Fullest Salvation

The week after I broke up with Aaron, Y’shua brought up Psalm 34 in a group setting. Our instructions were to read it and focus a phrase or verse the Holy Spirit highlighted. I couldn’t get past the first line: I will bless the Lord at all times. Two words really—all times. ALL times. And that moment was one of those times, right then, when my heart was breaking and I was confused, just beginning to even find words for the swarm of questions. Bless the Lord. I didn’t want to open my mouth and share. I waited until the last possible moment, but I felt I had to. It was a choice of obedience. I was brutally honest. I don’t feel like thanking the Lord right now. I’m hurting. I’m confused. This isn’t fun. But I have to declare His goodness. He is good. And I bless Him.

That Psalm hounded me. It showed up in the church the next morning, in a book I was reading, in a hand-written card from my grandmother. Okay God, I get it. Gratitude will get me out of this mess.

But I didn’t get it. Not fully. Because I slipped into a disorienting mess within my heart—not so much with processing Aaron as everything else hard in my life that followed. I haven’t been grateful. I haven’t willed my eyes to see the good. I’ve focused on the hard until it has consumed my world. And I’ve complained. It’s too much. God, you are crushing me. So aren’t I justified in not being grateful?

Last September I read a book by Ann Voskamp entitled One Thousand Gifts. It’s all about gratitude being the entrance to joy, even in the midst of the hard. I thought I needed it last fall—and I did—but not nearly as much as I need it now. I’m just begun to re-read it slowly, nibbling on its pages. And the idea that is sticking out so boldly now is not just that gratitude is the secret to unlocking joy, but that gratitude is the means of bringing about the fullness of my salvation; it’s the proof that I really have said Yes! to Y’shua and meant it. “Our salvation in Christ is real, yet the completeness of that salvation is not fully realized in a life until the life realizes the need to give thanks” (40).

She points out that ingratitude is not just a product of my sinfulness—it’s the cause of my sin. “Non-eucharisteo, ingratitude, was the fall—humanity’s discontent with all that God freely gives. That is what has scraped me raw: ungratefulness. Then to find Eden, the abundance of Paradise, I’d need to forsake my non-eucharisteo, my bruised and bloodied ungrateful life, and grab hold to eucharisteo, a lifestyle of thanksgiving” (35).

Really, Lord? In the midst of this mess you want me to thank you? And of course, the answer is yes. Right now. In this mess. Especially in this mess. And not just me finding something good to thank God for in the midst of the bad—those things we grasp at when we are desperate like sunsets, sisters, cups of tea, air to breathe—but to thank Him for was seems to be so bad. Because it’s not bad. It’s good, because He’s sovereign and He has allowed it to strip me of what is harming myself and bring me into conformity with Himself, to make me beautiful, sanctified, holy. This is my salvation, if I have the will to accept and choose to be grateful and not resent. This is, after all, as Voskamp points out, what Y’shua did in the face of what was bitterly hard.

“’On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took some bread and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces…’ (1 Corinthians 11:23-24). Jesus, on the night before the driving hammer and iron piercing through ligament and sinew, receives what God offers as grace (charis), the germ of His thanksgiving (eucharisteo)? Oh. Facing the abandonment of God Himself (does it get any worse than this?), Jesus offers thanksgiving for even that which will break Him and crush Him and would Him and yield a bounty of joy (chara). The mystery always contains more mysteries. Do I really want this way?” (36).

Her honest question is now mine—do I really want this way? This crushing, crucifying way?

My gratitude is what Y’shua wants most from me. The one who offers Thanksgiving as his sacrifice glorifies me; to one who orders his way rightly I will show the salvation of God (Psalm 50:23). To give thanks is to put my ways in order. To quell the chaos. Then I will offer in [the Lord’s] tent sacrifices with shouts of joy (Psalm 27:6). And there it is again—the joy. It comes because of the sacrifice, not so much because making the sacrifice is a happy experience.

I’ve been away from the farm this week [sorting out the mess of my heart]. I go back tomorrow. I don’t really want to go. I’d rather find something easier. I’ll go. But the bigger question is will I go with gratitude? Will I be thankful for this chance to submit to something I don’t understand, to learn to love that which is hard, to repent for my wrong, to allow the Lord to finish this lesson of shaping me to its fullest? Will I allow gratitude to bring me to my fullest salvation?

Mirrors

When you are in conflict, the other person is always wrong. At least that’s how it always seems. Or if you’re spiritual enough you’ll admit that you are wrong, but you still believe the other party is more wrong. You are more justified in your anger. You see the situation more clearly than they do. How could they be so blind?

I have been in conflict. And the first hurdle was coming to terms with the darkness within my own heart. What has my portion been? How have I contributed? It wasn’t pretty when I was finally brave enough to look. I judged someone. I decided a whole list of things about her, including things about her character—that she was untrustworthy, hypocritical, incapable, undeserving of her position. I assumed I would do better in her shoes. In short, I attempted to play god. I was angry because a valid need wasn’t met, but I allowed that need to turn into a demand and an expectation that went unfulfilled. And when she didn’t deliver I judged and I punished. I withdrew my relationship and blessing because I was upset that I didn’t get what I wanted. I threw a temper tantrum. Ouch.

