I hope you'll join me . . .

over here from now on.
Thank you for wanting more of Christ with me.

In His Hand,

R

settling down

"God, the Master, The Holy of Israel,
   has this solemn counsel:
'Your salvation requires you to turn back to me 
   and stop your silly efforts to save yourselves.
Your strength will come from settling down
   in complete dependence on me - 
The very thing
   you've been unwilling to do.' "
        -Isaiah 30:15 (Msg.)


Faith is a journey that doesn't end until we see His face.


The lessons I'm learning now as my faith balloons and presses against the walls of my heart, threatening to burst me - they're practically the same lessons I thought I learned so many years ago when I first found faith in Christ.  


I wonder, trying not to chide too deeply, "Can I really still be needing milk?" Won't I ever learn? Will I ever find a different path than this ragged road of fighting self-sufficiency?


Like always, Jesus answers my endless questions with a question of His own ... What if you don't; will you still keep walking?

And I surrender.  Again.  Lean into Him harder.  Let go of my hallucinations that I can do it my way, take care of it on my own, save myself from myself.  Release my fists clenched around my self-made, self-inflicted shame and let Him redefine me - again.

In the summer of 1997 I realized that my way was no highway, so I gave my life to Him in surrender.  I told Jesus I had no intelligence, strength, wisdom, ability, or direction on my own, and I surrendered to His plan.  I told Him I'd depend on His power.  Completely.  

So, in 2012 . . . why do I still find myself fighting to surrender my will to His?

Who knows, but . . . Yes, Lord, I'll keep walking.

My salvation, my faith, my very life requires that every day I turn back to Him, open handed, hands raised to receive his mercy that flows new as the dawn breaks again.  I'm silly indeed for thinking I can even try my way.  Every breath dependent on His strength, every moment a choice to release the rope of control.  

I want no credit for good.  Not an ounce.  What I'm learning though, is that in order for that to be possible, I need to let go of the bad too.  For as He makes beauty of my ashes, that is where the brightest light is displayed for His glory.  I fight Him for my sin, want to feel the pain of it, wallow in the filth of it so He won't have to.  

But it's far more glorious to let Him save me.  

My name means Shining with Fame.  Oh God, please not that.  Anything but that.  Let me disappear before I let that ever happen.  And sometimes I'd rather die than stand on a stage.  Even a stage built for Him.  I'm so afraid they'll look at me too much.  Frightened they'll see more of me than Him.  More of my filth than His grace, and how can I ever live up to Robyn, Shining with Fame?

The only answer today - lovely! - another question: How can you be anything else?

I have no idea.  But I surrender again, though I thought I'd surrendered yesterday.  I lean into Jesus alone.  He will carry me.  Save me.  Redeem me. And "the very thing I've been unwilling to do"  - every day of my life - I choose willingness to settle down in complete dependence on Him.  

I settle into You.  I'm not my own, because You bought me at the highest Price.  I'm Yours.  Shine through me, if You must.  All of Your will and none of mine.

why I'm thankful for my mom . . .

 . . . because she did a good job.  Yours truly is exhibit A.

Okay, maybe that sounds a little prideful, but I say it that way because that's what she'd want me to say.  She'd want me to put aside my perfectionism, striving, self-doubt and maybe even sometimes shame, and say I like Me.  And what I want more than most things is to make her proud of me by being confident in the daughter she raised.

No - it's not always easy, but just as my insecurity spews the message that I think God did a shoddy job making me, I blush to ponder how my fear of inadequacy might spew that I question what she did too.  And, I just really don't want to say that.  Not at all.

Because my mom is super great.  She's patient and generous, talented and bold, loving and compassionate.  So many things our Savior is.  She's been Jesus's hands and feet to me.  She has loved me sacrificially, and affirmed me for who I am and not just for what I do (yeah - that is my love language, in case you didn't know).  She puts up with the fact that I never send her any pictures of her grandkids, except if it's by text.  She forgives me when her Mother's Day card arrives a few days too late, and her birthday card, and her Christmas present . . . I really hate shipping, and the post office in general.  Sorry, Mom.

