An Issue of Obedience

"You were running well. Who hindered you from obeying the truth?"

A photo that may or may not represent me "running well."

Since becoming a Christian in 1999, I've read this phrase in the Bible many times. It's typical Paul - no-nonsense, straight-shooting style, telling the church at Galatia how it is. 

It hit me anew when I read it again yesterday. Here's the whole passage (Galatians 5:1-8) so that you can have the context (context is of paramount importance in interpreting Scripture aright):

For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery. Look: I, Paul, say to you that if you accept circumcision, Christ will be of no advantage to you. I testify again to every man who accepts circumcision that he is obligated to keep the whole law. You are severed from Christ, you who would be justified by the law; you have fallen away from grace. For through the Spirit, by faith, we ourselves eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love. You were running well. Who hindered you from obeying the truth? This persuasion is not from him who calls you.

For those unfamiliar with the issues surrounding this passage, Paul is criticizing members of the Galatian church for succumbing to false teaching, teaching insisting that circumcision, a necessity according to Jewish law, is necessary also for salvation. Paul reiterates that salvation is through "faith working through love," and that those who would treat it as an issue of works or law is bound by something lesser than the glorious grace of Christ, "the hope of righteousness."

I am a works-oriented person. I struggle with wanting to do Christianly things just to make God "like" me more (as if it worked that way). A reading of Galatians has, therefore, always been encouraging to me. 

And it should be encouraging! I know I'm not the only one who struggles with dependence on works in this task-driven and output-oriented American culture. However, these verses are so much more than mere encouragement - they are challenge. 

The are challenge because reliance on grace instead of "circumcision" - the works we depend on to "save" us, in whatever form they take - is not just something that will better our lives when we embrace it. It is an issue of obedience. Paul says, "You were running well. Who hindered you from obeying the truth?"

That simple statement made me realize what I hadn't been able to see my whole life past. Living by grace and not works is non-negotiable. To do anything but what God has prescribed is sin.

To do anything but what God has prescribed. It is sin for me to embrace any thought pattern, lifestyle or worldview that is not the Lord's perfect will. Oh, no! If I did not already know Christ, I would be asking, with desperation, the question that the disciples asked in Matthew 19:25: "who then can be saved?"

Recognizing all this, isn't it amazing that I can turn to the Lord in repentance and know that even in my constant, systemic, unrecognized sin, I am forgiven through Christ's blood? Merciful Lord! I only pray that my current repentance will carry through to its conclusion, and bring about a change in my mind, heart and soul. Praise be to the Holy Spirit, who convicts and guides even when we would be willful and unbiddable!

The Block

I discovered this today amongst some old files. I was attempting to describe where my heart was at at the time. It ministered to me today, providentially, and I hope it does the same for you. 

---

I stand on a pedestal, like a slave being sold at the block, for all the world to see. I breathe shame. Despicable child that I am, I cannot but look at the faces surrounding me and wonder, “What do they see? What are they thinking?” The questions burn—they taste like vomit in my mouth!

Yet, who can I be, but this slave? I know nothing of the world that does not demand perfection.  All my life, my captors have tried to train me to be a model of perfection, but I have failed them! In my heart, I am sickened by the fact that I want to please them at all, enough to sacrifice my heart, mind and body to their deadly appetites. I want so badly for them to praise me that I let them keep me on the block longer and longer, just so people will know that I am of some worth to these men!

In the crowd, I see the beloved face of my husband and the faithful eyes of my best friends. They look at me now with a feeling much deeper than the simple concern they began with. They were once slaves, too, you see, but a man of light set them free long ago.

That same man once came to my cell to free me. I stepped out from behind bars only to jump back into the arms of the people I knew best.

Yet my dear ones cry for me here, today, especially my husband. Their eyes plead with me, begging me to believe that I am destroying myself, grinding myself into nothing. From the ground, they beg me with earnest voices to at least try to see what they see. But up here on the block, I see nothing but my ambition to be worth something to these slavers.

