image by Philippe Toupet from Unsplash It's been a long silence, I know. But I'm alive and well! and ready to start writing again (perhaps not as regularly still, but at least enough to start the ball rolling again.) I've tried to maintain this blog regularly on a weekly basis since I first started it, taking it as a challenge to help myself grow, spiritually as well as in discipline for writing. However, as I've grown and struggled, I've realized that sometimes, in certain seasons of life the specific way to grow that I determined for myself may not always be the one I need right now. The desire and goal remains the same, to grow; but, I'm realizing, perhaps not always in the way I had envisioned or planned for myself. This is something I've been forced to see, not just in this particular area of my life, but in almost everything else. By God's providence, these 2 pandemic years have been significant and full of challenges for me. I think these 2 years have changed me in many ways, humbling ones for sure, ones which actually leave me feeling less strong, less confident, less sure of myself--yet, if they ultimately make me more Christ-like, can only be for the better. Uncertainty. Self-doubt. Fear of the future, of what it will bring, and of future regret/guilt over decisions I make now. Realizing how much I lack wisdom and how much I need guidance, even though I thought I already knew that. I remember being so depressed last year when the pandemic first hit and I was struggling with fears about my work, future, relationships (or the lack thereof,) and establishing/proving myself in my writing; issues of identity, achievement, and fulfilment. Times like those are when we need to journal our thoughts and emotions, try to process and understand ourselves; and I did a lot of that, but it also sucked a lot of my energy and confidence to write for this platform. Acknowledging and dealing with my own messiness and confusion was as much as I could handle. However, the pressure of feeling like I had a backlog of self-imposed writing assignments only added to the crisis of internalized definitions of success/benchmarks of achievement that I was wrestling with. I realized that if I was to deal with this at all, and learn to stop seeking my fulfilment/identity in meeting all these standards, as God was showing me with increasing clarity and urgency, I would have to change my mindset on this as well. So I took a purposeful break from blogging and firmly told myself that page views, or the satisfying posting "streak" I had maintained so doggedly and determinedly, should not be something I cling to in order to pat myself on the back. I would take a break and come back when I was ready. It hasn't been a fun experience, to say the least, but it has also been one of thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful and soberly amazed. That, even when I'm still very much bogged down in this phase, I can still honestly say that. I wouldn't have expected that of myself. I have learnt a lot about myself (mostly bad things) and God (all good things.) At the very least, I can acknowledge the goodness of that. My church Bible study program has gone on to the Minor Prophets, and we're currently on Habakkuk. Minor Prophets are tough. I used to wince at the depressing, dark visions of judgment, lamentation, and destruction. What a painful and heavy message to bear. Habakkuk especially--the prophet himself is torn, pleading with God, dismayed by the visions of war and judgment. There seems nothing to be thankful for, and everything to mourn for. In the early chapters, there is much to learn about the historical context, of sin and idolatry and judgment and God's mercy as well as God's holiness and justice. But the ending of Habakkuk was a beautiful note of transcendent hope amidst the chaos and darkness of the previous chapters. 16 I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. 17 Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, 18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. 19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. My heart echoed these verses almost painfully. A world stricken with disease, fear, conflict, suffering, and war. We see that today, everyday, in the news from different countries, in the headlines reporting suspicion, hate, and disunity, in the death tolls and the accounts of desperate needs, physical and financial and spiritual. I see that in my own life, when I'm tempted to fear the future and wonder what is going to become of me, what opportunities or hope there is for me, how I might be ruining my life and setting myself up for future regret. It seems so impossible once you consider how little you can control or know--how can one look forward to happiness and fulfilment? (yes, I probably have some anxiety issues.) Habakkuk's joy was in a Person, not a situation. Therefore, it was constant and resilient, because God is unchanging. Like Habakkuk, I hope to cultivate this kind of attitude of humble faith and peace. Regardless of my situation--which I can't control--I have joy and strength, not in myself or others, but in Who He is, and what He has done for me/how He stands in relation to me, as my Saviour. (v 18) Verse 19 especially seemed so unreal--could I somehow have this strength, this sureness and confidence of a deer scaling dizzyingly high mountain tracks, to navigate my own murky and confusing path right now? I feel much more like a stranded hiker with a fear of heights, clinging desperately onto the scrubby bushes by the narrow track, and feeling like any one false step would plunge me irrevocably down. And, this surreal joy and strength that Habakkuk describes isn't some flimsy, blind emotional high. It is a conscious choice that he makes even when fully acknowledging the bleakness of the circumstances and his own fears (v 16)--even in the midst of what sounds to me like a panic attack (pounding heart! quivering lips! trembling legs and weakened bones!) as he waits--"patiently"!!-- for the coming judgment. Wow. For the rest of 2021, and whatever unknown lies ahead--may we cling to this hope, and find the joy and strength we need.
