Category: Humility

Go with the Flow

Posted on by Dorci

We didn’t have much of a chance to talk when I was growing up, but later my dad and I would talk for hours.  We were both thinkers and we’d each spend way too much time in our heads trying to work out our problems.  We also both shared an inclination to write things down.  And when one called the other, all those thoughts that had been swirling around in our heads or maybe even made it onto paper, spilled out into our conversations.

We took turns, comparing notes, collaborating, solving the world’s problems since we couldn’t seem to solve our own.

I knew a little bit about the difficult life he’d had, and he knew a little bit more about mine.  Being my dad, I know he wanted to help me.  I don’t know much more of a helpless feeling than to be a parent who can only stand by and watch a child suffer.

He saw me flailing, struggling, and it was as if he were watching me from shore with no boat and no life raft of his own to share with me.

So he’d call out to me the best advice he could give: “Go with the flow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But fighting came easier somehow.  It was instinctual.

They say if you’re caught in a riptide, swim with the current, parallel to the shoreline, until you’re safe.  But most people fight the current.  They use all their strength trying to swim back to shore in direct opposition to the powerful and relentless current, and many don’t make it.

Go with the flow.  Accept.  Yield.

Paul the apostle put it like this:

“Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.  I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:11-13 NAS

For God’s sons and daughters, He is that current in our lives.

He blows the winds of circumstances where He will, and to fight them is to fight Him, and no one wins fighting God.

But when we accept the circumstances of our lives as coming from the hand of a loving, all-powerful, all-present and all-knowing Father, we can, with Paul, learn the secret of contentedness, and trust Him to carry us to safety.

It seems to me at this moment a happy coincidence that my dad’s name was Paul, too.

Whether centuries ago or just a couple of decades, truth is truth, and somehow the Lord in His mercy, knowing full well that one day he’d give his heart to Christ, gave my dad what he needed to get through the storms of his life.

I didn’t get it so much when my dad was giving me his advice years ago.  I was younger then and still had the energy and stubbornness to fight.  But I’m getting it a little bit more these days.  God’s patience and many trials have worn me down.   And I’m glad. All that flailing was blocking the voice of God. Now I’m learning to be still and listen.

There are days I wish my dad had lived long enough to be able to read what the other Paul had to say about “going with the flow” in the light of Christ.  To have the chance to take that thought one step further and know that it’s more than just tolerating life’s trials.  That in Christ he could find strength and even joy in the middle of those circumstances, and even grow through them.

Most of the time, though, I rejoice that my dad was able to escape the suffering of this life and receive his reward just five days after he let Christ into his life.

If he were still here, he’d be 76 today and still trying to figure it all out, just like I am.  But he is home now, and he is ageless, living a life more contentedly than he ever imagined.

I wonder if the two Pauls have met yet.  I can just see them, sitting together, comparing notes, but this time without a care in the world.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Love,

On Waiting

Posted on by Dorci

“Show me Your ways, O Lord; teach me Your paths. Lead me in Your truth, and teach me; for You are the God of my salvation; on You I wait all the day long.”  Psalm 25:4-5

I sat at the intersection waiting to turn right.  There was a boy standing on the corner next to me, violin case in hand.  We both stared at the same red light.  As the light was about to change, traffic had let up and ordinarily I would have jumped at the chance to take my turn. I saw the car behind me and knew the driver would be impatient.  But I waited the few seconds, knowing the boy would step into the intersection any minute. The light turned green and I waited for him to cross.

HONK!!  

I looked in my rear view mirror and saw that look sprawled across her face.  That angry, disgusted, I-have-somewhere-important-to-be look.

The light is green, why don’t you go?

My car and some trees kept her from seeing the boy.

I don’t know if she ever did see him and realize her impetuousness, or if her attitude had gotten her so twisted up and focused on herself that she missed him altogether.

I can be that way sometimes.

I can get that look.