My husband reaches out his hand, telling me that I am worth his very life to him. I turn my head away. He who would take me home, nurse me to health, dress me in beautiful robes and hold me tenderly in his arms, does not count. The only people who count are these dealers in death. Why? Because they are the men who run the world, don’t you see? They are the ones who will launch us forward into fame and renown. They are the victorious army – everyone else fights with a glory that will not be seen until the very end. While I am on this earth, I want to be a part of the army that looks like it’s actually winning!

Sleep is my only respite from this deadly dance.

In the night, I curl up in my cell and forget about my captors’ presenting me until the next day. Someone shakes me awake. For a moment, I hang on the edge of a dream, clinging onto the doorframe that leads into a land where my value is secure and my eyes are made new. Then, the wind of reality sucks me out, out, out, with black and hellish pain I cannot fully describe.

What is this? A man has come to rescue me in the night. He reaches out his hand, as my husband did, and in his skin is the light that illumined the dream. In his being is the essence of value, security and newness, made real before my eyes.

But I cannot accept. Oh, who could accept something so good? Something so good could not be true. And I cannot ever be free.

“I will free you.”

No.

“Dear one, I will free you.”

No, Lord, NO!

“I have adopted you, and you are my child. I have loved you, and you are able to love and be loved. I have become your righteousness, and you are sanctified forever with me.”

I can’t.

“No matter what you say, beautiful one, no matter what you do, these things will not change.”

I bare my teeth. Anger erupts in my heart and scratches up my throat like a scream too loud and bitter to swallow down. I scream, and scream, and scream.

His face never changes, except for a slight tightening of the eyes that might be sadness. His face is all love and compassion. He is not unsure of himself, even in his emotion. He is surety incarnate as he looks at me, spreads out his hands and says, “Did I not tell you it is finished?”

I swallow every word I have ever spoken when I see those hands with those holes gaping in them, wounds that pierce from front to back with indiscriminate hatred and rejection. In my mind’s eye, an image of blood and storm clouds and tears and death flashes like lightning.

“NO, LORD!”

Noise like a hurricane explodes in my ears. I cannot hold on any longer! I cannot, I cannot, I--!

All at once, the world goes still.

I am not in my cell.

I panic, groping the floor, trying to figure out what this strange world is. I collapse—I am too exhausted to go on.

In a haze, I feel strong arms lift me. They hold me securely and carry me as their owner walks forward.

I look up, dizzy and squinting against the mist, to see a smile more warm and definite and unchanging and sincere and full and holy than could belong on anyone but the Son of God himself. He brushes a tear from my cheek with his finger—I didn’t know I was crying. I need to turn my face away. I cannot face him like this; I can never face him again!

I cannot stop crying. He cradles my head, lets me bury it against his chest. When I look up, he is still smiling with even more love than before, if that were possible. I try to return the smile, weakly.

He nods, and holding me close, whispers, “Did I not tell you? It is finished.”

MORE.

Give more grace. Don't just give it, give more of it.

Why?

Well, simply, that's what God does.

Showing here: Or do you suppose it is to no purpose that the Scripture says, 'He yearns jealously over the Spirit he has made to dwell in us?' But he gives more grace. (James 4:5-6a, emphasis mine)

I've recently -- as in, today -- been convinced that no matter how gracious I feel like I'm being, it is not "enough" or "too much."

For instance: I often, subconsciously or not, consider myself a kind, grace-filled person because I think the best of people, and sometimes I'm so nice that I let people walk all over me by accident. Wow. Go me, right? Except today, as I was walking about campus, I was thinking about an issue that someone else had, and how it bugged me, and how I just wanted to pop them over the head at times. I stopped short. My heart was filled with bitterness, and nothing but a desire to see that person change so they'd stop bothering me, not because I loved them and wanted the best for them. What happened to my "grace?"

