Mighty Oak, Lowly Seed

We are inspired by the mighty oak far more than we are inspired by its seed. 

This morning the Lord ministered to me about the subtle idolatry of beautiful words. I love beautiful words and there is a desire present in me to inspire, to stand in front of a mighty army and pour forth words that build them up and inspire them to do great things. And that is a very dangerous desire. It is a fleshly desire that must be sanctified through periods of God-imposed silence. He asks, “Will you follow Me, even in the silence?” Yes Lord, for I know I must. 

This morning He showed me the shadowy outline of a human form and a seed was placed within it. The words that came into my mind were, “A small, lowly seed. Hidden. Unseen. Unnoticed.” But then the seed began to grow. Roots began to grow out into the body, then tender stems sprouted forth into the limbs of the body, and I watched as the whole human form was overtaken by the growth coming forth from that small, lowly seed. Every shadowy part of that form was eventually overtaken and filled with all the life that was contained in that hidden, unnoticed seed. And once the form was filled to capacity, branches broke through and grew outward, and that form became a mighty oak that spread out all over the land, and birds came and rested in its branches. 

This morning the Lord explained to me that I cannot build a house with beautiful words. Houses built merely with inspiring words will eventually grow into something that only feeds the flesh. For in our love of the inspiration that those words give, we will begin to desire the words more than the Word-Giver. Thus, we must understand that a house is built with a small, lowly seed. And it is only through that unnoticed, hidden seed that the mighty oak springs forth and covers the landscape with its awe-inspiring branches. 

So I prayed, “Oh Lord, give me lowly uninspiring seeds!”

(Matt 13:31,32) The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that a man planted in his field. Although it is the smallest of all seeds, yet it grows into the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and nest in its branches.

(John 12:24) Truly, truly, I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a seed; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

(Is 61:3,4) …So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified. They will rebuild the ancient ruins; they will restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations.

Life…Life…Life

 

“…life…life…life…left behind at every touch.”

I haven’t finished Carmichael’s book about Mimosa yet, but one of the things I’ve been contemplating the last few days while reading it, is something that Lilias Trotter said one day while observing a bee covered in pollen, “He was hovering over some blackberry sprays just touching flowers here and there, yet all unconsciously life…life…life…was left behind at every touch.” 

The day that Mimosa had her brief encounter with Amy Carmichael, and Carmichael only had time to tell her that there was a God in heaven Who loved her, life was left behind at that touch. That is because those who belong to the Lord and have been in His true presence, are like the bee covered in pollen, unconsciously leaving behind life at every touch.  Life begets life, and quite often, our begetting is done unconsciously simply by living the life that the Beloved has appointed us to live. 

Whether a teacher, a baker, or a candlestick maker, when we walk with the Lord, we are clothed with Him, and everything in our path is touched with His life-giving spirit. On the day that Mimosa was awakened to the truth of Who God is, it wasn’t because Carmichael’s words were particularly eloquent, nor many. It was simply because her words were full of the Lord’s life-giving spirit. And on that day, Carmichael left behind life…life…life…at every touch. 

Oh Lord, make us like the bee. 

(John 6:63) It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.

(John 5:21) For just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, so also the Son gives life to whom He wishes.

(2 Cor 3:6) And He has qualified us as ministers of a new covenant, not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

(Acts 5:18-21) They arrested the apostles and put them in the public jail. But during the night an angel of the Lord opened the doors of the jail and brought them out. “Go, stand in the temple courts,” he said, “and tell the people all about this new life.” At daybreak they entered the temple courts, as they had been told, and began to teach the people.

It Is Well

“I am not offended with you…it is well.”

These words cut my heart like a sword. I am currently reading a book by Amy Carmichael about a young Indian woman named Mimosa. When Mimosa was a child, she had a momentary encounter with Carmichael who simply told her that there was God in heaven Who loved her. After those few words were shared, Mimosa was whisked away by her father, back to the Hindu village where they lived, with no other Christians to explain anything to her, nor encourage her. But the seed of truth had been planted in her heart, and there was nothing it could do but grow. 