Maybe not always on my face (although I’m sure that happens more than I’d want to admit), but it’s on my heart.  And God sees it.

When I’m waiting for the painful circumstances of my life to change, when I’m waiting for an answer to my prayer, when I’m waiting for someone else to MOVE!

I become impatient. Impetuous.  Rash.  I move when I shouldn’t.  And I make mistakes.

I forget that I’m waiting on God, the Author and Finisher of my faith.

All good authors take time to get the details just right.

And God is a good author.  The best, in fact.

So He waits for circumstances to line up the way they need to be.  He waits for my attitude to change.  He waits for other people around me.  He waits for the timing to be just right.

But I don’t always see what He sees.  Almost never, in fact.

Much of the time I’m so focused on myself and my immediate wants that I can miss the fact that God is doing a work, not just in my life, but in my heart, and even in the people around me, and that takes time.

So He waits for me to look up.

“To you I lift up my eyes, O you who are enthroned in the heavens! Behold, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God, till he has mercy upon us.” Psalm 123:1-2

Our waiting is not without purpose.

We look to Him, waiting patiently, expectantly, on a loving God to use the circumstances of our lives to mold us into the image of His Son.

We watch Him as He reveals truths, teaches lessons, grows our faith.

We wait and let Him bring us to maturity.

Sometimes the waiting is short and sometimes it’s long.  Very long.  Sometimes the consequences are small, and sometimes they’re bigger than we ever imagined.

I remember another story about a woman in a car.  A woman who loved the Lord with all her heart.  A woman who became impatient.  She sat in traffic behind a row of cars, and she was in  a hurry.  The lane next to hers was a lot shorter, and she was tempted to take it.  She heard the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit telling her to wait.  But she was in such a hurry.  She ignored the small voice and listened to her own.  Quickly she changed lanes to get ahead, but what she didn’t see was a boy crossing the street.  Before she knew it she had hit him.  He died of his injuries.  As I watched her interview, she was overcome with grief.  The thing is, she hadn’t done anything that any of us wouldn’t do.

But God saw what she didn’t, and He lovingly, patiently, tried to warn her.

Just like He tries to warn us and teach us.  The question is: are we going to listen?  Are we going to be the sheep who walk off a cliff, or who hear His voice and follow Him?  (John 10:27)

We think we know what’s best, but we don’t. Only God sees the future.  And He has much to say to us, to show us, to teach us, if we will only look up and listen to His still, small voice.

It’s Time To Break Free

Posted on by Dorci

 

My prayer for us this year is that we would come to realize more and more the wholeness we have in Christ.

That we would submit ourselves to His loving grace and become the people we were meant to be in and through and by the Holy Spirit.  That we would let our old selves go, let His healing take place, and live in newness of life.  That we would put away all lies and live in the freedom of truth.  That we would shine with His love and grace and mercy in all we say and do.

We stay in the cocoon much too long for fear of what’s on the outside, when what’s on the outside all along is freedom!

So instead of wishing you a happy new year, because happiness is so fleeting and dependent on our circumstances, I pray for you a joyful new year.

That kind of joy that comes from deep within when our spirit meets His Spirit, and we break free of all encumbrances–all our own sin and fears and entanglements–to shine in the freedom and beauty that is ours in Christ.

Grace and peace,

Invisible Dogs

Posted on by Dorci

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7

There was a period of time I had dreams that a wild pack of dogs was chasing me.  I never saw them, I just heard their snarling, vicious barking and my imagination ran away with thoughts of being torn limb from limb.  I’d be filled with fear and instinctively run for my life.

Night after night this nightmare invaded my dreams until one night when I heard the dogs right behind me and I thought what if I just stand here, turn around and face them?

So I did.

The barking stopped and the dogs were gone.

I never had that dream again. Later I had dreams about bears, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Because of a series of events throughout my life, fear is something I’ve always had to deal with.  Even when the initial event is over, that fear can linger like a pack of invisible dogs.  And I haven’t always stood my ground and stared that thing I’m afraid of in the face.  There are times I’ve run.

