the problem of self-preservation

Self-preservation is not a virtue.

I recently read an article by a new foster parent over at The Archibald Project who shared this thought. It's been tumbling around, echoing in my head ever since.

I am an expert in self-preservation. Limits and boundaries and space are a few of my closest friends. I am afraid of feeling things too deeply, of the inevitability of walking in pain or grief. I'm very concerned with not giving too much of myself away. And I hold up the ideals of self-preservation as if they are gospel, when what they actually offer me is a life devoid of love that's deep, sacrificial, or purposeful.

So for anyone thinking we are special unicorn people for being willing to step into foster care, I hope this small window into my soul clears things up for you. My instincts for protecting myself from pain, worry, discomfort, exhaustion are so high that I know it will require constant, intentional effort to love these kids as God has called us to.

But the truth that is so present on my mind as we prepare for this life change is the worthiness of these kids to be fully loved, and kept safe, and to experience real attachment - perhaps for the first time. They are worthy of my attention, my sleeplessness, my encouragement, my energy, my affection, and even of my heartbreak if/when they leave our home.

I'm trusting God's transforming power to remake me through this process. I know it is as much for my own good as I hope it will be for the good of the children in our care. And I'm asking him to strip away this deep desire for self-preservation, that instead he will help me to understand more fully the love that compelled Christ to give himself away completely for us.

love him less.

For most of my life, though I have had close relationships with family and good friends, there was still a deep longing in me to know and be known deeply by another.

Until I was 22 years old (and married Mark), that "another" was the Lord.  Though I had plenty of times I could characterize as "lonely", I also shared such a deep, rich fellowship with God.  I knew what it was like to turn to him first, to confide in him, to cry out to him.

Then, as Mark and I entered into marriage, there was a subtle shift-- so subtle, in fact, that it took me almost two years to realize it.

Life changed quickly around us: brand new marriage, new city, new jobs.  New, new, new. And we were each the only person the other knew.  In the midst of this significant change, when I felt swallowed up by my circumstances, it was my first instinct to take hold of whatever was steady and within my reach.

While of course the Lord was very present with us in that season, I started to substitute God's intangible presence for the tangible- my husband.  It's difficult to trust when we're struggling that God is there, that he cares.

Mark, on the other hand, was right in front of my face. He knew me, he was committed to me. It was far easier- and instantly gratifying- to share my thoughts and feelings with someone I could see, who could show me in that moment that he heard me.

While Mark knows and loves the Lord and does his best to point me to him, I have recently found that I have become content with simply exposing my heart before my husband, rather than turning to my God.

This has meant affections that are divided; interests turned to the immediate.  Not seeking or trusting the sovereign care, works, and timing of my God.

This summer I have been reading A Severe Mercy.  It is a beautiful book in which the author falls in love, marries, has great adventures, and later comes to know the Lord, enduring difficult circumstances by faith in Christ.

Before the author and his wife know God, they speak of how they will keep their love alive: by sharing in everything.  They call it the "Shining Barrier" that will sustain their relationship.  I was so taken with this notion at its surface- it has a lovely appeal.  And, of course, it is true on some level. A relationship without sharing- in communication, in time, in each other's burdens- will not survive.

However, I know more deeply that a dynamic, flourishing relationship with God is the only way for a human love to be sustained.  Therefore, I desire, by the help of the Spirit, to pursue deep fellowship with the Lord, knowing that in this union a deeper union with my husband will also thrive.

After all, marriage is a picture of Christ and his church. Our marriages are to reflect the relationship that we share with Christ. (Eph. 5:22-33)

At our wedding, my dad read a poem written by John Piper (which Piper wrote for his son when he got married).  Of course, he's writing to the husband, but the truth is for us both.  I love Mark more when I love him less than I love God.

"Yes, love her, love her, more than life;
O, love the woman called your wife.
Go love her as your earthly best.

Beyond this venture not. But, lest
Your love become a fool's facade,
Be sure to love her less than God.

It is not wise or kind to call
An idol by sweet names, and fall,
As in humility, before
A likeness of your God. Adore
Above your best beloved on earth
The God alone who gives her worth.
And she will know in second place
That your great love is also grace,
And that your high affections now
Are flowing freely from a vow
Beneath these promises, first made
To you by God. Nor will they fade
For being rooted by the stream
Of Heaven's Joy, which you esteem
And cherish more than breath and life,
That you may give it to your wife.

The greatest gift you give your wife
Is loving God above her life.
And thus I bid you now to bless:
Go love her more by loving less."

In the End, Joy: Remembering Elisabeth Elliot

In a culture that is driven by the American dream, where independence, hard work, and getting ahead are prized, I see a lack of acknowledgement for the people that shape who we are. I had never noticed this as a blind spot in my own life until earlier this week when Elisabeth Elliot, a woman whose writing had a profound impact on me at a very important time of my life, passed away.

As I thought about who she was and what her voice has meant to my life, I was convicted that I don't often take the time to truly acknowledge and appreciate the people that the Lord uses to teach me about himself. I felt a deep thankfulness stirring in my soul, and therefore compelled to share what Elisabeth Elliot meant to me.