I'm thankful for my mom because God knew I'd need her in order to become me - and that no one else would do.

She's a great artist too, isn't she?  You can check out more of her art here .

And here's another fun link - from another mom (a pig-farmer's wife/writer who home-schools half-a-dozen kids!)

One Thousand Moms Project for Haiti 

I hope you'll join me in being thankful for your mom too.

Loneliness and perspective

Sometimes I love being alone.  Like today - sitting by myself at a table typing, not a single person I know is here - only strangers at adjacent tables, giggling high school volleyball team, fellow typing colleagues, clanking dishes.  Or even in the morning when I wake up and sip hot coffee to the tunes of my favorite singers and read. Or in the car as I run errands and shop without little tag-along's and I'm so productive on my own.  I like the quiet and sometimes I even love sitting alone in the dark on my couch just to BE.  One desperate night I went for a walk in the cold rain because it was the only space I could find to let my pain out and let the Lord in. Sometimes I love being alone.

And sometimes loneliness is terrible.  And you ask, "How can you be lonely when there are so many people around you?" And I agree that your question is valid.  If you find the answer, would you teach me?

The other day I texted a dear friend to ask if she ever felt that way too.  One word she offered, but it was all I needed.  "Often"

To be honest, most of my feelings don't make much sense.  They are not often based on fact or truth, but I still feel, and still wonder.  Still chide myself for discontent.

Thank the Lord for perspective and Truth.  Truth be told I'm not alone.  I have many so near who love and care.  Many to hug and to hold, to talk and to listen.  I can text or call, even.  And usually when I remind myself of the truth the loneliness fades.  I stop chiding after a few minutes and choose to be thankful.  Friends and family are God's graces, and I really do have so many.

But on occasion, the void persists.

Today a breakthrough, a light bulb, a revelation:  on occasion He allows the void to persist so I'll turn my face full to Him alone.  So He can fill all of my empty and lonely places with His presence and love only, and so I can remember again on Whom I really, truly, honestly, factually depend.

"GOD is our Refuge and Strength [mighty and impenetrable to temptation], a very present and well-provided help in trouble . . .  Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God.  I will be exalted among the nations! I will be exalted in the earth!  The Lord of hosts is with us . . ." - Psalm 46:1, 10-11a (Amp.)

And such perspective and reminder from Corrie ten Boom as well.  Join me again for her words so fresh?

[. . . after several weeks in solitary confinement, upon receiving news of her father's death in the Nazi prison]

The steps stopped.  The shelf dropped open. "What's the matter?"
"Please!  I've had bad news - oh please, don't go away!"
"Wait a minute." The footsteps retreated, then returned with a jangle of keys.  The cell door opened.
"Here." The young woman handed me a pill with a glass of water.  "It's a sedative."
"This letter just came," I explained. "It says that my father - it says my father has died."
The girl stared at me. . . 
"Dear Jesus," I whispered as the door slammed and her footsteps died away, "how foolish of me to have called for human help when You are here."


Sometimes it's recognizing the true source of the craving that helps feed the hunger effectively.  I've been desiring someone to fill the void in my heart.  At first I thought it might be filled by laughter or shopping or maybe a sweet treat.  Perhaps if I could figure out whom to call, my ache would subside.  But it was not until I called on Him did I find satiation.  And He fills when we seek, when we open our hungry hands and hearts in His heavenly and bright direction.  Singing None But Jesus this morning at an altar with sisters, I was so filled.  And how foolish of me to have called for help other than His.

Drink deeply of Him if you can, dear friend.  Recall with me and with Corrie that even in the face of dark news and the worst pain, Jesus is HERE.  Reach open hands to Him now if you are lonely and alone.  Be still and be filled.

When You Are Facing Evil's Hour . . .

My God is a Listener and a Fighter.  He's a Lover and a Hero.  A King and a Soldier . . . I'm so enamored!


This week I'm reading through Joshua, at my pastor's request.  (And when your pastor is also your husband, it bodes well for you to read what he suggests . . . wink, wink.)  It's a book full of battles and casualties and conquer, all of which I'm aiming to apply to the spiritual battle I face, also known as my life.  It really is so good.  The Word, I mean.  Are you feasting too?  I truly hope so.