But the Lord’s shown me that if I keep running from the thing I’m afraid of, fear will always chase me.

We all have invisible dogs–those fears that chase after us–and for some inexplicable reason we automatically turn and run.  They don’t even have to be big things.  Sometimes we run from the little things just because we don’t want to be uncomfortable.

And running from those little things puts in motion deep inside us an undercurrent of fear that we may not even be aware is there.  And then when something big comes along, instead of being able to draw on a foundation of courage, we have none.

Trusting God to be with us in the little things grows our faith big enough to trust Him in the big things.

And there is something big God has entrusted to us.

It’s the reason Paul encourages Timothy (and us) to remember that God does not give a spirit of fear.

“Therefore I remind you to stir up the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor of me His prisoner, but share with me in the sufferings for the gospel according to the power of God,  who has saved us and called us with a holy calling,”  2 Timothy 1:6

Above anything else, we can’t be afraid to use the spiritual gifts God’s given to each one of us for the good of the kingdom of God—to strengthen our brothers and sisters and to witness to those who are as of yet unsaved.

And sometimes that can be a little scary.  A little uncomfortable.

Paul suffered to share the message of the gospel with people who were dying in their sin.  But he so believed in that message—in Christ—that he was willing to risk being repeatedly imprisoned, flogged, starved, shipwrecked, in constant danger, and finally, beheaded.

I doubt any of us will ever face the trials Paul did, but we will serve Christ at a cost.  Like Paul, we are here on a mission.  We are called to share in the sufferings of Christ, to be a living sacrifice, bold and unashamed, living for His glory, not our comfort.

But oh, the gain.  The souls we’ll encourage, the lives we’ll save, the light we’ll shine, the glory we’ll reveal, the crowns we’ll receive and cast at the feet of our Lord.

If we’re willing to turn around and look fear in the face.

A lot of the time those fears will disappear when we turn to face them.  But if they don’t, if they charge us anyway, at the end of day, it won’t matter.

Paul has long forgotten his suffering.  But he will never forget the joy of serving alongside the King of kings, the glory that’s his in Christ, or the souls that are with him now, all because he was willing to use his gift.

Grace and peace,

The Race is On

Posted on by Dorci

And crying with a loud voice, Jesus said, “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” Luke 23:46 

Faith doesn’t come only when things are good – when the sun is shining, the bills are paid, and everyone loves us.  Who needs faith then?

But when the storms rage, the money jar is empty and the enemy knocks at the door, that is when we need faith.  That is when the exercise of our faith in God is most beautiful and He is most glorified. 

Christ is our example.  Rather than avoid it, He walked through the suffering, through the pain, through the rejection and spitting and scoffing and unbelief – even by His own friends.  Why?  Because He had faith in His Father, the Father who sent Him to the cross.  He kept faith that He had a plan and a purpose in His suffering. 

They would never know anything but how to reject, how to accuse, how to inflict pain unless He died.  Unless He offered forgiveness for their sins and they took it.  Only when their eyes were opened and their hearts were wiped clean of sin would they have the capacity for true love.  So He gave Himself so they could be forgiven and bring love into the world.

And they would go on to trust God through their own sufferings, to commit their spirits to their heavenly Father like their Savior did, so others could hear of Him, have their eyes opened and hearts wiped clean of sin.  So they could learn how to love like Jesus did, completely and unselfishly, and fill the world with it.

The torch has been passed to us, and we are called to do the same.

Grace and peace,

 

The Most Powerful Place on Earth

Posted on by Dorci

I listened to this interview on John Piper’s site a few months ago and wanted to share it with you.  Rosaria Champagne Butterfield tells of her journey from living as a radical lesbian, as she puts it, to being confronted with the truth of Christ, putting her faith in Him, and leaving the gay lifestyle.  But this is not just a story of a lesbian who got saved.

