No longer a stoic. Phoenix with true faith rises from the ashes.

I love that passage in Isaiah 61:1-4 it's become very real to me lately.

provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.

4 They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.

I'm going to use it as my theme passage for our Playback training in Cairo next week.

You see, January has brought a major breakthrough for me spiritually. It's about time.

During my college years I began to become an amazing stoic. A number of things went wrong those Biola years and I didn't navigate them very well. I've realized only recently that I'd wrongly concluded in my deep heart that God couldn't be trusted. And that life was ironic. My motto became "plan on the worst, and hope for the best. then you'll never be disappointed." (how dismal is that?) I memorized verses about his faithfulness, goodness and love, but i was only hoping that I could convince myself against what seemed to be evidence to the contrary.

I loved God and everyone else with all my mind and strength, but my heart and soul were, well, I sadly admit, a bit on the dead side. All these years since then, I've not been easily moved, or felt things very deeply. I didn't cry even when family members passed away. Never ached for children with tears for our 8 years of infertility. Never cried when saying goodbye to everyone when we left for China. Etc etc! By the time I was 20, I'd become like one of those pioneer women. A tough old broad. I read about this in The Allure of Hope (see side panel to order!) This is a book describing 2 ways we women respond to the world being fallen, when we know we were meant for Eden. One is "Clamoring," which is those of us who become workaholics trying to make everything right. The second is "Hovering," feeling hopeless and unworthy and despairing. I've been a mixture of both over the years. I'm glad for reading this book this year - as the author point readers to the way of hope. Living in a fallen world as light for goodness, with our sights set on eternity, knowing that Eden will be ours someday...just not NOW. Reading this in 2008 is good timing in my journey out of the clamoring and hovering ways I'd learned to respond to life.

A big step toward wholeness took place last year when I did the Beth Moore study "Breaking Free" with a group of women, many who were new believers. Surrounded by their fresh expressions of faith, and inarguably changed lives I was inspired to a fresh faith for myself. Since then i've been increasingly weak and weepy, often waking at night, mourning for others, tenderhearted to the point of brokenhearted over anything painful that I hear about. Though my own personal life is in a season of ease, I am unusually oppressed with sadness over the massive problems in the world and the individual tragedies that turn people's lives upside down. Emotionally I'm sensitive to and moved to tears by worship songs. I'm constantly crying, mourning, and praying for what seems like everything. This is kind of nuts to my guys. Our family life seems like its in a springtime of ease and delight. More than ever I am enjoying the NOW, living in the moment; paying attention to the sound of Jim breathing while he sleeps, watching the kids playing football with the neighbor kids, or learning to flirt, or spending $6 on some healthy drink at Jamba Juice, I can't just enjoy it. I'm constantly aware that it could change any moment.

One night last November, while hot tears soaked my pillow in the blackness of the night, I asked the Lord, "am I going to be this weak forever? Am I always going to be such a basket case?" And I sensed strongly an immediate reply. I can't remember the last time I'd known God to speak to me so clearly. But no doubt about it, I heard clearly and confidently what I didn't expect to hear:

"No. You're not. But you need to be weak for now."

And instantly I knew it was him. I believed. Peace. I could now take it. All this angst. Now that I know God has some purpose in it, and it's not going to be forever. I'm not sure WHY I cry, but I'm starting to see it's to tenderize me and grow in my understanding of HIS broken heart toward the brokenness in the world, and build my trust in his goodness. No matter what.

A friend from out home church, with 9 kids, lost her husband in a tragic accident in November. I saw her recently at church, and she said, "I want to tell everyone to love their kids and their husbands NOW, pay attention to them now while you still have them." As she said it, i was thinking how this is exactly what I'm doing... thinking at any minute God might take them away from me.

In these early months of 2008 I've been coming to terms with the realization that I didn't absolutely trust God (I wrote about this below). It's been a long wrestling match with him over my need to trust in his unfailing goodness. It has been a strange, strange season, but I THINK I have finally submitted and am a believer.

Why?

In a recent quiet time, I read Psalm 51 "Search me O God and know my heart, try me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in your everlasting way." I then walked through my recollection of those old teenage situations where I thought he'd been capricious and mean. I asked him to search my heart. I asked him to show me where he was during that season. And for the first time realized he had been there, but I had misinterpretted him due to my own sin and justifications for selfish actions. I had misunderstood his leading and had blamed him for things that I had not, until now, owned my part in.

So am I healed? We shall see the next time some personally difficult episode comes my way.

It's hard enough to believe in and be absoluetely surrendered to God's unfailing love, when hearing of other's suffering, or when I think of what sin has wrought on this planet.

When it is my turn for tragedy, will I choose to believe he is good and experience a comfort that Scripture and other believers say only he can give? Or will I give in to the temptation to believe that this is polyanna hopefulness and see it as more proof that he really can't be trusted?