Because the temptation to give up this battle is so consuming sometimes.  And it's in those moments that our Fighter, Hero, Soldier wants to come through for us most.


Corrie ten Boom faced this very concept many times in her life too.  I ask once again for the privilege of quoting this brave heroine of mine . . .


One night after a fellow young underground comrade had been captured, and was sure to be tortured for information about the ten Booms and their efforts to help Jews in secret, her family considered what to do.


"That night Father and Betsie and I prayed long after the others had gone to bed.  We knew that in spite of daily mounting risks we had no choice but to move forward.  This was evil's hour: we could not run away from it.  Perhaps only when human effort had done its best and failed, would God's power alone be free to work." (The Hiding Place)


In moving forward, they would be a part of rescuing many people, and saving souls for eternity through it all.  But it would get exponentially harder before it got better.  Family members tortured and killed, horrors unimaginable.  War is so very . . . deadly.


Sometimes I don't think I'm cut out for it.  I find myself more often hiding in the trenches and crying than charging forward like Corrie did.  I get so terrified and discouraged.  And it seems like it would be better to give up on it all.  Join the other side . . . or at least quit fighting against them.  My effort fails and I think it's the worst.


But I'm wrong.  Because that's the exact moment Jesus comes and saves us all.  His power alone - free to work.

In Joshua 10 God tells us the story of the day He did the impossible to conquer the enemies of His people:

"The sun stopped in its tracks in mid sky; just sat there all day.  There's never been a day like that before or since - God took orders from a human voice! Truly, God fought for Israel." (v.14, Msg.)


Wow.  I'm still amazed.  That He would do that for them!  


And while God may not stop time today, He's still doing the impossible to fight for us.  He still hears our prayers and cries for help in our most climactic peril, when our enemy is fiercest and we feel weakest.  His power becomes free to work and His glory released when all chances of us taking it are removed.  The battle is the Lord's.  He wins.


So keep fighting . . . and no matter how scared you get, remember - this is evil's hour, and we cannot run away from it.  The Lord will do the impossible if He must, but our enemy WILL be defeated.  Even if and especially when we feel like we've failed in our own human efforts, because it is at exactly that moment that His power is freed.  And He will stop the earth from spinning if He must, but we will be rescued.


"And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and He wants you strong.  So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials.  And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way.  This is no afternoon athletic contest that we'll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours.  This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels."  -Ephesians 6:10-12 (Msg.)


"But in that coming day
no weapon turned against you will succeed.
You will silence every voice 
raised up to accuse you.
These benefits are enjoyed by the servants of the LORD;
their vindication will come from Me.
I, the LORD, have spoken!"  -Isaiah 54:17 (NLT)


And when He speaks, the fiercest of oceans is still, and the only thing that counts is that I am His.

My Rescuer will do what He does best: He'll save me.  He'll conquer.  He'll triumph.   

So hold on, brothers and sisters, and stand firm.  Even when you face evil's hour - every battle is the Lord's and we're on the side of the only One who can make time stand still.  He makes the hours and turns them.  And even evil's hour is under His dominion.  He's bringing an end to that very soon . . . 

So hold on.  

"what conceivable victory"

It's like taking a deep breath again when you've been suffocating for longer than your lungs can take.  Like gulping one cool glass after another when you've forgotten to drink all day.  That's what it feels like when I sit down to read the Scripture recently.  I'm not quite sure why . . . you know I never stopped, never fasted from this Bread.  I suppose for some misunderstood reason I was force-feeding it to my spirit.  But now, as my heart heals . . . I'm ravenous for it.  Literally delicious.

My word for today is Hope.


"Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.  By faith we understand that the entire universe was formed at God’s command, that what we now see did not come from anything that can be seen."  -Hebrews 11:1,3


Robyn's translation: As sure as we can see the stars, so sure can we see His promises for which we hope so deeply.  God's part is to bring it to pass.  Our part is to persevere in hoping for it.  Whatever it is, no matter what it is.  We can't do His part and He won't do ours.


