“You could just give me everything, but how would I grow in gratitude or faith?” I asked, reaching Him, but through some turbulence that I wished wasn’t there, and in some incomplete sight, which I wished was full sight. “It’s better for me to grow in virtue,” I said, seeing how it would be if Jesus gave us everything in eternity without the weight of virtue and character to appreciate it.
“I, Jenny, abide in the Vine,” I was saying dreamily, so close to Jesus.
Ah, Jenny, little one.
“Just hold still, Jenny, just hold still and the Lord will fight for you,” I told myself, seeing myself rising up through the air and becoming a target for arrows of annoying, shameful thoughts and being tempted to become emotionally intense in return, but that is of no use. There’s no use to get worked up in a soulish way, that also is a trap. Put one’s whole trust in the Lord and rest in His arms, the battle belongs to Him, and indeed, I felt Jesus’ strong arms come around me and cradle me close against His chest, where I was safe and sound.
“I’m in over my head,” I quietly acknowledged to myself.
Yes, Jesus agreed tenderly. It’s just always been true, and I’ve always trusted Him, trusted Jesus completely.
“It’s You,” I said in wonder, touching the pulse in the hollow of His throat, thinking of His words at Nazareth.
“When I am in heaven,” I reminded myself in wonder, bringing my faith up that degree, realizing it. “My faith must go up a notch,” I explained to Jesus, because sight was breaking up too much, but in heaven, that never will that happen; there will be the unbroken fullness.
Jenny, He whispered, delighted.
July 11, 2017
On Sunday, as I was driving into prayer time, I was praying for the Lord to wash out His vessels, myself included. When I reached the parking lot, Jesus reminded me of when He had come down off the mountain where He had been transfigured, and coming down, had met the man with an epileptic son and His disciples had been unable to heal him. The man had said, “Sir, if You can do anything for the boy…” And Jesus had said, “If I can?”
I’ve read this passage many times, but the Lord opened my understanding and my heart, and I was wrecked by grief and remorse. I was nearly distraught, sobbing. I was realizing that we ourselves are living in an evil and adulterous generation, one that refuses to acknowledge God, refuses to be humbled, is cut off by doubt and arrogance, and the innocent are suffering hideously.
My eyes were opened to the extent to which I myself have been corrupted by the disbelief, skepticism and doubt that this Western, postmodern society wholeheartedly approves of and thinks sane and sophisticated and even sometimes offers under the name of compassion- it’s compassionate to doubt, none of that being certain about God, that’s too fanatical and if you are sure you are right, then someone else might be wrong and we can’t have that. Much better to be doubting and say nothing definite.
But the Lord Jesus Christ doesn’t change, and the Gospel doesn't change. He certainly does have power to heal and to deliver. He was not ashamed to go about in Galilea declaring outright, “The Kingdom of God is at hand, repent and believe the good news!”
I was begging the Lord Jesus Christ to forgive us, to have mercy on us, to forgive me, to have mercy on our children, to save us and deliver us from this mindset and I was saying, "Lord, I believe, continually help our unbelief,” only each time I said this, I couldn’t finish the sentence because of the intensity of my anguished grief and regret at the extent and the hurt of this unbelief.
After some time, maybe five minutes, the grief lifted and I was able to go into the building fairly calmly, but with a little trepidation as to what might happened next. I went into the room and greeted my prayer leader, who asked me how I was.
“I was sobbing in the parking lot,” was my reply, since that was upper most in my mind and crowded out all other replies.
“Just let it flow, just let it flow,” she recommended, and I nodded, willing to be of service to the Holy Spirit, but wondering still if I was going to end up distraught in the middle of the meeting. I turned back to my prayer leader, perhaps to say something else, and I saw she was looking at me. “It’s all over you,” she said, meaning the anointing, and as she said this, I could feel that this was so, I seemed to be walking in a billowing cloud of anointing.
“Yes,” I simply agreed, because Jesus was reminding me of my prayers in the car, and so it was not surprising. (I did not end up sobbing in the service.)
August 1, 2017
Have been facing a depth of temptation to unbelief greater than I have yet known. Along with this, comes the temptation to lethargy and self-indulgence. I don’t want to describe the unbelief very much, for fear its very description could cause others to stumble. It has little to do with my personal experience, but challenges some of the basic tenants of Christianity itself, those within the Nicene creed.
Even so, the heart of the temptation isn’t in the doubt itself, but something else. Because, the temptation goes, these things cannot possibly be true, than the whole thing cannot be true, and if the whole thing cannot be true, why not stop all this pointless carrying on and excessive focus on duty, and instead, rest with some much needed self-care, and express yourself creatively and make lovely things that the world will enjoy and stand up for yourself finally and express all your potential to make beautiful things that only you can do? You will be cheered on and welcomed and appreciated. You’ll be understood.