The book recounts the events of Mimosa’s life after that brief encounter. A life filled with hardship and tragedy. An arranged marriage to a husband who was in debt and would not work to help provide for his family. Her precious son who died in her arms. A life of work in the fields, rain or shine, while her babies waited hungry at home. A community that despised her, and scorned and ridiculed the God she served. A house made of mud that caved in all around her during the monsoon rains. And through it all, she looked to heaven and said to a God she barely knew, “I am not offended with you…it is well.”

Last night, as I got a little over halfway through the book, I closed it and began to contemplate how I would react if I were to endure Mimosa’s circumstances. Convicted by her simple, yet stoic faith, I asked God to help me have a heart like that. I prayed that He would sanctify me of self-pity, of any latent indignance, of any lurking tendency to offense in me. I prayed that no matter what my circumstances, no matter what I find myself appointed to endure, that I would have a heart which looks to heaven and says…

“I am not offended with you…it is well.”

(Matt 11:4-6) Jesus replied, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor. And blessed is any person who does not take offense at Me.”

(1 Thess 5:16-18) Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks in every circumstance, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

(Ps 34:1-3)  I will bless the LORD at all times; His praise will always be on my lips. My soul boasts in the LORD; let the oppressed hear and rejoice. Magnify the LORD with me; let us exalt His name together.

In The Quietness Of The Closet

The world is loud and the arguments are many, as I sit here in my quiet closet. 

Sometimes my life feels as if I’m being carried along by a white-capped wave in a stormy sea. Sometimes I hold my breath and go deep into the water, where it’s quiet and everything seems graceful and flows with effortless ease. I want to stay here in the deep, where I’m alone. Where it’s quiet and removed from the white-capped waves from above. But I can only hold my breath for so long. And then I must return to the surface, and continue to ride the wave in the storm. 

I want to understand what I’m being taught. I want to see it in a bullet-point list. I want to say, “Aha! Here is the thing I must comprehend!”, and then set about to comprehending it. “Comprehend this thing you are being taught…,” I want to tell myself. “Reach out and grasp this thing…,” my will says to my hands. But the white-capped waves and my inability to breathe underwater continually remind me of my utter helplessness. I am at the mercy of the one who both controls the storm and creates things to breathe underwater. 

The flesh rages against helplessness. Because the flesh wants bullet-point lists. The flesh wants to control the storm. The flesh wants to breathe underwater by sheer willpower. But the spirit is content to sit in the quiet closet, for however long it takes for the unknown lesson to be learned. 

Oh Lord, may my spirit win. 

(Matt 6:6) But when you pray, go into your inner room, shut your door, and pray to your Father, who is unseen. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

(Ps 91:1,2) He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

(Ps 27:4,5) One thing I have asked of the LORD; this is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the LORD and seek Him in His temple. For on the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle; He will hide me in the secret place of His tent; He will lift me up on a rock.

Press On

Lately I’ve been wondering if Jesus ever wanted to go back to the miracle in Cana. 

I often see things I’ve posted in the past pop up on Facebook, and I marvel that I ever wrote them. I wonder at the spiritual food present in those writings, where did such nourishment come from? Surely not my own heart. A heart full of rooms with creaky doors and dusty corners. A heart that looks back on things I’ve written in the past, longing to feel the tangible nearness of Christ I felt then, rather than the faith I’m being taught to have in His presence now. 

Sometimes I long to go back to those days in my barn. Those days of His palpable presence and the outpouring of His living water day after day. And I wonder if Jesus ever longed to go back to simpler days during times when the Father was teaching Him the grueling exercise of pressing on? Pressing on in the silence? Pressing on in the darkness? Pressing on when you feel nothing at all? Pressing on when you feel too much? Pressing on when you are tempted to look back on “once was,” instead of looking ahead for the “to be.”

