In Christ Alone

Over two hundred applications and twelve interviews later, I am definitely feeling it. It beats steady and consistent and is not just reserved for the search for employment. It’s there in being denied for volunteer opportunities, being turned away from missions agencies, and, subtly, in the fellowship activities that center on hiking and rock climbing and other things which I simply cannot do.

And I am feeling it.

Rejection. 

But more than that-I feel utterly useless, unwanted.

And I feel dumb. 

The lack of eloquence in such a statement does not escape me, but it is the only adequate way of expressing how I feel: dumb. Dumb because haven’t we been here before, God and I? Didn’t He push me past finding my worth in external things that don’t really matter through the grittiness of not being able to perform even the most basic of functions-bathing, dressing, feeding myself, going to the restroom on my own? Did He not whisper truth to my heart grappling to stay afloat when well-intentioned but entirely ignorant questions assailed me from outsiders: when will you work again? Don’t you want to be healed?

 

He persistently pursued me in that time, challenged everything I claimed to be true but still refused to give up in my heart: my identity lies not in these things the world holds in high esteem: career, education, ability. No, my identity lies in the unchanging and overcoming blood of Christ. It is not in anything I do or do not do, but only in what He already did.

And I know this. This is a hard won truth I’ve clung to in the last few years. So why is it so easy for my heart to revert back to such deception? How can I so quickly lose sight of what was battle won?

It happens so easily because I too readily forget it is a battle.

I know how this battle ends: a King reigning victorious and my prophetic name finally fulfilled in Him. While I know how it ends, I must remember-we must remember- that this battle doesn’t end until He returns or calls me home.

The truth of who I am in Christ is established once and for all at the cross, but it is up to me to daily fight to claim this. It is up to me to claw my way to the cross if I have to and to rest there in His grace. It is up to me to make the audacious choice each and every day-each and every moment at times-to trust in His promises, to be established in what He has done alone. 

I must survey that wondrous cross, must surrender any conception of who I am or what my worth should look like.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

Grace for Today

Lately, I have been struggling.

I find myself so angry. I’ve never thought of myself as an angry person, but in the last few weeks I have felt it rise up in me hot and combative, bubbling over with the bitterness and the frustration.

I know where it comes from. I am not angry because the situation warrants it. I am not angry because I am exhausted and over this situation and this person. I am angry because it is easier to be angry than to be hurt.

So I write a thousand emails and texts that never get sent. Words that assault and cut, a small taste of the emotional abuse I feel I’ve endured. For a moment, I get relief. I imagine the apology that maybe I’d get if I were to press send. Or maybe the argument that might proceed-a longer podium to vent my frustrations at this person. Or maybe just the pain I would cause them.

I imagine how I would feel better.

But the drafts always get deleted. The vindictive fantasies never acted out.

This anger, warranted or not, is selfish. This anger is pride. This anger cares only about winning-a consolation prize to the broken woman it foolishly tries to defend. This anger doesn’t count up the cost of its retaliation against the perpetrator- the perpetrator that happens also to be a sibling in Christ.

What this anger fails to realize, though, in its heated madness, is that Someone else has already counted up the cost. Not just the cost to my currently not very Christ-like sibling in Christ, but also to me. He knows how corrosive it is-this resentment and indignation, how much it would destroy me if I didn’t have a Savior. But I do and He extends out his pierced hands as proof that not only has He counted up the cost, but has paid it in full.

And I am humbled.

Certainly I can see how not like Christ this person has been toward me, but now I am forced to read those unsent messages for what they are: a revelation of the state of my own heart-so short of the One whom I am to imitate. My soul cries out for the forgiveness of the One who never withholds grace and He so readily supplies it. My ugly heart begins to transform, little by little, as His light penetrates, refines, makes new.

And while I would love to bask in the beauty of regeneration, I know that it cannot stop there. I must love as He has loved me. It’s a command and not a request, but His yoke is easy and His burden light. He calls me out, asks me to deny my flesh, to show grace.

So I don’t press send. I pray for my sibling in Christ. I am kind. I show mercy. I am not always perfect at it. I am more than aware that I cannot do it alone. I daily must offer it on the altar of sacrifice.

But I show grace.

This might never end in some beautiful story of reconciliation. It might not ever matter to the recipient. I might not ever fully understand why I must do it. I might not ever have the answers.

But I show grace.

If there is one thing I have learned from my Savior it is this: costly grace is the only kind of grace that matters.

And so I show grace.

This Firstborn is Not Dead

While it has been quite some time since I have last posted, I am in fact not dead. It’s been eight months since I’ve written and in that time a lot has changed and yet a lot has remained the same.

 A major change is that I have a diagnosis! My neurologist has diagnosed me with a movement disorder called dystonia. Depending on how you see things, I am lucky because my symptoms present much more as pain and less as contractures and abnormal postures. How the dystonia has presented, as well as the results of many of my tests, has still left my doctors relatively baffled and so my next step is a university research hospital to see if they have any new insights for me.

After a very rough month of pain at the beginning of the year, I have been feeling the best I’ve felt since I got sick. The Lord has begun healing in my leg and knee, considerably improving my gait and significantly reducing the pain I once had. Because of this, I am regaining a lot of what I lost a year and a half ago, in terms of mobility and normalcy.

Even so, each day is still a struggle. The pain is still very present, even if less so. Sometimes the returning function is more frustrating than being bed-bound because it leaves me impatient for more gains in this area that have yet to be made. The uncertainty of each new day is still very real, as well, as there still seems to be no explanation as to why one day is better or worse than the next.

The one thing that has not changed even a little bit, though, is the goodness of God. I have felt His presence and seen His hand in every detail, moment, tear, and praise that has made up this season and it has been so very good. He has done such a work in me that at times I feel like a completely different person than I was a year and a half ago, or even six months ago. There certainly is not anything quite as sweetly refining as the school of suffering and my heart erupts in praise as I look back on all that He has done for me and in me (and hopefully through me) in this time.

But why eight months of no writing? Mostly I think it has to do with the difficulty of sharing the intensity of this journey when I am in the thick of it. As incredible as this season has been, it has also been very hard and no area of my life has been untouched by it. As a writer, I like a tidy ending. Maybe not always a happy one, but at least a conclusion that makes sense of things. This has seemed nearly impossible at times this past year and a half. While God has molded me through that, it is probably a big reason why I have hesitated to write.

However, there have been many things I have wanted to share throughout this journey of how God has moved and what He has taught me. And so, I have decided to do my own version of “Throwback Thursday” and go through some of my journal entries or reminisce on past events every Thursday. Because I’ll be looking at them retrospectively, most of these entries will likely have tidy endings, but there will probably be many that don’t. And you know what? That’s okay.

Meanwhile, I’ll try to stay current on the things that God is doing in my life and teaching me presently. This journey to Hopeful Valley is not always an easy one and is seldom one I expect, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Hopeful Valley is where the fullness of my Savior is and nothing is ever going to keep me from pressing ever onward toward that destination.