That’s what is so sneaky about this temptation. For one, it takes a truth of God that is meant to be for His great glory- that of our uniqueness and creative gifts, and turns it instead into our own property to do with whatever we like. For another, it offers all the things that the spirit of the age right now worships- unique self-expression that worships aesthetics at the cost of every other value, and places the needs and rights of oneself above every other need, and that values freedom of self above every duty, responsibility or self-sacrifice. But it’s all packaged so attractively- freedom on the beach, in the mountains, in updated kitchens! Freedom to love! Freedom to embellish, to question everything, to make up your own rules, your own way- do you, baby.
I t's so tiresome. I did do me once. I went off to try and find myself, and for years, I left a trail of broken promises, emotional damage and hurt behind me, and I never did find myself, until Jesus stepped right into my life and said I was His. My gifts and creative instincts don't belong to me and they weren't given to me for my own sake. I don’t belong me. I gave myself over to the Holy Spirit so He can create through me whatever He wishes, because I am not my own, and this is not my story.
My verse is:
“Lord, You have brought light to my life: my God, you light up my darkness. In Your strength I can crush an army; with my God I can scale any wall.” Psalm 18:28-29
When I sat down to meet with Him, Jesus told me to take a minute to record this particular experience, which I have.
“Lord,” I said, putting all that aside and reaching out to Him as myself- a small mortal woman in front of her computer in her living room, in the midst of this ugly, postmodern age, but insisting that Jesus is there and that He is Lord and these are eternal truths that supersede all these other things that are passing away.
Beautiful girl, Jesus said affectionately.
I landed on the stone platform but immediately, I was seeing myself falling backward as though unable to remain or keep my balance. “I remember this happening sometimes,” I said calmly, because this is the sort of distortion that annoys me so much.
Jesus reached out and caught me, smiling, full of peace. His face was lovely and clear, and I was recognizing the gift even as I kept also seeing myself falling backward.
“There is no distortion in heaven,” I stated, and immediately I was standing upright before Jesus, in awe remembering that in my flesh, will I see God. I will stand before Him at the end of my life. The temptation to invest in the distorted image was still there, but inwardly, I was settled and still before the Lord, standing on the stone, on the edge of wonder that I was with Him, and then I left to record this whole thing, because I think it is symbolic of the doubt I’ve been walking through.
“Lord Jesus,” I whispered, sinking down into the nest of peace. I wanted to pour out to Him all my doubts and questions about why He let us leave the first church, but something about the posture of Jesus- He was resting and a person, even the Lord, looks and is touchingly vulnerable when they are resting. I remembered that when I come to meet Him in the most holy chamber of my spirit, that I never bring doubts with me to Him, but that I rest Him in love. I remembered how often people were putting Him to the test while on earth, and how they even saw His signs and refused to believe in Him or put their faith in Him. And how could I put Jesus to the test and doubt Him when normally I love Him with abandon and when He has led me so far, and when I know faith is so important to Jesus, so critical.
“That is my most basic service.” (To have faith and trust in You.)
Jenny, I love you.
Jesus put His face close to mine and I breathed in the scent of His beard and the fear of God went over me.
“Lord, forgive me!” I cried, throwing my arms around His shoulders, in grief that I should have hesitated even for a moment because of the doubt.
Was able to love on the Lord in billowing waves of abandoned love, though I had to move through a long period distraction and then switch the music (if I listen to one album too many times, it won't keep me awake any longer) to one that wouldn’t let me fall asleep before I got to that place where I could speak that language to the Lord and hear Him speak it in return. There is no other sound in all the world like the language He speaks in love. There is a wholeness to it.
August 17, 2017
Yesterday during prayer, there was almost no anointing on my prayers. It has been like that almost all week. The temptation to unbelief has been strong. By conscious choice, I turn my face toward Jesus, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Sometimes I remind myself of the many powerful confirmations that have occurred in my life, such as the adoption and the entire move to Indiana. I think of the Israelites, singing psalms among themselves to remember their story with God- “Remember when He parted the Red Sea! Remember when we put Him to the test at the bitter waters. Don’t forget what it was like; don’t forget what we already know.”
I suspect that this has something to do with this current blog, that has no name as of yet, that will be published tomorrow. Many times I have struggled with publishing a blog, this is the same. I’ve thought about simply skipping this week entirely, or just doing this whenever I want, whatever I want to, and who cares if it’s published or not. It's a strong, sharp feeling, this desire to toss the whole thing aside, to give it up, and along with this temptation is the idea that it isn't worth much anyway, and is all rather strange and embarrassing.