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image by Averie Woodard from Unsplash No food. No water. Surrounded by dry, dead sand as far as you could see, and maybe a withered shrub or too. With no sign of resources at hand, you only had the promises of God to sustain you. Exodus 15:22-16:36 --God allowed His people to endure thirst, hunger, and disappointment; to test them. They had already experienced His power to save at the Red Sea. Now they had to trust in His power to provide. In the interval before God answered them, how would they respond while they waited--patiently, with faith, or at the mercy of their fears, anxiety, the insistent voice of unbelief whispering to look at their situation, look at how bleak it all seems, how distant God is, how do we know He'll keep His word? As Moses reminded them, their complaints were far more significant than a one star review of him as a leader. Their complaints revealed a lack of faith in God's ability to provide for them, and doubt on the person of God--His goodness, His faithfulness, and His timing. There have been so many times in my life, but especially recently during this year with all that has happened in my own life as well as to the whole world's, where I have been faced with the unattractive duty of waiting in the wilderness for God. There is no prospect of food--water--on the immediate horizon. I am very much aware of how uncomfortable and restless I am right now, how much I don't want to remain in this situation another minute than I have to. The promises of God--His providence, His sovereignty--are very hard to hear over the growling of my stomach and the dryness of my throat. Where? When? Why not now? Why do You keep me waiting? I demand, chafing helplessly. God did this not out of a sadistic pleasure in seeing His people suffer. Far from it. Relief was at hand, though they didn't see it yet. But the purpose in letting them endure that interval of waiting, where they were tempted to doubt, was for a far greater goal than satisfying their physical hunger and thirst. Deuteronomy 8:2--"to humble and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not, and to realize that man shall not live by bread alone but by the word of God." (Wow. This could have been God's direct answer to me in my own dry spell of waiting.) In our intervals of waiting in the wilderness, when we are sharply, uncomfortably aware of our need and very anxious to have it met, our hearts are revealed with a clarity that would be hard to find in Elim, where--surrounded by 12 wells and 70 palm trees--the Israelites flourished in delicious comfort. When we are waiting in the wilderness, the genuineness of our faith is being tested. Can we glorify God in our trials? 1 Peter 1:6-7 In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honour, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ, image by Toa Heftiba from Unsplash A while back, I started an e-devotional series taken from the writings of Oswald Chambers on trust. I was searching for guidance on how to grow in trust, in the midst of much uncertainty. I longed so much to have faith in God's will for me, but it just seemed too abstract. I wanted concrete comfort. Concrete guidance on what action to take. I wanted something I could cling to when I was overwhelmed by anxiety. There were two questions in the reflection section that stuck with me and gave me my first probing glimpse at what really was the problem--something we need to understand before we can try to resolve it. What worries and anxieties do I indulge in that reveal my lack of peace? What societies and systems do we build to minimize our need for peace with God? The meaning of "indulge"--a word we use most commonly today to talk about eating desserts, or lax parents. Basically, to knowingly choose something we know is not good for us. I had never thought of anxieties as something I "indulged" in as I always associated that word with pleasant things. But what it made me realize was that I had a choice. Upon close examination I realized that it was true--before I reached the final stage of feeling overwhelmed, there was that moment in the beginning where I actively chose to pursue this train of thought. Sometimes obsessively. Sometimes unnecessarily. And these choices formed a pattern. There was a repeated, regular pattern of anxiety in my life that reflected an underlying problem, greater than the isolated problems in themselves. A lack of peace, making me feel that a.) every problem was of huge consequence, and b.) it was up to me to resolve them, the situation was in my hands for better or for worse. This was the real problem, the root problem. Without acknowledging this, simply thinking that you can break the pattern by willpower, by forcing yourself "not to think", is a naive solution as most of us might already know. As result--that brings us to the second question. We resort to trying all sorts of things to fix ourselves, to restore that sense of equilibrium. We jump into action, because there's a kind of blind, stupid comfort in being able to DO something, to feel like you're actively solving your problem. We "build societies and systems." We seek communities to surround us with support and affirmation, so we won't feel so hurt when others reject or criticize us. We work to make ourselves feel important, needed, loved, in families or groups of friends. Sometimes in damaging and unhealthy ways. We try to create an identity for ourselves affirmed by others, that we can fall back on regardless of what happens to us. Or we try to make sure the problem doesn't happen again. We improve ourselves. We find ways to work better, faster, to be less forgetful, to be more efficient, to be more attractive, or more compelling. We convince ourselves, like consumers buying into the ads they see on TV, that if only we get the latest vacuum cleaner or a cutting-edge smart fridge, our homes will stay clean and well-run. All we need is a better system, better skills. We try harder. These things, promising a shadow of compensation, are what we throw ourselves into, desperately wanting them to work. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they work the first time but don't the next. The key is that they're not the real answer. True freedom only comes with a broadening of perspective, understanding that a.) God's providence INCLUDES--in His mysterious will!--our problems; there are no accidents! and b.) we can turn to Him for guidance on what action to take, and trust that it will work out according to His plan, "for the good for His people." Learning to trust in God is impossible, as abstract fluff as it sounds, if we don't realize that trust in God first requires peace with God. Much of the times, we struggle to trust Him because we are not living in peace with Him. Whether this means that we need to repent and be saved as unbelievers, or whether this means we need to repent of our idols and lukewarmness/backsliding as Christians, peace with God means submitting our lives to Him. If we don't want to accept any other outcome than the one we want, if we refuse to believe that God is good, and continues to be good, even if He doesn't give us what we want--He "gives and takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord"--then we are still living in rebellion against Him. Maybe we've externally submitted our lives to Him. Call ourselves Christians. Go dutifully to church every Sunday and maybe even try to talk about the Gospel sometimes. But we shy away from accepting that the Bible calls us to make hard choices, and that God demands every area of our lives and hearts. Our lusts. Our free time. The times no one sees us, or we don't have to face any consequences. It's only now and then. Such a small thing, He won't mind. We cannot keep a little pet sin or two under the carpet while proclaiming that God is the ruler of our life. Or perhaps we're not at peace with Him because we're not willing to give Him control over everything--everything, but not our love life. Success. Career. Our heartbreak, or happiness. Our dreams (and this was the hardest one I'd been struggling with.) If we are guilty of one or both of these (as the case probably is) how can we truly trust? We are afraid that God will require what we don't want to let go of. We are fighting desperately for control. We are actually in rebellion, yet keeping it under wraps for now as we wait to see how it happens. We are already suspecting Him of not giving us what we want, already picturing Him as the Bad Guy, already unhappy to accept any other plan rather than our own. How could we trust? Trust comes naturally, sweetly, when we are at peace with God. When we are able to say earnestly that we love Him, and seek to love Him more than any other. When we can say humbly that we know His will is better than ours--no "maybes." image by Annie Spratt from Unsplash Recently I attended the annual combined youth camp that my church participates in with other Reformed churches from different countries. It is always a good chance to step outside of your comfort zone, broaden your horizons, be encouraged when sharing and hearing about the wider work of God across various churches, countries, and cultures. This year, one of the speakers did a short series on Elijah--which just happened to be the same passage I had chosen to do with my Sunday School kids. Ah, I thought. I'm very familiar with this. However, as we studied the passages in 1 Kings chp 17-19, I felt for the first time a personal connection with Elijah and what he went through. Elijah has one of the most exciting narratives in the Bible. It's the stuff of any epic action movie. A national crisis. An evil king egged on by a bloodthirsty evil queen. The one man fighting for what is right despite being the underdog, being hunted for his life. Multiple life-and-death situations. Incredible supernatural miracles in every chapter, and equally incredible courage that enabled Elijah to defy the king and queen, the entire idolatrous nation, and basically everything against him. Heck, Netflix be calling to make a series of this soon. Naturally, though it made for a cool story, I never really connected with Elijah's character. His bravery-to-the-point-of-recklessness, incredible faith in God, macho toughness in the face of impossible odds, and general badassery (is that even a term?) made him seem like some swashbuckling superhero who had very little in common with someone ordinary like me. Come on, I struggled to have faith for my exam grades. Elijah had faith that God would rescue him from Jezebel when he was standing before her and surrounded by her guards. So studying this passage again made me suddenly sensitive to the chronology of events, and the peculiar insight into Elijah's character which transformed him, hero though he be in so many aspects, into a human no different from us, who struggled with fears, lack of faith, and self-pity. At the dramatic contest of Mt Carmel, Elijah was at his peak. God used him in the most fantastic and epic way imaginable, with all the spotlight on him, to prove that the God of Israel was real. He was outnumbered by the prophets of Baal, his life was in danger at every moment, and yet God's power coursed through him, in the miracle that he performed, and the fearlessness he displayed. This is the Elijah we remember, the tough guy who sneers at the prophets of Baal, the guy who isn't scared of Jezebel, the guy who calls down fire from Heaven. One would have thought that after this amazing display of God's power over Baal, over man, Elijah's faith would be even stronger than before. However, after the contest at Mt Carmel concludes, we see