I believe there is a bigger, more universal lesson.  It’s a compelling story of someone who was enslaved by sin, as we all were before Christ freed us, whose soul was moved and whose life was changed by the power of God’s living, breathing Word.

And I think we can learn something very powerful from her story.  Actually, two somethings.

(I would encourage you to listen to the 23-minute interview first if you can, then read the rest of the post.)

            1. There is power in the Word of God.

For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” Hebrews 4:12

The Bible is not just another book.  In all the places in the world, the Bible that we have tucked on our shelves, maybe laying on our laps on Sundays, and possibly read a day or two during the week, is the only place we can be assured to find the truth of God.   And there is nothing more powerful than truth.  

If God can use His Word in such a powerful way in the heart of someone who was not yet saved, what could He do in and through those who are saved and dedicated to reading and studying His Word? 

2 Timothy 3:16-17 tells us

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”

I’m convinced that the Church–those who have put their faith in Jesus Christ–would be tastier salt and brighter light to the world if we would be continually filled with the precious, life-giving truth on the pages of God’s Word. 

And that brings me to the second something.

            2. People don’t need our judgment.  They need Jesus. 

‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’  How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’” Romans 10:13-15

It is our feet, yours and mine, that bring the good news of Jesus Christ.  We are the called and we are the sent ones–not just to those who make us comfortable, or whose sins are not readily apparent, or more specifically, not like ours.  But to everyone.   Had a Christian man not befriended Dr. Butterfield, she might not be saved to this day, and many lives would be radically different. 

Christians can get a bad rap and sometimes that reputation is earned.  When we choose to stand in judgment, or speak words of hatred, or refuse to share the love of Jesus to someone because of their particular brand of sin, we’ve failed in our calling.

There is no unforgivable sin.  “Everyone who calls…”  That statement is very clearly all-inclusive.  It isn’t hate or judgment or rejection, but God’s loving kindness that brought us to repentance, and will bring others, too.

Grace and Peace,

 

 

Material distributed by By John Piper. ©2013 Desiring God Foundation. Website: desiringGod.org
Image credit: prezoom / 123RF Stock Photo

The Greater Love

Posted on by Dorci

This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  No one has greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:12-13

In the light of the example Jesus gave us at the cross, this is our daily duty – to lay down our lives, our preferences, our wills, in favor of those God gives us.  This is, Jesus tells us, the highest, mightiest, strongest, most powerful love.  It is this love that carries crosses, moves mountains, divides oceans, binds unseen wounds and heals pain that otherwise would never heal.  It is to this love we aspire. 

And it is this love we honor today.  It is this love that leaves behind one’s own dreams, loved ones, births and deaths, to serve, protect, run into harm’s way, fight the enemy even when the odds are down, conditions are at their worst and injuries are unbearable, and risk all to carry our banner.  All for the greater good and love of freedom. 

This love and duty to country has impassioned many to lay down their lives to buy the freedom of an entire nation, and this continued courage and sacrifice has kept us free for over 200 years.  Let us honor these brave men and women with our deep gratitude, but also by following their example of greater love.

When we live our lives with respect for one another, with words that build up and not tear down, with actions that better our own corner of this country, when we live not carelessly, but thoughtfully, we honor those who have fought so hard to make us free. 

You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'” Galatians 5:13-14

May God fill you with strength and courage as you seek to live out His greater love.

 

 

A Preposterous Tale of a Boy, a Claim and an Empty Tomb

Posted on by Dorci

The story sounds so completely preposterous. 

A boy grows up like any other boy.  Only this boy would teach in the synagogues, and with such authority the priests would be seized with jealousy.  They would obsess over plotting to kill Him.

The boy grows up into adolescence like any other young man.  Only He would not look for a wife, but instead devote Himself to carpentry and to prayer.

The adolescent grows up like any other man, only He changes water to wine.