"Giving grace" doesn't mean lying to yourself and telling yourself that the person who wronged you didn't do anything wrong, after all. It doesn't mean saying absolutely sunshine-and-unicorns-nice things all the time. It's granting someone forgiveness -- indeed, exemption from what they deserve -- out of a pure love. Check this out:

For we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another. But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life. (Titus 3:3-7)

Hallelujah! What more is there to say? :)

---

P.S. "More" is a really strange-looking word, after you stare at it for awhile.

The Krychocosm - Episode VI: Knowing You

original "Knowing You" by Graham Kendrick ((c)1993 Make Way Music)
w/ new verses by me

Why do I shed tears though I know your name,

And I tremble though you say, “be strong?”

I try hard, my Lord, but I’ve failed again.

Though you fill, I feel an empty shell.

but

Knowing you, Jesus, knowing you –

There is no greater thing.

You’re my all, you’re the best,

You’re my joy, my righteousness,

And I love you, Lord!

You’re my steadfast friend when I know it not.

This I am assured – tomorrow, I’ll see

That you hold me close and you keep me warm –

While my heart is cold, you’re loving me!

Knowing you, Jesus, knowing you –

There is no greater thing.

You’re my all, you’re the best,

You’re my joy, my righteousness,

And I love you, Lord!

Won’t you break my heart with your gospel truth

As you make me more like you today?

Oh, my hope is sure, I cannot be moved!

I am washed in love and saved by grace!

Knowing you, Jesus, knowing you –

There is no greater thing.

You’re my all, you’re the best,

You’re my joy, my righteousness,

And I love you, Lord!

It is Finished.

I stand on a pedestal, like a slave being sold at the block, for all the world to see. I breathe shame. Despicable child that I am, I cannot but look at the faces surrounding me and wonder, “What do they see? What are they thinking?” The questions burn—they taste like vomit in my mouth!

Yet, who can I be, but this slave? I know nothing of the world that does not demand perfection.  All my life, my captors have tried to train me to be a model of perfection, but I have failed them! In my heart, I am sickened by the fact that I want to please them at all, enough to sacrifice my heart, mind and body to their deadly appetites. I want so badly for them to praise me that I let them keep me on the block longer and longer, just so people will know that I am of some worth to these men!

In the crowd, I see the beloved face of my husband and the faithful eyes of my best friends. They look at me now with a feeling much deeper than the simple concern they began with. They were once slaves, too, you see, but a man of light set them free long ago.

That same man once came to my cell to free me. I stepped out from behind bars only to jump back into the arms of the people I knew best.

Yet my dear ones cry for me here, today, especially my husband. Their eyes plead with me, begging me to believe that I am destroying myself, grinding myself into nothing. From the ground, they beg me with earnest voices to at least try to see what they see. But up here on the block, I see nothing but my ambition to be worth something to these slavers.

My husband reaches out his hand, telling me that I am worth his very life to him. I turn my head away. He who would take me home, nurse me to health, dress me in beautiful robes and hold me tenderly in his arms, does not count. The only people who count are these dealers in death. Why? Because they are the men who run the world, don’t you see? They are the ones who will launch us forward into fame and renown. They are the victorious army – everyone else fights with a glory that will not be seen until the very end. While I am on this earth, I want to be a part of the army that looks like it’s actually winning!

Sleep is my only respite from this deadly dance.

In the night, I curl up in my cell and forget about my captors’ presenting me until the next day. Someone shakes me awake. For a moment, I hang on the edge of a dream, clinging onto the doorframe that leads into a land where my value is secure and my eyes are made new. Then, the wind of reality sucks me out, out, out, with black and hellish pain I cannot fully describe.

What is this? A man has come to rescue me in the night. He reaches out his hand, as my husband did, and in his skin is the light that illumined the dream. In his being is the essence of value, security and newness, made real before my eyes.

But I cannot accept. Oh, who could accept something so good? Something so good could not be true. And I cannot ever be free.

“I will free you.”

No.