Elijah fold to pieces almost instantly, after receiving Jezebel's death threat in chp 19. Like any of us, despite the obvious proof of God's power which he had just witnessed--just conducted--he fell to the fear of man. Terror gripped him. All of a sudden, he did not believe that God could protect him now, when God had protected him all along. He turned to his own devices and fled, following what his scared human reasoning told him was the smart thing to do: "Elijah was afraid and ran for his life." He ran from his fears, trying to deal with them as he thought best, overwhelmed by the humanly impossible odds against him. So often we too, after God answers our prayers, or demonstrates His power in our lives, fail to grow in faith, and instead fall again so easily into the pit of our fears--fear of what we can't control; fear of man; but ultimately, fear that God is not good, that we cannot rely on God to protect and provide for us. He was clearly disappointed that even after the miracle they had witnessed at Carmel, the Israelites were still too cowardly to come to his support, and that the victory God had given him at Carmel was not going to work out as he had expected, the turning point for Israel to recognize their sin and repent immediately. Elijah had put his hope in man instead of God. Now he was overwhelmed--with fear of Jezebel, and disappointment in the Israelites. A crushing sense of failure and disillusionment, probably bitterness as well, added to the fear of being killed. It seems so obvious in Elijah's case, that the God Who sent ravens to feed him, Who raised the widow's son from the dead, Who kept him safe from Jezebel all these years, Who sent blazing fire down from heaven, would definitely be able to protect him. But it doesn't seem so obvious to us, blinded by our fears, in our own situations we face today. When Elijah collapsed in the wilderness, unable to go any further on his own, at his wit's end, at the limit of his own human devices, he fell into despair and depression. Wallowing in self-pity and hopelessness, he turned suicidal, questioned the meaning of his life, and told God he couldn't take any more. "He came to a broom tree, sat down under it, and prayed that he might die. 'I have had enough, Lord,' he said, 'Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.' " When was the last time we felt this way? Suddenly I saw myself in Elijah. What I love most is how God responded at this point. God had let him try his own solutions, God had waited till Elijah realized it was no use, and when Elijah gave up in despair and wished to die, God stepped in. Without rebuking him for his lack of faith. Without scolding him for his ungratefulness or short-sightedness. "I just used you so powerfully at Mt Carmel, did you get amnesia already? Do you think, if I sent fire down from heaven at your request, I can't rescue you from Jezebel? As ifffffff" God knew Elijah's fears and struggles, and He had compassion on him. He first of all cared for his physical needs, letting him sleep soundly, sending him food and water, all of which Elijah had neglected in his fear-crazed escape plan (and which clearly also contributed to his emotional and psychological collapse.) After Elijah had rested, been fed, hydrated, God spoke to him. Gently. God asked him simply, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" One question, to make him stop in his tracks, to think and examine his motivations. Elijah hadn't gotten over his self-pity yet. He ranted to God about his loneliness and suffering and generally had a good bawl that also managed to be as paegro as he dared. And still, God didn't scold him, God didn't tell him off for being needy or weak or faithless. God simply told him, feel My presence. After the dramatic demonstrations of power and strength, Elijah was shaken, yet reminded that God, Who could do all this, was nevertheless was not just the fire on Mt Carmel, some impersonal supernatural power like The Force. God was in the gentle whisper after all that, the still small voice. Personal. Compassionate. And once again, without telling him off, God asked him again to examine himself. "What are you dong here, Elijah?" Still clinging defensively to his rant, Elijah delivered it again, weakly. And God's response was to give him clear directions which reinforced the meaning for his life which he had been looking for. You are important to Me. I have important work for you to do, which will affect not only the nation of Israel but even the neighbouring pagan nations as well. You will anoint kings, directly subverting the power of Ahab and Jezebel from within and without. In addition to that, God acknowledged his weariness, and comforted him--God told him He had already chosen and prepared a successor. Retirement was in sight, when Elijah had thought that it would never end. And finally, God reminded him-so gently!--that he was not alone. He might have suffered, but all God's true people were making the same, often difficult decisions, to stay faithful in each day when surrounded by an ungodly and idolatrous culture. In Elijah's (very) limited perspective, everything seemed hopeless, his efforts seemed pointless, and his life meaningless. But in God's plan, as we can clearly see when we read these chapters, it was anything but so. In fact, at the point when Elijah felt he couldn't go on anymore, God had already prepared his "exit strategy." God knew him, on a deeply personal, deeply compassionate and loving way. God knew his fears and weariness and struggles, and God did not resent him for them or punish him for them, even when he behaved foolishly or weakly. God was not a relentless taskmaster who didn't care what the emotional state of this tool was as long as it got His job done. Far from it. God was gentle with Elijah at his lowest, most broken point--a great man, but still a man like us. to be continued |
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