And He claims to be the Son of God.  The I Am.

Twelve men would leave their families and their lives in an instant because He called them.

It doesn’t make sense. 

In an ordinary place among ordinary people, a Man walks among them.  A Man who, on the outset, would seem ordinary, too.  But He isn’t.

He heals the blind, He touches the leper, He raises the dead.

In a time when women are property, He defends them.

In a place where there is no food, He feeds multitudes with a boy’s lunch.

How can that be?

To some religious leaders He boldly states, “The Son of Man is also Lord of the Sabbath.” Luke 6:5

Time and time again He shows His power, His authority.

Except one night when soldiers have come to take Him.  Still, His authority overwhelms them and they fall helpless to the ground.  He gives them strength again and as His disciples look on, they stand to their feet and seize Him.  A soldier loses an ear in the melee and He heals him.  

Why?  Why doesn’t He run while He can?

He stands before men in four separate mock trials.

He is sentenced to die in the place of a murderer who is set free.

He is beaten beyond recognition as a man.

But some begin to recognize Him as more than a man.

He is nailed to a cross to die among thieves, and promises one of them who asks that he will have a place with Him in Paradise that day.

How can He make that promise?

“But even the rulers with them sneered, saying, ‘He saved others; let Him save Himself if He is the Christ, the chosen of God.’” Luke 23:35

Why didn’t He?

He calls to His Father in heaven, asking Him to forgive all who have sinned against Him.

He dies and is buried in a tomb with armed guards standing watch.

The disciples scatter. Judas is dead. Peter hides in his shame. Hope is lost.  A man is dead.

Was it all too good to be true? Were His claims preposterous? Were His promises empty?

Three years had come and gone like a dream and now they were awake.  It’s over.  The Sabbath comes and goes.

And it’s morning on the third day.

Some disciples journey to the tomb. Some take spices for burial.

Photo by Ferrell Jenkins

But the stone is already rolled away and  He’s gone.

How?  Where were the soldiers? 

In her grief, Mary Magdalene begs a man she supposes to be the gardener, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” John 20:15

If only she could have one more moment with Him.

The Man calls her name.

“Mary!”

That voice, she knows that voice!

“Teacher!”

And she clings to Him.

She clings to Him Who is hope, to Him Who is the resurrection and the life, to Him Who is the Lord of the Sabbath, the Lord of the universe, the King of heaven.

It was all true!  It sounded preposterous, ludicrous, absurd. A boy born to a virgin who claimed to be God and came to die for the sins of the world?  To human ears, human reasoning, it seemed insane.

It was beyond their comprehension.

It’s a story so elaborate, so perfectly designed, so extraordinary, so humble and so powerful at the same time that only God could dream it.

From the very beginning, everything He said would happen did.

He’s still dreaming dreams for us.  He’s still making promises that seem completely contrary to anything we can understand.  He’ll heal the marriage, He’ll bring home the child, He’ll provide the need.  He’ll forgive the sin,  He’ll make us new creations.  He’ll love us and be by our side no matter what.

He’ll prepare a home for us and come back to take us there.

And He’ll seal the promise by filling us with His Holy Spirit.

It seems preposterous.  Impossible.  Almost unbelievable.

But the stone is rolled away and He is alive.

 

May the joy of Jesus’ Resurrection fill you this day and every day!

 

 

 

 

The Rescue

Posted on by Dorci

I walked through his apartment in a daze, sifting methodically through his keepsakes, his memories, his life, trying to decide what I dared throw away, what I gave away and what I kept.  I was on a time crunch and for the most part I resisted leaning back to read the slew of papers left everywhere with his private thoughts, his struggles, his journey.

But sometimes the words called out to me from the pages and I gave in.  Faces from black and white Polaroids stared at me and I stared back, wondering just who they were.  How had my dad known them?

