Seven habits of miserable people

1. Count your troubles, name them one by one. Begin at the breakfast table, to anyone who would listen, and as soon as possible thereafter.

2. Worry about something everyday. Do not let yourself get out of practice!

3. Pity yourself. You are not a bad person, but why do bad things always happen to you? If you pity yourself enough, nobody else will have to do it for you.

4. Devise clever and subtle ways to serve God and money, think of ways to gain the approval of God and the world. Why not have both?

5. Always covet. Always desire what is not yours, yet. Always compare yourself to others and want what you don't have, and show off what you do have.

6. Think of yourself first. Put your needs and troubles before thinking of others. Make sure you get your rights. Your deserve the best, and other people can just... well, you don't need to think about other people.

7. Do NOT let eternal things get in the way of what matters now. Make sure you check your email and Facebook now. Make sure you watch that movie, and finish that drama series today. Bible reading and prayer get you nothing in this world. So, stick to the things you can see, that's where it's at.


Adapted from Elisabeth Elliot's "Several Ways to Make Yourself Miserable" in Keep a Quiet Heart, page 93. I pretty much just described myself.

Singing in the dark

My children cry, a lot. We tell them to stop. Big boys don't cry. But --

Jesus cried. The manliest man wept. The king of glory groaned over his lost sheep. The divine warrior mourned in the garden.

So what are we to teach the boys?

On Sundays, we sing praises to God in the congregation. We sing about his greatness, what he has done, what he will do, and we make petitions for grace. We sing songs that lift our souls out of the miry bogs of the week.

Nothing wrong with singing happy songs. Sundays are happy days. But praises are not enough. They cover only part of the Psalms. Remember the laments, chaos, disorientation, hopelessness, meaninglessness. They, too, are part of God's Word. This is the story of God's people, from the beginning. This is the story of the Psalms. This is our story. We move from lament to praise, chaos to order, again and again and again.

So, cry, weep, groan.

The shepherd is listening, and he suffered. He cried, and he died for his lost sheep, for you.

So, in time, we will teach our boys to weep, for the right reasons, in the right way -- to God. For this, too, is worship. Let the tears fall, little ones. And remember his tears thick like blood that washed away our sins.

Let God's people mourn. Let us weep together, and weep over sins and meaningless suffering. Give us songs to sing in the dark.

A reflection on Psalm 42

I have lost my appetite
And a flood is welling up behind my eyes
So I eat the tears I cry
And if that were not enough
They know just the words to cut and tear and prod
When they ask me “Where's your God?”

Why are you downcast, oh my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
I can remember when you showed your face to me

As a deer pants for water, so my soul thirsts for you
And when I behold Your glory, You so faithfully renew
Like a bed of rest for my fainting flesh
I am satisfied in You.

When I'm staring at the ground
It's an inbred feedback loop that brings me down
So it's time to lift my brow
And remember better days
When I loved to worship you in all your ways
with the sweetest songs of praise

Why are you downcast, oh my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
I can remember when you showed your grace to me

As a deer pants for water, so my soul thirsts for you
And when I survey Your splendor, You so faithfully renew
Like a bed of rest for my fainting flesh
I am satisfied in You.

Let my sighs give way to songs that sing about your faithfulness
Let my pain reveal your glory as my only real rest
Let my losses show me all I truly have is you

So when I'm drowning out at sea
And your breakers and your waves crash down on me
I'll recall your safety scheme
You're the one who made the waves
And your Son went out to suffer in my place
And to tell me that I'm safe

Why am I down?
Why so disturbed?
I am satisfied in you

The black in my painting

Yesterday, a dear friend sent me a letter I wrote to her from long ago. I had forgotten about this letter.

On brighter days, we often forget how it was like when the days were dark. This letter was written when her world was very, very dark.

The light has been dim in our world these past few weeks, our future unclear. It is good to be reminded that when the night is deep, grace is deeper still.

Dear friend,

My heart grieves with you. I know all too well how it feels to be harassed by my own sins and self. Just the other day, in my "apology" to Hans, I burst into tears with self-disgust  as I realized that even in my attempt to act rightly, my words were tainted with self-righteousness and selfishness. I felt, as you said, so helpless.

On this side of eternity, we cannot know the reasons for all our afflictions. Some afflictions are caused by our own sins, some are not. Learn to distinguish these well. If it is the first, we must repent and seek after forgiveness. In either cases and all the more in times of joy -- wait upon the Lord, sing his praises, fear him -- for this the the whole duty of humanity.

Suffering and sorrow in our lives is like the color black in paintings. Our lives are as a canvas before the Lord, rebels and children alike. He is sovereign, he is good, he loves perfectly, and he does all things well. The black in our lives was no mistakes, every stroke is a part of the whole.

In Psalms 33, the psalmist sings a "new song" in the face of death and famine, suffering that was not due to his sins. In Psalm 40, he again sings a "new song" as he is rescued from the miry bog that is his own unrighteousness. In both psalms, Yahweh is the cause of the new song that comes forth from his lips. We are to wait upon our deliverer, for he is faithful, good, and true.