The second hurdle has been these words, which someone I trust shared with me: Somehow the actions of the woman who you are offended with are mirroring something within you; otherwise her actions wouldn’t trigger you so deeply.

These words have haunted me for days. I can’t shake them. All the reasons I judged this woman—they are present within my own life. I am violating the same Biblical principle, although perhaps with a different application. Our actions may look different, but somehow they both stem from a similar weak point.

My weak point is control. And that’s just what I’ve hated in this conflict. I have felt controlled, micromanaged, blocked from having information, like she wants me to blindly submit to what I don’t understand. And I’ve hated it. I’ve baulked. I’ve called it unhealthy. I’ve looked for Biblical reasons why she is wrong and I shouldn’t have to submit to her. But the truth is that I also want that kind of control. I withdrew my relationship and refused to communicate because it was my way of grasping for control. I want to be the one making decisions, the one other people listen to. I want to be validated. I want to be right.

But this conflict isn’t about me being right. All this stacked up pressure of first Aaron and then the farm and this conflict, they are all meant to bring me to a breaking point so that something buried deep within me, so engrained in my natural way of thinking that it was hitherto invisible, may be exposed. I thought I came to this ministry to be trained—and I have been—but it hasn’t been the training I expected. It’s been Y’shua’s training ground for my heart to conform me into the image of His son, to make me a student of leadership dynamics and learn to discern healthy from unhealthy, but in the midst of that to forgive, to submit, and to bless an imperfect situation. It hurts like crazy. It downright sucks. And yet it is also wonderful. I know it’s the Lord’s severe mercy to not let this stronghold continue to control my heart. If I can only trust Him enough to stay in this hard place until He’s completely done and He gives me release to leave.

Crushing Kindness

These past few weeks of writing silence have been filled with wrestling. I haven’t trusted my voice not to be filled with resentment or defilement towards others. My heart seems to be mostly settled towards Aaron. Where I’ve hung up has been with God. I’ve surrendered left and right this year, over and over. I’m sleeping in a bunk bed. I’ve given up the right to make most of my decisions about my schedule, my finances, my life. I’ve loved a man and then walked away. And I’ve been willing to trust God and die to self up to a point—but in the stack of hard that has landed since breaking up with Aaron, I’ve hit a wall. My heart said, enough is enough. I got angry.

I hate ministry politics. I’m going to state that loud and clear. I hate politics in general—the separate sides and everybody vying for their own way, no one really stopping to listen to the other. If there’s one place you’d think would be safe from such goings on, it should be the body of Christ. Maybe that’s why, in that context, they feel more painful than all the rest. And I’ve been stuck in it’s web these past weeks—feeling used, speaking up, feeling misheard, invalidation, watching a friend be dishonored and kicked out, confusion, lack of disclosure, questions, silence from leaders, crisis, lack of emotional and spiritual safety, offense, valid needs gone unmet, immature shepherding. This mess has felt more painful that breaking up with Aaron.

I became a walking zombie, trying to physically fulfill the expectations people had of me but my heart completely checked out and screaming. I couldn’t find the Lord. He felt so far from me. I needed to hear his voice so badly. I didn’t know what to do or how to navigate this mess. I wanted relief. I had to pull away for a week to process. And in the midst of sharing with a mentor she asked me, do you want His presence or do you want rest?

That’s the rub. I wanted His presence, but I wanted it on my terms. I wanted it with benefits. What I really wanted is rest, relief, for the whole mess to right itself, for God to come storming in and vindicate me, take my side. But God isn’t into politics. He’s not about sides. He’s about refinement. And even though I’ve surrendered a lot in the past ten months, it’s not enough. He wants another layer. I have to lay aside my anger and acknowledge that He’s God. I’m not. His ways are right. No matter how wrong the others involved may be (and of course my perspective on that is biased), where I partnered with the enemy and slipped into offense, that is mine to own and take care of. I didn’t want that to be true. I banged on the wall of the shower one morning and swore, yelling at God. I didn’t want the mess of my heart to be my fault. I was the one getting hit with a sledgehammer over and over and I was the one that has to do the hard heart work to fix it? It didn’t seem fair. But I knew He was right. I had to own what was mine. I had to find a way to forgive.

So that’s what I’ve been fighting to do. But first I had to find His presence. I needed to understand that He was with me in this web in a tangible way. Which meant that I had to lay aside my indignation that what He’s chosen to give me is hard. Okay God, I give up. I miss you. I want your presence in my life more than I want you to fix everything.

But God, you’re crushing me, I cry out in protest. And He gently replies, I AM crushing you. To save you from yourself. I have been very kind to you.

Will I accept that? Will I believe that this whole painful ordeal is meant for my good, to teach me something I’m going to need, to crucify another layer of my fleshly nature? Even though I may not understand why for years? Can I look at this mess and know that the Lord is kind—not just generally, but specifically, to me? I hope so. I think I’m even beginning to.