Back to Corrie ten Boom - Oh, what hope she had!  She redefines hope, even.


May I have the privilege of setting the scene for the quote today? . . .


Miraculously, Corrie had received a single copy of each of the four gospels, smuggled even into her solitary confinement in a deplorable prison cell guarded by cruel German women who stripped the humanity of Corrie and countless many others.  She would read and reflect on the life of Christ day after lonely day.  Pondering over Jesus's suffering and seeming defeat one day, she came to this epiphany:


"But . . . if the Gospels were truly the pattern of God's activity, then defeat was only the beginning.  I would look around at the bare little cell and wonder what conceivable victory could come from a place like this." 


And my friends, she wasn't being sarcastic.  She was actually looking for the good God was in the process of doing.  Though it was near-impossible to picture in the middle of painful, dark, drab, and lonely, she was hoping for God's promises of victory.  She was sharing in Christ's suffering.  I wonder - was it just as difficult in those moments on the Cross to see the victory of Resurrection and Salvation?  It must have been, had to have been.  But neither Jesus nor Corrie were hopeless.  They SAW the victory before it came, as sure as the Creation of the Universe.  


It's like God was saying, "Do you trust that there is a ground to stand on?  Of course you do - and I made the ground out of nothing.  So even though you may not perceive the Good I'm bringing you while you're standing in the middle of nothingness - here it comes!"


And what was the conceivable victory God brought to Corrie?  Her perseverance through suffering was God's deliverance of a countless legacy of souls who came into God's kingdom after she was freed from a concentration camp and began almost immediately to speak her testimony in her own country and then around the world.  She even witnessed the repentance and salvation of the man who betrayed her into the hands of her tormentors.  Even shook his hand.   Gospel.  Good News.  Christ's forgiveness.  Eternity for lives un-countable.  

Yeah, I'd call that Victory.  Chalk one up for us. Game, set, match.  


And that's hope.  What, you don't see it?  Take a look at the stars.  See it now?  


Me too.  It's coming.   

"... another discovery about love."

Forgive me, dear friends and followers - my words are still quite unsure.  I would like to venture to comment on a few from my new hero - Corrie ten Boom.  I just finished The Hiding Place and absolutely devoured every letter!  So much of it is indeed PRECIOUS, and worth repeating.  I'd love to share with you a few posts about how some quotes of the book struck me (yes, just as punches or whips might), drew my spirit forth in expectancy, and even tenderly cradled my messy heart.  It touched me like a heavy, angora quilt.  I actually forgot that words on a page could do that to me so thoroughly.
...

For the first one I'll set the scene with this: at the end of WWI Corrie's beloved mother suffered a stroke that left her paralyzed and without speech.  The rest of her family adjusted accordingly, but her mother's far-reaching ministry of love to the town needed to be altered as well...

"It was astonishing, really, the quality of life she was able to lead in that crippled body, and watching her during the three years of her paralysis, I made another discovery about love.
Mama's love had always been the kind that acted itself out with soup pot and sewing basket. But now that these things were taken away, the love seemed as whole as before.  She sat in her chair at the window and loved us.  She loved the people she saw in the street - and beyond: her love took in the city, the land of Holland, and the world.  And so I learned that love is larger than the walls that shut it in."

And now I'm crying again as I type...mourning the walls I've built to shut myself in, and realizing that love is larger, and refuses to be contained.
This morning I met with a new dear friend who has suffered much pain to her body and soul, but God asked me to love her.  Honestly I didn't know if I could do it.  Part of me screamed "Cancel! You're not ready! Still too broken!"  And thankfully I didn't listen.  For under her pain is joy overflowing from a renewed commitment to Christ.  Joy I needed.  You see, for fear of being used up, I've resisted being used at all.  And what a trick of the enemy!  I poured into her the Gospel and grace and truth and wisdom and marriage advice and so much more and - Surprise! - I still had more to give.  Jesus, my Portion, had shown Himself enough for me once again.  My love was even larger than I knew, and much larger than the walls I attempted to build to shut it in.