As I made my way around his bedroom, I looked up and there in a relatively dark corner was a survivor, a cutting from a Pothos.  A rescue with one or two small leaves in a clay pot.

My dad liked to rescue plants.  He was always taking cuttings from plants and giving them a fresh start.  I think in his heart of hearts he wanted to rescue something. He wanted to do something good.  He couldn’t rescue my mother, or my sister or me, or even himself.  So he rescued plants.

I lifted it from its place and laid it aside in the pile of things I would keep.

I brought home my little adopted friend and tried to find just the right spot where it would get enough light to grow.  It’s been all over the house in the years since.  Right now it has a cozy home by a sunny window in my bathroom.

For a long time I put off transplanting it into a bigger pot with new soil, even though it desperately needed both.  Still, it held on.  Every once in a while a leaf would turn yellow and drop off and I’d be afraid I was watching my dad’s plant die.  But another leaf would soon take its place.  It didn’t really grow, though.  It just held steady with those two or three leaves.

After scouring brick-and-mortars and the internet for a pot deserving of a plant my dad had taken the time to nurture during its teenage years, I finally found just the right pot for it and replanted it with some fresh new soil.  And what do you know, it began to grow like crazy.

Still, it only had the one stem.  And it just kept getting longer and longer.  Somewhere along the way I had developed my dad’s love of gardening and I’d learned a thing or two about it.  I knew that if I wanted the plant to be healthy, to develop multiple stems and bush out rather than remain leggy, I’d have to prune it.  I’d have to cut some off the end of the one stem it had so that the energy would be redirected to the roots and it would grow a new stem.

I put it off for a while.  It wasn’t just a stem I’d be cutting.  It was my dad’s rescue. Strangely it seemed part of him.  But I wanted it to grow into a healthy, beautiful, thriving plant, so I went to the drawer for some scissors, stood in front of it, told it I was sorry, and cut a few inches off the end.

And within a few weeks it began to grow another leafy stem.

Recently those two leafy stems with their big, shiny leaves had grown so long they were hanging on the floor.  Still, there were only two stems.  I knew it was time to prune it again.  And I dreaded it.

I went to the drawer for the scissors and stood in front of it with slightly bated breath.  This is silly! I thought.  It’s just a plant.  Again, I told it I was sorry, and I snipped off several inches this time, just adjacent to where a leaf emerged from the stem.

And suddenly something occurred to me.  Does the Lord feel this way when He prunes us?  He knows it’s for our good.  He knows just where to cut and how much to develop healthy, new growth in our lives.  Still, He knows it’s going to hurt us.

I wonder if He stands for a moment with slightly bated breath before He allows us to hear that diagnosis.  Before we hear the news about our loved one.  Before we find out we’ve lost a job or a home, or a child.

Jesus wept.

John 11:35

Of all the times the New Testament tells us of someone crying, this instance of Jesus weeping with those who wept over Lazarus’s death is the only time the word dakruo is used to describe it.  It means to weep silently or to shed tears. All other instances were of people crying out loud.

Jesus knew in just moments He would give Lazarus new life and still, His compassion for Mary and Martha and the rest was overwhelming, because He is not an uncompassionate God.  Our pain is His pain. He wept for their immediate suffering, but also for the sin nature they were caught in which ultimately brought death–the sin nature He came to overcome.

My plant is not the only rescue in this house.  I am God’s rescue.  When He plucked me out of my dark corner of the world, I was barely alive, barely growing.  Since then God’s pruned me back many times.  And I’m not always as compliant as my plant.  I’ll argue He’s taken too much or it’s too soon to take more.  And there are times I’ve wondered if He cares how much the pruning hurts.

And I look at my plant, and I know He does.

Somehow that makes going through the pruning, the struggle of it all, just a little bit easier.  Knowing God isn’t at all cavalier about the pain He must allow in my life, knowing He has a purpose beyond what I can see, knowing He’s right beside me, weeping when I weep, makes it all just a little bit easier.