Paul teaches that we must not dwell on the things that have passed behind us, but rather, we must press on…”straining toward what is ahead.” He says we must “press on toward the goal to win the prize of God’s heavenly calling in Christ Jesus.” And I believe that Paul teaches us this because he was well-acquainted with the temptation to look back with longing for simpler days and mountaintop moments. 

But he was also well-acquainted with the Spirit of Christ, Who continually calls to us, “Press on!”

(Phil 3:13,14) Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize of God’s heavenly calling in Christ Jesus.

(Heb 12:1,2) Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off every encumbrance and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with endurance the race set out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith…

(Heb 3:1) Therefore, holy brothers, who share in the heavenly calling, set your focus on Jesus, the apostle and high priest whom we confess.

Reflection Of Hope

On my way home from work the other day, I wept and prayed for a certain student’s soul. 

This student has chosen darkness because, to them, there is no evidence of light. I cried out to God for mercy. For grace. For hope. And He reminded me, “There is always hope. As long as I am in the world, there is light and there is hope. Do the works of the Father as long as you have the light, for night is coming when no one will work.” As I thought about that this morning during my prayer time, I uttered by the Spirit, “The light is still here because I am here. You are in me and I am in You. As long as Your people are here, Your light is still in this world. And there is still hope.”

In my devotional this morning, Amy Carmichael wrote of a few evenings in India when it appeared that the sun set in the east. She said in the mountainous west, the clouds covered the valley and mountains, and there was no light, only darkness. She said, “yet the eastern sky was aglow” because “that sky saw what we could not see. It saw the light of the sun that was shining beyond the clouds that closed our valley in and covered our mountains. It was looking at and reflecting that great glory.” 

As soon as I read that, the Lord communicated to me, “that is what my people are to those who dwell in darkness.” We are a reflection of the light that they cannot see. Because we see what they cannot see. We see the glory of the Lord. We understand things that the flesh and natural mind encased in darkness cannot perceive. We are a spiritual people, seated in heavenly places— a place where there is no darkness and is perpetually aglow with the light of Christ. 

Then the Spirit brought back to my mind the morning when I was washing my youngest daughter’s hair, when the soap was creeping toward her eyes and she was afraid and cried out, “Mommy! I can’t see!” And I calmly responded, “It’s okay baby. I can.”  In that moment, I reflected the Lord to her. She was in darkness and I was in the light…

…because I could see what she could not see. 

(Is 9:1,2) Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those in distress…The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned.

(John 8:12) Once again, Jesus spoke to the people and said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will never walk in the darkness, but will have the light of life.”

(John 1:4) In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.

(Matt 5:14,15) You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a basket. Instead, they set it on a stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.

(John 9:4,5) As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.

(John 12:35) Then Jesus told them, "For a little while longer, the Light will be among you. Walk while you have the Light, so that darkness will not overtake you. The one who walks in the darkness does not know where he is going..”

“Mommy, I Can’t See”

“Mommy, I can’t see.”

—“It’s okay baby, I can.”

As I helped my youngest wash her hair this morning, shampoo began to ooze toward my daughter’s closed eyes. I could hear the fear in my baby’s voice as she felt the encroaching soap headed toward her eyes and cried out, “Mommy, I can’t see!” And I tenderly responded, “It’s okay baby, I can.” All she could see was darkness, but I was in the light. She could see nothing, but I could see everything, and because of that, she was safe. 

In that moment, I thought about how many times I’ve cried out to the Lord like that. “Lord, I can’t see!” And how many times His response to me was the same as mine to my daughter, “It’s okay, I can.”

I can’t see, but He can. In times when all I can see is darkness, He dwells in the light. When we can see nothing, He can see everything… 

…and because of that, we are safe. 

(Prov 15:3) The eyes of the LORD are in every place, observing the evil and the good.

(Is 40:11) He tends His flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart. He gently leads the nursing ewes.

(Ps 121:3-5,8) He will not allow your foot to slip; your Protector will not slumber. Behold, He who watches over Israel Will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you— the LORD is your shade at your right hand…The LORD will watch over your coming and going, both now and forevermore.