“Dear one, I will free you.”

No, Lord, NO!

“I have adopted you, and you are my child. I have loved you, and you are able to love and be loved. I have become your righteousness, and you are sanctified forever with me.”

I can’t.

“No matter what you say, beautiful one, no matter what you do, these things will not change.”

I bare my teeth. Anger erupts in my heart and scratches up my throat like a scream too loud and bitter to swallow down. I scream, and scream, and scream.

His face never changes, except for a slight tightening of the eyes that might be sadness. His face is all love and compassion. He is not unsure of himself, even in his emotion. He is surety incarnate as he looks at me, spreads out his hands and says, “Did I not tell you it is finished?”

I swallow every word I have ever spoken when I see those hands with those holes gaping in them, wounds that pierce from front to back with indiscriminate hatred and rejection. In my mind’s eye, an image of blood and storm clouds and tears and death flashes like lightning.

“NO, LORD!”

Noise like a hurricane explodes in my ears. I cannot hold on any longer! I cannot, I cannot, I--!

All at once, the world goes still.

I am not in my cell.

I panic, groping the floor, trying to figure out what this strange world is. I collapse—I am too exhausted to go on.

In a haze, I feel strong arms lift me. They hold me securely and carry me as their owner walks forward.

I look up, dizzy and squinting against the mist, to see a smile more warm and definite and unchanging and sincere and full and holy than could belong on anyone but the Son of God himself. He brushes a tear from my cheek with his finger—I didn’t know I was crying. I need to turn my face away. I cannot face him like this; I can never face him again!

I cannot stop crying. He cradles my head, lets me bury it against his chest. When I look up, he is still smiling with even more love than before, if that were possible. I try to return the smile, weakly.

He nods, and holding me close, whispers, “Did I not tell you? It is finished.”

The Habits of a Potential Human Not-Being

Before we begin, riddle me this:

Human being.

That is such a strange saying! If you're a human, of course you're being a human. Can you be a human and not be: a human not being?

Oh, the great questions of life...

---

I've recently developed the odd habit of drying my hands on my bath towel even though there is a hand towel next to me. Pretty amazing, huh? Okay, okay, that might not sound strange to you, but what makes it interesting to me is that I don't know when I started doing it.

Most likely, you've seen the statistics about building and breaking habits--3 days, 6 weeks,something like that--so I'll spare you the quote. My significant realization: no area of my life is immune from habits, including the words I speak about myself.

God opened my eyes to a problem in me today that I can distinctly remember battling in fifth grade music class. I think that self-deprecation is humility. If you were to ask me my definition of humility, I would never tell you that's what I think, but that's how I live. I feel the need to justify my every opinion, I call constantly call myself out, and I'm generally pretty mean to myself. Being a very black and white thinker, I reason that I can either live in abject rejection or vainly see myself as the goddess of everything I do. No in between. Just ask my husband. ;)

Truth be told, I don't want to entrust God with myself because I tend to think I am in control of myself. If I let go, will I go wild and watch my life and morals crumble to pieces?

Then comes the comfort of conviction in me. Condemnation is not comforting, but conviction is, as the Holy Spirit shows himself greater than my ignorance, and does not allow me to stay where I am! Praise God that growth cannot be conjured.

I'm thinking in terms of sin and correction, though, and I would not want to give the impression that that's God's primary focus (a friend and I just talked about this over coffee...very cool). Yes, I am sinful: terribly sinful! But God loves me despite my sin. That's the good news (and I just saw today that the phrase is in the Bible, so it's not just Christianese)! GOD cherishes me. He declares that I am made well! Who am I to say otherwise about myself when the King of the universe has declared it?

Well, winter break is about to end! It's been a good one, and I'm both nervous and excited for the upcoming semester. I'll keep you updated. :)

-Jaimie

Contemplations of a Young Wife, Sixth Part

Marriage is a beautiful mess, most of the time, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Today, my eyes are more open to its beauty than it's messiness!