Elliot's writing found me in my freshman year of college, in a time when I had begun to discern a longing in my heart for a relationship.

In high school, I decided early on that dating during that season of life wouldn't be for me.  And I lived (mostly) contentedly in that freedom, thankful for the richness of friendships that high school brought because my focus had not been on dating. I was also thankful for the chance to got to know guys my age as brothers in Christ.  

But as I entered college, I knew this season was changing, that I desired a relationship, and that it was becoming very present on my heart and mind.  I had started to view friendships with guys differently, thinking: what if this or that guy is the guy?

I knew that I needed to think and process these desires in a biblical way, that I wanted to understand contentment in the midst of a new season, and I started looking for resources that could be helpful. I'm not sure how I stumbled upon it, but somehow I got a copy of Passion and Purity in my hands, and I couldn't put it down.

I was already familiar with Elisabeth Elliot from reading Shadow of the Almighty a few years prior. I had read of Jim Elliot's deep life of faith and desire to bring the gospel to the nations.  I also knew some of her story-- she had continued that mission to the very people that had killed her husband, seeing many of the same tribe come to faith in Christ.

But Passion and Purity revealed more of Elisabeth Elliot to me.  It quickly became clear to me that she had such a rich life with the Lord.  I had expected a (probably cheesy) book with some practical advice about contentment and relationships and purity.  Instead, what I experienced was a deeper understanding of the heart of God and what it looks like to faithfully submit to His will.

Elliot had a way of being so honest about her struggles and longings that drew me in, but she consistently and faithfully submitted them to God.  It didn't mean that waiting on the Lord's will was easy for her, or that her flesh didn't fight against it, but rather that she sought obedience over the fulfillment of her fleshly desires, and found a great refuge in communing with the Lord.

She talked a lot about how the Lord refines us and draws us to himself as we bring our thoughts and struggles and longings to him. "The deepest spiritual lessons are not learned by his letting us have our way in the end, but by His making us wait, bearing with us in love and patience until we are able honestly to pray what He taught His disciples to pray: Thy will be done."

"When obedience to God contradicts what I think will give me pleasure, let me ask myself if I love Him. If I can say yes to that question, can't I say yes to pleasing Him? Can't I say yes even if it means a sacrifice? A little quiet reflection will remind me that yes to God always leads in the end to joy. We can absolutely bank on that."

These thoughts (and several more!) served as a powerful example for me.  Of course, namely at the time I applied them to my desire to find contentment in singleness, or godliness in a relationship. But ever since my first reading of Passion and Purity, I have revisited it several times.  While Elliot's story in this particular work centers around the Lord's will for her relationship with Jim, it also told a larger story of longing, of sacrifice, of sanctification and deeper pursuit of God.

I will always be thankful for the life and faith of Elisabeth Elliot.  I will not forget the important ways that God used her in my own life, drawing me to deeper love and thankfulness to Him.

on limitations

Recently in our small group we talked about limitations-- about how part of the experience of being human is to have limits. We can't do all the things we want to do.  We're limited by time, by physical and emotional needs, etc.  But for whatever reason, we have this insatiable desire to do everything, to excel in everything. We feel like we need to make ourselves busy, because in doing more, we'll get ahead (or at least we'll feel really good about how much we're doing--because busyness is next to godliness, right???).

However, after weeks and months of underlying anxiety as I run through mental to-do lists, and discouragement at the end of every day when I inevitably fail or come up short in one way or another (or sometimes in every way), I cannot ignore that I have limits.

The Lord has been kindly reminding me that my limitations are actually by His design.

It's funny how I tend to believe things about God in theory but not let my heart really rest in their truth.  For instance: I "know" that I have a deep, abiding need for God. I "know" that he desires for me to acknowledge this need, that he desires to help me, showing himself strong and good and glorious in my life.  But I often live as though I am expected to do everything with perfect ease, on my own.

I'm thankful to know a God who has not left me on my own, who lets me know when I am relying on myself rather than running to him in my weakness.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. -2 Corinthians 12:9

My desires to perform well in my job and school, to be a good wife/daughter/sister/friend, or to improve in discipline are not wrong, but the fact that I don't always measure up is a constant reminder of my need for God.  I'm learning to be thankful for my limitations and my weakness, so that the power of Christ may be made more evident in my life.  I'm learning what rest looks like in light of these truths.

I read this yesterday and am adopting it as my prayer too: "give me grace to know more my need of grace...reveal to me my weakness that I may know my strength in thee." (The Valley of Vision)

new things.

There's been a little over a year of silence in this space, and I wish I had more to show for it. There are plenty of reasons I could list, excuses I could make. Mostly I think it has a lot to do with insecurity-- looking around and feeling like I couldn't possibly have anything worthwhile to contribute, especially when there's already so much to consume, and most of it is much better than what I have to offer. 

But I've realized I need an outlet. And even though what is found here may not be exceptional, it is good for me to process, to record, to create. So I'm giving it another go :)

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Yesterday was Easter, and our pastor preached a beautiful sermon from 1 Corinthians 15:50-58. Discouragement has characterized this season for me, but I find comfort in remembering that my sanctification is a slow, often painful work, spanning my entire life. It won't always feel like victory, but I can be confident that as I continue to seek the Lord, he will change my heart. I am also filled with hope for the day when I have a resurrection body, completely free from sin and alive to God.     