Flee from thoughts with the tendency towards "if only." They ultimately come from a heart that is discontent, and discontentment comes from a heart that does not trust in the goodness of our Lord. When thoughts such as these like ravens fly above our heads, do not let them build a nest on your head! Run away, fill your minds with thoughts of Christ.

My desert drew me to the fountain. It was so dry, so barren. Let us have the faith of Hannah, singing her victory song and raising her horn in midst of her affliction.

Learn to die well. Learn to lament well. Learn to praise well. For this is the path of the cross, this is the straight and the narrow, where our souls are trained to love the Lord above all things. Our Lord Jesus is a man of sorrows, follow him.

Dear friend, you would not be wanting that world so badly, if it was not for God's hand that is readying you while you are in this one. For this and much more, I give thanks. 

Thoughts about heaven

For one reason or another, Emeth talks about heaven a lot. His fascination with his future forever home is intriguing, and so endearing to me. In this season of arduous (and at times discouraging) house-hunting, his little comments are God's grace to me, reminding me to not place my hope in sticks and stones. This world is not my home.

Here are some quotes I am saving for rainy days, in case the roof leaks.

1. Emeth can't wait to get to heaven because there will be no more coughing and sneezing and hiccups. Nobody understands hiccups.

2. Emeth is getting ready to go to heaven. Emeth is so excited! God made a house for Emeth. Emeth is bringing a luggage with four rocks.

3. Emeth doesn't have to bring his toys because God will share his toys with me.

4. God will give me a new skin because Emeth's skin is very old. Emeth has been wearing it for a long long time. (He is four)

5. (When his allergies striked, he said,) Emeth is being brave because God will help me breathe someday.

I hope I can love like this someday

If your soul need some lightening today, these two videos might draw the curtains and brighten your darkness a little. They are stories about love, of the self-sacrificing, self-forgetting kind.

The first story is about an older pair of husband and wife. Seven or eight years ago, Hans read this book to me by the fireplace from cover to cover, A Promise Kept. I was visiting Minneapolis. We were still considering marriage. I had very little idea what marriage was about. It was good to hear the story again after all these years.



You can read their story by Christianity Today.
"Living by Vows," the story behind this video. (1990)
"Muriel's Blessings," his reflection on the mystery of love fourteen years later. (2004) I've read this several times over the years. I can't make it through without some tears.

The second story is about a younger pair of husband and wife, at the beginning their life together.



I have loved and cried over Larissa's writings about her husband and best friend. This is my favorite so far, "A Daily Disabled Life."

Sleepy grace

I am a mother of two young children. Most days, my head hits the pillow and sleep come over me like a crashing wave. Sleep washes away the old, and brings the hope of new beginnings. How I welcome these momentary deaths.

Sometimes, sleep delays. On these nights, I beg for it to slay me. Let me be consumed by its force but do not leave me awake, tortured.

While Adam was sleeping, God made Eve. The first sleep mentioned in the Bible. Adam was awaken to the dawn of nuptial love. Her father brought her to him. In the twilight, they walked in the Garden when the earth was still young. No other husband and wife have known joy so great, though their time was brief.

Grace.

Sleep reminds us that we are not God. Made of dust turned into flesh and bones, we are confined by our frames. We need to die — everyday — in order to live.

Sleep requires trust, and submission to the order of things. Unconscious, we are vulnerable, with little control over our minds and bodies. Sleep comes to those who know they are kept in safety. As someone once said: "Sometimes the godliest thing you can do in the universe is get a good night's sleep — not pray all night, but sleep."

little was never so big

When God walked among us, Jesus loved children.

He was always patient, always kind. They often interrupted and asked a lot of questions and talked too much (especially the four-year-olds, I am sure). They were loud; they were children. But he was not annoyed or irritated. He was never too busy. They were never too little.

He told them stories. They surrounded him. They believed him. They knew he came from God, because he said so. They took front row seats at the miracles. They gasped when the blind beggar opened his eyes. They cheered when the lame man took his first step. They were not afraid to sing his praises: "Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna in the highest!" while the adults grumbled and plotted the savior's death.

He knew them by name. Sometimes, he would say, "Come!" Most of the time, he did not need to; they flew into his open arms. He held the babies, laid his hand on the bigger ones. And he would pray, and pray, and pray for them. He would tell his disciples: "Turn, and be like children."

He was kind to fathers, and especially to mothers. He remembered pregnant women, mothers of young children, and single moms, the widows. When their children were hungry, he fed them. When their children were sick, he healed them. And when all hope was gone, he raised their little ones from the dead.

Jesus loved children.

When God lived among us, he covered his glory with the face of a fetus, wrapped in a virgin's womb. A small, narrow place for the Maker of stars. He was a baby. He was fed, held, swaddled.

Little was never so big;
big was never so little.

Scripture references:
Matthew 9:24-25; 11:2;14:21; 15:38; 17:18; 18:2-5; 19:13-14; 21:15-16; 24:19.