is necessary when there's an impurity in our hearts, and sometimes our hearts require a complete overhaul. The process in such a crucible is neither short nor painless. The change wouldn't happen if God just proceeded to dote on us; we would remain spoiled and rebellious in our hearts, even if we were "following the rules."
My conclusion is that hardship, which is permitted by God, is not intended to be just incentive to change our ways, on account of knowing that they're the consequences for misdeeds. These trials are intended for so much more: to cultivate our hearts, so that they will produce fruits of the spirit. This is something that can't be rushed, because the faithful, loving relationship between us and Him is shaped, over time, by this discipline.
It's encouraging for me to know, on a personal level, that God's work in my life will not be fruitless; that the peace and joy in Christ that I long for is part of what He has in store for me.
The clear answer behind this is the abundance of examples given in the Bible, during which times God's hand was supernaturally obvious, and yet the people were still unfathomably faithless. There is no one passage for this, because that's basically the theme of humanity throughout the Bible and history itself.
The primary example that comes to mind is all that befell the nation of Israel throughout the entire Old Testament. My thoughts begin in Exodus, with their enslavement and subsequent liberation that could have been nothing but God's work. Plagues of the nature and magnitude shown don't just happen. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that ours is the one true God.
Yet, two things we see.
The first, and smaller to scale, is the repetitive reaction of Pharaoh. Despite seeing things progressively more supernatural, things that could not be explained but by the hand of an all-powerful God, still his heart was hardened. It wasn't until after the people had suffered ten plagues, his staff had acknowledged God's sovereignty, God had answered a plea on his behalf, he had claimed repentance (but apparently wasn't genuine), and he had lost his own firstborn (along with everyone else's throughout Egypt), that he finally relented to God's will. And even then, he still went back on his word. These actions can't be justified by saying that Pharaoh didn't believe that God is almighty and worthy of his worship and obedience. Pharaoh's was a simple rebellion against what he must have known to be right all along, but had too much pride to truly repent and make amends.
The second, on a much broader scale, is the redundant theme of faithlessness from the Israelites. Time and time again we catch glimpses of them worshiping other gods, even as soon as right after their liberation from Egypt, and pretty much onward from there. Meanwhile, all throughout the Old Testament, we also continue to see undisguised acts of God. But again, these miracles did nothing to make the people more faithful.
Speaking from firsthand experience, I've been forced to acknowledge God's work, because some things just can't be chalked up to coincidence or imagination. Therefore, intellectually, I know and believe that God is there, almighty, and worthy of our full devotion. Yet, a cheerful, joyful, eager servant has never been a descriptor I would use for myself (though rest assured, I want to be that).
From these examples, it's clear that knowledge of God's will and willingness to lovingly do it are two separate entities.
Now, finally, let's observe a modern-day relational dynamic: that of a parent and child. All too often I've seen the effects of bad parenting manifesting as not enough discipline. The consequences are twofold. One, the child becomes spoiled and self-centered and develops a sense of entitlement. Two, the child has no respect for the authority of the parent, or anyone, for that matter.
As followers of Christ, we are God's children. And as our Father, He knows best how to parent us. Discipline is necessary when there's an impurity in our hearts, and sometimes our hearts require a complete overhaul. The process in such a crucible is neither short nor painless. The change wouldn't happen if God just proceeded to dote on us; we would remain spoiled and rebellious in our hearts, even if we were "following the rules."
My conclusion is that hardship, which is permitted by God, is not intended to be just incentive to change our ways, on account of knowing that they're the consequences for misdeeds. These trials are intended for so much more: to cultivate our hearts, so that they will produce fruits of the spirit. This is something that can't be rushed, because the faithful, loving relationship between us and Him is shaped, over time, by this discipline.
It's encouraging for me to know, on a personal level, that God's work in my life will not be fruitless; that the peace and joy in Christ that I long for is part of what He has in store for me.
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