I was away for two and a half days visiting my family in Fort Worth, and only upon returning to my husband in Norman did I realize that "home" is where he is. Because of this, I can be me when I'm with him...and that is a risk both terrifying and great.

The downfall of my introversion is my proclivity to run away from people. I find myself getting frustrated and angry at my husband, sometimes, when he tries to get to know me even more. I refuse to let him near me emotionally, fearing he'll discover a blackness in me that he can't reconcile, and I will be abandoned. It's what I deserve, right?

God is breaking that in me through Chris. Like Chris's love, God's love is not predicated on my "goodness." And, no matter the blackness unearthed by time and sanctification, I cannot be separated from Him. Like my marriage to Chris is sealed and unbroken, so is my position as a child of Father God.

Now, if only to let this kind of love extend beyond husband and wife! I've recently been accused of refusing grace to someone who has tumbled down the spiritual mountain, so to speak. As you can imagine, the comment stung, and left me listening for the Spirit's conviction or reassurance over my flesh's condemnation.

I don't want the deeper kind of love that Chris and I strive to show one another to remain in the microcosm of marriage. I don't mean to make the maintenance of this mindset sound like an easy project. As Paul repeats in Philippians 3:12-14, I don't consider myself to have taken hold of this. That's why it's good for me to articulate it here, as best I can. There's tacit accountability in openly recognizing an issue.

Well, dear reader, I don't know if you'll hear from me again before Christmas, so I say: Merry Christmas, and joy in the manifestation of perfect love that we're celebrating! I want to go play HALO Live with Chris and eat the fudge that P.J. and Katie brought over at 7:30 this morning!

Jaimie, out!

Guilt and Breakthrough

So...I skipped class today.

It is only the second time I've skipped class all semester, and I was coming back from a doctor's appointment and knew I couldn't make it to school on time.

So, dear reader, tell me why I feel so darn guilty!

My entire life, I've built my sense of self-worth on the things I've gotten "right." It creates a strange pride: self-love when I succeed and self-loathing when I fail, as if I am the only one in the world not allowed to be imperfect.

Seriously, how do you extricate that kind of thinking/behavior from your lifestyle when it's all you've know for twenty years? Only by the grace of God, I'm told. I'm waiting for that specific grace as if waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike, even though I know that God tends to work more...progressively, I suppose. I must admit, I don't like the fact that sanctification takes time.

No duh, right?

I am an impatient person. I'm impatient with myself, and I'm impatient with God. Might as well face the facts.

That's where I'm at, and I joy in the knowledge that I won't be here forever. This will take baby steps, like most worthwhile things do. Here goes step one.

Short and Sweet: For the "Good Kids"

Today's post by Jon Bloom on the Desiring God blog was so encouraging to me, especially having grown up as the "goody-goody" in my private Christian school!

Do we have to be redeemed drug/alcohol/sex addicts to really know the radical, transforming grace of God?

It's not very long. I encourage you to check it out!

-Jaimie

Death of Pride

I remember sitting in the car with Chris one year ago, listening to our Relient K song, "The Best Thing," bobbing my head with a small, satisfied smile and thinking, "Wow, we are doing great as a couple. We have great communication. We keep up the romance. We seek God together. Oh, yeah!" And, as a sort-of post script, "Thank you, God."

After a squabble-filled day last week, a leader from our church approached me and said, "I'm praying for you and Chris, every day. You two are very precious to me." Then it hit me.

Now that the engagement is done, the wedding dress hung and the honeymoon period over, I see: We have been upheld by God's grace alone, delivered through the prayers of the godly.

There have been countless friends and family lifting up our dating relationship and marriage on a daily basis. We thank you. From day one, God carried us. Only He can--and continues to--make what little love two very imperfect people have into something very good.

Oswald Chambers wrote, "I have never met the man I could despair of after discerning what lies in me apart from the grace of God."

If not for Him, where would we be? Praise God on High, again and again!