I haven’t had the time to look at it until yesterday. I’m beginning to see a glimmer of value, but mostly only to myself and I have no idea yet why this blog is the cause of so much resistance. (What I am realizing is that I don't know the meaning of the blog until I put in the Scriptures, and that's always the last thing I do. The Scriptures are what give it value, depth and meaning.)
“Lord, here I am.”
I love you.
“The Holy Spirit knows what He is doing,” I reminded myself, and I saw Him come up behind me and place His hand tenderly on my back and lean down lovingly. All that matters is obedience. There are some times when I haven't the faintest clue what the Lord is doing with my writing, but by will, I sit down in the chair and present myself to Him as His servant, because I know Him and I love Him. My personal opinion of the work makes no difference; it can go up and down sharply in the course of one day and have nothing to do with the obedience of service to the Lord.
Although He has the pressure of the whole world on Him, Jesus is never afraid and He never acts out of pressure. Jesus is never afraid. I saw events and things spinning out and Jesus, with such calm fearlessness, directing it at exactly the right time and in just the right way- which is usually a quiet way.
August 21, 2017
“Jesus,” I sighed, through a conflicting fog of disbelief, tiredness and reluctance. I have been facing such disbelief lately.
Come here, little one, He said.
You will all disown and desert Me, I have been reading in the Bible.
But when He is raised to life again, He will go before us into Galilea. That is where we begin again, after the resurrection.
Yes, Jesus agreed, with quiet certainty.
As soon as I was there, Jesus pulled me close, and waters of refreshing went pouring through me. Rested my weary head upon His shoulder, thinking of His pity without end, knowing they would all desert Him, still comforting them. Even sleeping through Gethsemane, but He loves them still. It’s the same compassion that He felt for us when He was with the Father and willing to be sent to redeem us, to save us.
Drew me to rest on the gold, because He will make me to lie down in green pastures, and to make the sheep lie down, He must make them unafraid and at peace, which I am with Him, because all is resolved and there is nothing but His quiet breathing.
“Jesus, I am so sorry, please forgive me, Jesus, please forgive me,” I pleaded, all the doubt suddenly lifted away in His presence, and He did so immediately, drawing me into His arms. He has so much compassion. He even reminded me that He gives me just enough faith so that with each blog, I must surmount some doubt. It’s not faith if it isn’t chosen in the midst of doubt.
August 23 2017
After All This Time, starts playing in my earphones, this lush pulling and melding of notes and chords, long drawn out, falling suddenly down into drumbeats. (This the album, "After All This Time," by Brian and Jenn Johnson, the instrumental version. It's gorgeous.) I think about how distracted from Jesus I can become in the course of one day. I want to be nothing but passionate faithfulness, my love for Him as rich as the music, but right now it feels as weak as dishwater, even though, as I am reminded of it, I woke up before the alarm at five in order to be lost in dreams of Him. And in the evening, I forced myself in obedience to kneel down to pray instead of to read my new Elizabeth Gouge book, and I forced myself to stay there until He drew me up.
With Jesus, I keep seeing us in these small spaces; I have to force myself to fit there and Jesus is doing the same. It’s a small mud room off a small mud room in a humid climate amid hundreds, perhaps thousands of small mud rooms all clustered together around a tangle of narrow, dirty streets with hardly any light at all and a lot of reed roofs and reed mats and reed baskets. How Jesus can fit Himself into there I do not know, but He truly fit Himself into Mary’s womb, and after that a stone feed trough and after that, small stone rooms built on the rocky hillside of Nazareth, and small stone rooms in Capernaum. I know the time is coming when we will leave those small mud rooms and walk into freedom.
Sometimes I think I should go back to walking around the outside of the inner place, in order to have something to describe, in order to have something to post. But it doesn’t work that way. I was with Jesus last night; I remember His face and His tender humor and His light. I remembered that He lives in me and I welcomed Him with the best I had, with all that I have, and cherished Him.
Now, this morning, I went to Him in the cell room where He was kept until morning and they could take Him to Pilot. It was almost full dark and He was chained there.
I know you are here, Jesus said to me, though all I could hear was His uneven breathing, because of the damage to His nose and mouth. The guards received Him with slaps and with beatings, I read in the Gospel of Mark last night. It was dark in that cell room and I could not see Him well and His head was hanging down.
“I know where You are,” I tell Yeshua. I know through His Spirit, which guides me by faith to Himself, within Himself, where I may touch the bruises with my fingertips and kiss His cheekbones and temples, while He sits unmoved, unseen, in a dark, damp place, patiently waiting. But known and found by those who love Him. He knows we are there.
“What I know is that I can find You and be with You,” I stated, curling up with Him and leaning my head against His heart, and deliberately pouring warmth from my spirit to His, finding His heart by instinct, by inward eyes, and filling it with love. Wherever Jesus is and however He appears, what I know is that I live in Him, so it is a short trip to His heart.