When I grow up, I want to be like my plant.  I want to allow the cutting without a peep.  I want to bounce back and quickly begin to produce new growth.  I want to be content and even flourish where the Lord sees fit to put me.

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday.  If he were here I’d give him a jar full of jelly beans and a trip to the Desert Botanical Gardens.  Maybe a new fishing pole. Nah.  He’d rather keep the one he’d broken in.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  You rescued me more than you know.

Love and Blessings,

 

Addicted to Unforgiveness

Posted on by Dorci

One of the first things God put on my heart shortly after I accepted Christ 23 years ago was to forgive a man who had maliciously intruded into my life several years before.

But why did I need to?  I hadn’t thought about him, much, in years. I was married now.  I had a child.  Why did I need to revisit such a nightmarish memory?  Couldn’t I just forget it? 

The truth is God knew I hadn’t forgotten.  The memory and all its pain was buried deep in my heart.  And that pain was leaking poison.  And if I was honest, those painful memories were more at the surface than I’d like to have led on, even to myself.  

And God knew that if I didn’t let go of that poison, it would contaminate my heart, my life, my relationships with my husband, people and even with God.

The only way to rid a body of that kind of poison is to accept the antidote: forgiveness.

After months of praying and choosing to forgive the man, God supernaturally moved that forgiveness from my head to my heart.  And suddenly I felt forgiveness toward him. 

One down, 3,563 people and circumstances to go.  Roughly.  And that didn’t even count the things I needed to forgive myself for. 

Still, God had set me on the path to freedom.

Recently the Lord has shown me some awesome truths about unforgiveness. 

It can become a habit that’s as poisonous as alcoholism or drug addiction. You start off holding onto unforgiveness as a coping mechanism.  A balm to soothe the pain of the hurt.

But unforgiveness is liar.

The sin of unforgiveness goes much further than the unforgiveness itself.  There’s a certain self-righteousness that comes with it.  An earned anger.  And loneliness. And they’re all wrapped up in pride.

The truth is there is no balm in unforgiveness. There is no soothing of the pain.  There is only poison. 

Before the man, I’d already had a lifetime of pain.  I’d already learned to use unforgiveness as a crutch, an excuse, a way to steel my heart from any future pain.  My coping mechanism was set, my walls built, my heart scabbed over.  And every day that went by, the poison contaminated my heart.

But there was a war going on inside my heart that only God could see.  Behind that wall of pain and unforgiveness lay a heart that wanted so badly to be tender and sensitive and loving. 

The Lord saw my heart, the heart behind the wall.  And with that one act of obedience to forgive a man I’d see only once in my lifetime, the Lord had broken through that crusty heart.  And the poison I’d held there was gone.

Still, in the years since there’s been much more pain.  And I’ve had my coping mechanism. My habit. And time and time again it was proven to me that I had a reason to keep that heart walled and secret and safe.  Fresh wounds gave me a right to hold onto unforgiveness, or so I thought.  I was still dealing with pain the way I had since I was a little girl.

But now I’m learning to let go of old habits.  And instead, I’m learning to trust the Lord. 

Because that’s what it all comes down to.  Trust. 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
 in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust that He sees your pain.

Trust that He is a good and fair God.

Trust that He is using every situation for your good.

Trust that He will make it all right in the end.

Trust that He loves you.

Forgive.  And let His peace fill your heart.

I wouldn’t have thought that being assaulted thirty years ago would be used for my good.  But God is that kind of God.  The kind that can take a twisted, depraved act chosen by a sinful man and turn it around to make me a better person.  To teach me forgiveness.  And mercy. 

And to allow the life of Jesus—the One who has shown me an unknowable amount of forgiveness and mercy—to flow through me. 

And every day, with every circumstance, I have a choice to make.

Am I going to fall back on old habits or am I going to choose to lay down my pride, trust God and forgive?

Today I choose forgiveness. 

Will you?