We Shall All Be Changed

Resurrection bodies—

we shall all be changed.

For as in Adam all die,

so also in Christ

shall all be made alive.

Just as we have borne

the image of the man of dust,

we shall also bear

the image of the man of heaven.

The last enemy

to be destroyed

is death.

Resurrection bodies:

we shall all be changed.

 (a found poem, based on 1 Cor. 15)

longing transforms obedience.

I spend time every Sunday afternoon talking about the Bible with a handful of sixth grade girls.  It's been really helpful and challenging to think through how to present hard concepts in a way that will make sense to the girls without watering things down.  Every week the Lord's been exposing my own lack of understanding in the things I'm preparing to share with them, using it to instruct my heart as well.

A few weeks ago, the topic was sanctification.  The most helpful definition I found was Wayne Grudem's: Sanctification is a progressive work of God and man that makes us more and more free from sin and like Christ in our actual lives.

In other words, believers play an active role in the sanctification process.  Though the cross was a free work of grace on our behalf, and salvation comes about when the Spirit draws us (because we cannot see the loveliness or necessity of the cross unless he opens our eyes to it), sanctification is a progressive work of God and man.    We see this in verses like Philippians 2:12-13, "...work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for God is at work in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure,"  or Romans 8:13, "...if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live."

Of course, putting our sinful deeds to death is only possible because the Holy Spirit dwells within us, but there is still an element of responsibility-- of activity-- there that is undeniable.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  In myself I still see so much unfaithfulness and disobedience to God, starting with a daily struggle to spend time with Him.  I've sought better systems of time management, tried harder to value the things of God over shallow distractions, and still come up hopelessly short.  So I often throw out the discipline and decide just to wait around for things to be different-- to want to want Him more.  As if not pursuing God will somehow lead to loving him more.  It's a good thing God is so gracious, because my thoughts are pretty foolish A LOT of the time.

Here's what he's been reminding me: though actively fighting for sanctification is difficult, and though I will struggle against fleshly desires until the day that I die, God is so unbelievably good.  He has designed you and I for union with Himself.  And when we do pursue faithful obedience to Him, He changes our desires-- "longing transforms obedience" (C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory)-- so that what was once difficult or even drudgery instead becomes delight.  And God is glorified when I am satisfied in Him.  Isn't this a beautiful truth?

So I will continue to fight (with the help of the Spirit and the encouragement of other believers) for sanctification-- for self-discipline, knowing that the Lord's beauty shines forth when I learn to long for more of Him.

beware of introspection.

I've grown up in a culture that celebrates "finding yourself" and "knowing yourself", "self-help" and becoming  "self-aware" or "self-actualized".  I've noticed that Christianity isn't always quick to separate from these popular ideals, because, frankly, we are pretty fond of ourselves.  We like it when things are about us.  Right?  Introspection has been one category of self-love that I've been learning a lot about lately.

I was sitting in class the other night and my professor was discussing heart worship.  He was explaining the various ways we deceive ourselves into thinking the various lusts of our hearts aren't really so bad (avoiding the use of words like "lusts", for instance- instead, "misplaced priorities" or "bad habits").  He made a passing comment-- beware of introspection; and cited it to Martin Lloyd-Jones.  My ears perked up at the phrase and all at once I was instinctively curious and confused-- Wait. Introspection is a bad thing?  Because I'm pretty sure that is a frequent inner reality for me.

So I found the original quotation:
"I suggest that we cross the line from self-examination to introspection when, in a sense, we do nothing but examine ourselves, and when such self-examination becomes the main and chief end of our life.  We are meant to examine ourselves periodically, but if we are always doing it, always, as it were, putting our soul on a plate and dissecting it, that is introspection.  And if we are always talking to people about ourselves and our problems and troubles, and if we are forever going to them with that kind of frown upon our face saying: I am in great difficulty- it probably means that we are all the time centered upon ourselves.  That is introspection..." -Martin Lloyd-Jones, Spiritual Depression

For the last few weeks in particular, I've spent a lot of time inside my own head, analyzing and over-analyzing my own thoughts, behaviors and motivations.  I've been incredibly discouraged, because I am (surprise!) pretty screwed up and sinful.  Then I read these words from Lloyd-Jones, and I realized that I haven't been self-examining at all.  I've given in to blatant introspection, and my thoughts have been completely centered on myself.

How can I tell the difference?  Because it didn't lead to repentance.  It wasn't rooted in my understanding of a holy God that I can never measure up to and desperately need grace from to change, just to more thoughts about me and my own inadequacy.  Because it was condemning-- it didn't point me to the goodness and grace of Christ and his saving work on the cross.  Because it didn't draw me away from me, but further into me.

"For godly grief [over sin] produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death." -2 Corinthians 7:10

Lord, help me by your Spirit to seek repentance-producing, godly grief that honors you and your saving and sanctifying work in me.  Give me the strength and discernment to fight the entanglement of my own fleshly, introspective, worldly grief.