Jenny, Jesus said, with such warmth of love, bending His head down to mine.
Then we are rising up into the golden light of heaven; I can bundle Him with amber and gold and settle into His arms and that is true as well, because that is always true. It’s Jesus that I’m with and He gives me His whole heart. I can remember with Him in the darkness of the prison chamber and I can rest with Him in the amber light of perfect peace.
Even if I rise up on the wings of the dawn, I am remembering. Even if I make my bed in hell, there You are, with me. Love can reach to the farthest place.
“Oh, You are overwhelmingly attractive,” I cried out, fainting down, unable to look at Him, because I was remembering Him as the Word of God, the glory of God and also the Son of Man, righteous, unerring, with unwavering authority, boldly and merrily creative, holy, merciful, compassionate and brilliant, perfectly righteous. To feel that overwhelmed by love and attractiveness is possible, it is possible to be actually swept off one’s feet and to land in a heap there, hardly aware that one is on the floor, because one’s whole self is trembling with the awareness of the perfection of the Beloved. Only I did not fall to the floor, because His arms did not let me go. He was laughing and luminous.
November 18, 2017
The first piece of ice appeared in the fields today and Merissa brought it home carefully, to watch it melt in a cup and plate. The winter sun has been streaming unimpeded through every south facing window, and there are many in this house. I walk through my day as though through a treasury of gifts.
I’m in a period where the love and ecstasy of Jesus appear far away. I can hardly remember what it was like. This is like being thirsty and you think you remember the taste of water, but at the moment when you take the first drink, you know that you weren't remembering it well at all. But I force my thoughts toward Him with gratitude each morning. “Thank You for the rest, thank You for the bed, thank You for today, thank You for the warm house,” is my morning litany. I reach out to Him with my spirit, giving Him all my attention, and I see Jesus smiling down at me with tenderness and light. He extends His hand to me and I take it. His hand is wonderfully muscled and heavy.
But it seems hard to get to the computer for devotions and even when I do, it seems hard to reach that deepest level of His presence where everything washes clear.
And so it goes, this pattern of my inner experience, like metal, sometimes thrown into the consuming fire to be melted by delight and sometimes plunged into the cold water to be made resilient under conflict, sometimes thin and sometimes thick, sometimes through great drifts of assaulting doubt, sometimes in great heights of ecstatic, ineffable certainty.
I’m like a cross between the Postal Service and Pilgrim’s Progress.
Onward, onward, Christian soldiers!
I'm no longer reluctant or too off hand to think of myself that way, or to think in those terms. It has nothing to do with the destructive machinery of human war or even my cheery expectations when I sang that as a child. A Christian soldier marches on in quiet determination to do their unglamorous, daily duty to their Lord, which often consists of scrubbing out the bathtub and driving to work in the morning, or setting themselves to forgive yet again, to serve once more, to pick up their shield of faith, dented by battle, to heave it up and to look up at the bright sky, remembering the face of their Lord.
Because they have seen Him. We have seen Him in the perfect light of Heaven. We have tasted the Lord and we know He is good. We have stood on the threshold of Heaven and so have had a glimpse of glory.
If once you have seen the Lord Jesus, if once you have tasted of His mercy and forgiveness, if you have been the recipient of His saving love, of His delighted love, of His possessive, consuming love, than how can one ever turn back at any point, no matter how dreary or echoless the particular landscape of that moment might be?
So I try to remember to serve Him in each thing I do. I invite Him to Thanksgiving, along with those we know who have no other place to come. I try to remember that He is the only Audience worth looking toward, and to do all things for Him. I ask His forgiveness quickly, as soon as I catch myself stumbling, which I do because His Holy Spirit catches me. Then I get back up and try again.
When I pray, I place my whole self in trust in the hands of the Holy Spirit, and I listen. You were made to run, Jesus told me recently, and that is what I do when I pray- I listen and follow after the Holy Spirit, and it is like running with joy, and there is no fear in that moment. I say the words given with my whole spirit, because I know my Lord, and I know He is true and that His commandment is eternal life.
"And so hear the word of the Lord!" I cry out, with fierce joy, into the listening space. Then in delight, I worship the Lord Jesus with my whole being, because He is living and good and sovereign and I belong to Him. All the victory is His, because He won.
*
Having risen from sleep, we run to Thee,
Oh Lord and Lover of mankind,
and by Thy loving kindness,
we hasten to accomplish Thy work.
And we pray Thee,
help us at all times and in all things,
and deliver us from every evil thing of this world
and every attack of accusation.
Save us, and lead us into Thine eternal kingdom,
for Thou art our Creator
and the giver and provider of every good thing,
and all our hope is in Thee,
and to Thee we send up glory,
now and forever
and unto the ages of ages.
Amen.
