"The notion that only good things happen to faithful people was put to rest on a Friday afternoon at Calvary." ~William Willimon
I’ve been pondering faith today. Not the fairy-dust, flittering kind of faith that smiles and says “it’ll all be OK, sweetie” with a slight wink - but a weighty, dirty, deliberate faith. I’ve seen that faith in action before, and have always admired it. In fact, I’ve often said in moments of inspiration, reflection and prayer, “Lord, I’m here to do what You desire – I’ll follow Your path, press into You fully, go wherever and do whatever.” Gosh, I do love Jesus. And I want those words to be true. I want my life to be a complete picture of His glory and His majesty, because He deserves no less. I want to live a life that is faith-filled.
Or at least I think I do.
When I live life in the day-to-day, I see myself much more drawn to a comfortable life that far too often draws its strength from the here-and-now rather than the now-and-forever. I see someone suffer, and I reach for faith to get through. I have a difficult day, and I reach for faith to move past it. I hear of someone else’s heartfelt desires and hopes, and I reach for faith to join them in celebrating the yet-unseen victory. Wow, I reach for faith like a soda or a bag of chips.
Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness.” C.S Lewis
But how often do I simply and deliberately reach for faith as an act of love for my Saviour? Reading Hebrews 11 is always a sobering thing for me. While I smile at reading about those who have walked the road before me, paving a beautiful, narrow, well-worn way, I am jarred by the imagery.
It's impossible to please God apart from faith. And why? Because anyone who wants to approach God must believe both that He exists and that He cares enough to respond to those who seek Him. ~Heb. 11:6 MSG
Would I reach for a dirty faith that says “I’m walking INTO hardship because I know my God will not let me down.” Would I reach for a weighty faith that says “I’m walking INTO suffering because I know my God will not let me go.” Would I deliberately reach for a faith that leads to pain or sorrow? Oh, how I would love to say “yes.”
But, at the end of the day, am I really looking for fairy-dust faith?
How about you? Fairy-dust or dirt?
Showing posts with label sorrow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sorrow. Show all posts
03 February 2010
28 October 2008
Dance Revelation
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.” Psalm 119:70 (The Message)
Yesterday, my friend Courtney and I enjoyed an afternoon together. She is part of a rare breed who doesn’t find it unusual that I attribute stories to virtually everything in the stores where we shop (“oh look, that chair looks like it lived in a corner in a sweet old grandma’s house” or “this smell is our wedding ceremony” or “that ring is very Guido-glass feeling, as if it should live on the pinky of an artsy Mafia man.”) She understands my desire to purchase things that aren’t perfect, out of a concern that they will be sent to some real “land of misfit toys.” And she lets me dance.
I’m not sure when I first felt the rhythm, first had that need to move. I can remember always moving. I close my eyes and see my mom and me in the family room, dancing together to the tunes of Herb Alpert or Herman’s Hermits. One of the most precious moments tucked away in my mind is of my dad and me on the dance floor at a Christmas dinner. I had on red velvet and he was in a dark suit. We danced to big band music on the parquet dance floor as the restaurant revolved around us. And I was a princess, with buck teeth and glasses and stick-thin legs.
Dance is a natural response to me. A response of joy, of pain, of happiness, of sorrow, of freedom. It is quite spontaneous. It happens without much thought, without any planning. It just comes, starting ever-so-gently as a response to the revelation. That revelation could be song or spoken word, a gentle breeze or a powerful thunderstorm – or the beauty in complete and utter silence. All have a rhythm and a rhyme. All have harmony and dissonance. All are dear to me. Because the Lord uses all to reveal Himself to me.
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.
On March 15, 2000, I danced as the tears streamed down my face. Only 20 minutes earlier, I had gotten the call from my mother-in-law that my mom was drawing near death. Doctors said it would be a few hours. I rushed to get things together to drive to the hospital to spend those last moments with her. But the second phone call came. “She opened her eyes, looked up and smiled, and…” And I danced. Because at that moment, in an instant, she was changed. She was healed. She was perfect. No more cancer, no more pain, no more struggle. And as the tears fell, I could hear so clearly:
For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and( this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
"Death is swallowed up in victory." "O death, where is your victory?O death, where is your sting?" – 1 Corinthians 15:53-55 ESV
The God who created the universe reveals Himself through it, through the good times and the bad. Through death and through Christmas dances. Through shopping and friends. And His revelation lets me dance.
Yesterday, my friend Courtney and I enjoyed an afternoon together. She is part of a rare breed who doesn’t find it unusual that I attribute stories to virtually everything in the stores where we shop (“oh look, that chair looks like it lived in a corner in a sweet old grandma’s house” or “this smell is our wedding ceremony” or “that ring is very Guido-glass feeling, as if it should live on the pinky of an artsy Mafia man.”) She understands my desire to purchase things that aren’t perfect, out of a concern that they will be sent to some real “land of misfit toys.” And she lets me dance.
I’m not sure when I first felt the rhythm, first had that need to move. I can remember always moving. I close my eyes and see my mom and me in the family room, dancing together to the tunes of Herb Alpert or Herman’s Hermits. One of the most precious moments tucked away in my mind is of my dad and me on the dance floor at a Christmas dinner. I had on red velvet and he was in a dark suit. We danced to big band music on the parquet dance floor as the restaurant revolved around us. And I was a princess, with buck teeth and glasses and stick-thin legs.
Dance is a natural response to me. A response of joy, of pain, of happiness, of sorrow, of freedom. It is quite spontaneous. It happens without much thought, without any planning. It just comes, starting ever-so-gently as a response to the revelation. That revelation could be song or spoken word, a gentle breeze or a powerful thunderstorm – or the beauty in complete and utter silence. All have a rhythm and a rhyme. All have harmony and dissonance. All are dear to me. Because the Lord uses all to reveal Himself to me.
I dance to the tune of Your revelation.
On March 15, 2000, I danced as the tears streamed down my face. Only 20 minutes earlier, I had gotten the call from my mother-in-law that my mom was drawing near death. Doctors said it would be a few hours. I rushed to get things together to drive to the hospital to spend those last moments with her. But the second phone call came. “She opened her eyes, looked up and smiled, and…” And I danced. Because at that moment, in an instant, she was changed. She was healed. She was perfect. No more cancer, no more pain, no more struggle. And as the tears fell, I could hear so clearly:
For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and( this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
"Death is swallowed up in victory." "O death, where is your victory?O death, where is your sting?" – 1 Corinthians 15:53-55 ESV
The God who created the universe reveals Himself through it, through the good times and the bad. Through death and through Christmas dances. Through shopping and friends. And His revelation lets me dance.
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