Not many people are so bold as to ask me for an appointment.  I don't know why - I like to think of myself as approachable.  I think they just assume I'm "busy."  And while I am, I'm also never too busy to love someone.  I'm really so very happy for her boldness.

One day I'd like to emulate Corrie's Mama (lol - I guess I'm already Kori's Mama). I'd like to love regardless.  Love beyond walls, past boundaries, and outside of limits.  Sort of like our Lord does...

When all I have left . . . is exactly what He wants

Everyone has dry times, desert seasons, dark hours, pit dwellings. Days, weeks, even months or years when everywhere we turn it seems the enemy somehow gets the upper hand. And I'm reminded that Jesus didn't say He'd spare Peter from the sifting, rather that He'd ask the Father to keep Peter's faith intact. And for those who've been sifted, what knowledge of deep and painful beating. Peter's hole lasted a few days that time, though he'd face several more during the course of his ministry and faith adventures on earth.

Sifting wheat consists of threshing (beating it to loosen the grain from the chaff), and winnowing (tossing it up and catching it up in a grate in order to break off the chaff) so as to refine the grain. Over and over. Broken and broken apart again. Tossed about in seeming confusion. Until all that is left - is only what is wanted.

And no doubt, I've been sifted before. Tried, refined, tested, and changed by difficulty and persecution. Recently I've been deeper, darker, emptier than I can remember, though. And like Peter I haven't been spared. Perhaps I should have seen it as privilege to share in his suffering, and in His. But I didn't.

I threw tantrums like a two-year-old, sat as Job and threw ashes over my head and scraped the oozing sores of my heart with broken pots. Withdrew and pouted and cried and hid alone, whenever I could get alone. I held even close friends at arm's length and trembled at what they might see to look at the pitiful mess I'd made of myself in the middle of Satan's attack. I did not stand firm under the beatings of sifting. I was broken.

I've been confused and fearful, angry and bitter. I needed help, and had to stop pretending I could claw out of the pit on my own, or somehow crawl out of the desert without a rescue team. I needed light, and He came. Sent some friends I could trust, some soldiers to fight when I couldn't any more. And I'm still healing from the battle. It just hurts. And then it hurts some more.

When I look at what is left of me in the ash heap I ask, What is there? . . . Lord, what do You see? A question He reflects back to me. Isn't it like our Teacher to answer with a question?

Two things remain: gratitude for His saving Grace to be enough strength when I did not have it in me to take the beatings another day, and refreshed surrender to humility. It's not much to look at, not the confident beauty I once saw. Quite meager when we get down to it. I shrugged my shoulders and asked if He still wanted what was left. What was left of me after Satan had finished taking his hatred out on my heart (if he ever does really finish . . .) .

And this is how He answered in the quiet breaking of the dawn the other day:

"Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and perform your vows to the Most High . . . The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise." Psalm 50:14, 51:17 (ESV)

So, I see that in the pile of faith-filled Peter-wheat, ready as pure and pleasing first-fruit - my thankfulness and brokenness were exactly what He had been longing for all along. All I had left once the dark desert was passed . . . it was counted as precious to the only One who ever mattered, who ever really knew what all that beating and tossing would produce:

It's me, only more so.

And if you're there now too - may I offer to pray for you? If you're facing a pit too deep to see light, a desert too parched to find relief, a beating too painful to endure, would you leave me your name? I'd love the privilege Christ took and gave - prayer to the Father that your faith will endure. He is closer than you can feel, and knows that when you have only gratitude and brokenness to offer, they are the most precious offerings He could desire.

So this is what the Lord says:
"If you change your heart and return to me, I will take you back.
Then you may serve me.
And if you speak things that have worth,
not useless words,
then you may speak for me." - Jeremiah 15:19 (NCV)
This is my life verse right now, Friends. I'm waiting on Him to lift me up, to restore to me His joy. My hope is in Him, as it always will be. But until I can hear clearly what it is that is precious which He wants me to say, I must remain silent, lest He label my words useless, idle, or false. I want to speak for Him. Would you pray that He would speak to me for now, and through me soon?
Thank you for your grace.
I love you too much to feed you what is not precious. And I love Him too much to speak or write what is unsure.