It's no wonder I haven't been able to blog faithfully or why I have tended to keep things shallow when I do take the time to write things out. There are issues I'm faced with that I haven't wanted to deal with. Sometimes I feel like I'd rather give in to the pull of the waves than to continue the fight to stay afloat. It just seems like it'd be easier, you know? Like there would be relief in it.
It's a lie.
What is temptation? It is a veiled promise of something desired without truly fulfilling that desire in the end. It finds us at our weakest point and whispers seductively of a solution, however short term it may be, to the problem. It is the poison mixed with sugar, designed to be easily swallowed. It is the fish hook, the arrow point, the instrument of torture that goes in smooth only to rip a savage wound as it finishes its course by being torn from its victim.
Desire is to be expected. It, in itself, is not sin. When it is not dealt with though properly and immediately it gives birth to sin.
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death." James 1:12-15 ESV
I see it more clearly as weeds in a garden plot. The seed is planted. The shoot emerges. When full grown the weeds are death to the surrounding plants. Seeds often slip in without our noticing. (Lord, give me discernment.) When the shoots appear and the evidence of the seeds is seen it is sometimes not given our attention. What harm can a little green shoot do? (Lord, give me wisdom.) But when full grown, with roots that have grown stronger and more widespread over time, the removal of the weed is difficult, painful, and disruptive to the surrounding soil. (Lord, give me strength.)
"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1
I hate that it is the very thing that Christ has freed me from that I continue to find myself giving in to. I was bought with a price and yet I often treat my freedom as a curse and submit myself again to the oppression I know all too well.
Temptation offers to me (freedom) that which I already have been given! And time and again, I fall for what is extended to me.
I was humbled by a song I heard this morning by Jars of Clay.
I built another temple to a stranger
I gave away my heart to the rushing wind
I set my course to run right into danger
I sought the company of fools instead of friends
Chorus:
You know I've been unfaithful
with lovers in lines
while you're turning over tables
with the rage of a jealous kind
I chose the gallows to the aisle
thought that love would never find
hanging ropes will never keep you
and your love of a jealous kind
love of a jealous kind
Tryin' to jump away from rock that keeps on spreading
for solace in the shift of the sinking sand
I'd rather feel the pain all too familiar
than be broken by a lover i don't understand
'cause i don't understand
One hundred other lovers, more, one hundred other altars
If I should slow my pace and finally subject me to grace
and love that shames the wise
betrays the hearts deceit and lies
and breaks the back of foolish pride
love of a jealous kind
love of a jealous kind
love of a jealous kind
I've been a fool. Again. Will this tumultuous cycle never end? I long for heaven and the day that I don't have to wake up knowing that it will be a fight to pursue holiness. I desire it. I do. But I allow myself to grow weary in well doing.
Thank you for those who have encouraged me to continue the fight and for shielding me often times when I was too exhausted to put up a defense much less an offense. I am spiritually out of shape - and no wonder, considering my diet and exercise regimen of the last several months. I covet your prayers as I allow God to help me pick myself up out of the dust once again, brush off my butt and keep on with this journey. It is worth it. I know.
Where's my sword? It's time to get back in this battle.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I'm a dingbat.
As I was getting ready for work this morning my ipod was playing through some songs I hadn't heard in a while. When the old, churchy favorite "Everthing that Has Breath" came on I cracked up laughing at how appropriate it was at the moment for me.
Let me explain.
One of my brothers, who for his ego's sake will remain nameless, was as much of a character when he was younger as he is now. And I remember a day, quite vividly, as we were driving home from church, that he displayed this character in the form of an honest and earnest question.
"Stephanie, what is a dingbat?"
What? For the life of me I couldn't figure out where this question had come from. Now being that it was my brother, and this type of situation was not unusual, I didn't dwell on the source of the inquiry to heavily.
But how to answer it. Well, to my then eleven-year-old mind, a dingbat was quite simply a social misfit. (Not that I used terminology like "social misfit" at that age. Otherwise I would have known how to categorize myself. Hehe. Synonyms like dork, pest, idiot, etc did come to mind.)
After explaining this to him, as best I could, he nodded thoughtfully, obviously processing this new information in his young brain.
"Well," he finally said with a shrug, "I guess we should praise the Lord that they have breath."
It took me a minute, but when I finally understood my brother's pondering I couldn't stop laughing and agreeing with him. When we sang "Everything that has Breath" in church that morning my brother's lyrics went more like this:
"Every dingbat, every dingbat, every dingbat has breath. Praise the Lord!"
Although tempted to let him continue on with this train of thought I gently explained to him the true words. He and I both agreed that his made for a better song.
And in a way, he's right. This morning, in hearing that song again, I found myself praising God that, although I am often a dingbat, He is gracious to me in giving me life and allowing me to have it abundantly.
I have breath. Praise the Lord!
Let me explain.
One of my brothers, who for his ego's sake will remain nameless, was as much of a character when he was younger as he is now. And I remember a day, quite vividly, as we were driving home from church, that he displayed this character in the form of an honest and earnest question.
"Stephanie, what is a dingbat?"
What? For the life of me I couldn't figure out where this question had come from. Now being that it was my brother, and this type of situation was not unusual, I didn't dwell on the source of the inquiry to heavily.
But how to answer it. Well, to my then eleven-year-old mind, a dingbat was quite simply a social misfit. (Not that I used terminology like "social misfit" at that age. Otherwise I would have known how to categorize myself. Hehe. Synonyms like dork, pest, idiot, etc did come to mind.)
After explaining this to him, as best I could, he nodded thoughtfully, obviously processing this new information in his young brain.
"Well," he finally said with a shrug, "I guess we should praise the Lord that they have breath."
It took me a minute, but when I finally understood my brother's pondering I couldn't stop laughing and agreeing with him. When we sang "Everything that has Breath" in church that morning my brother's lyrics went more like this:
"Every dingbat, every dingbat, every dingbat has breath. Praise the Lord!"
Although tempted to let him continue on with this train of thought I gently explained to him the true words. He and I both agreed that his made for a better song.
And in a way, he's right. This morning, in hearing that song again, I found myself praising God that, although I am often a dingbat, He is gracious to me in giving me life and allowing me to have it abundantly.
I have breath. Praise the Lord!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Frustration.
Do you remember the old comic strip way of designating anger? That furious, scribbled wad of ink. It looks like a hair ball... or a ball of yarn after ten cats are through with it. I always thought it was a little ridiculous. I never fully understood it.
Until now.
I was going to sit and jot down the thoughts that are clanging around in my head - figure out some way to pin them down, organize them and categorize them and then dispose of them.
No dice.
I held my pen poised over the notepad, breathed deeply, lowered the tip of the pen until it made contact with the paper and then... nothing. It just sat there as the ink began to absorb and create a blot on the fresh clean sheet of paper. The next thing I know I have scribbled a gnarled knotted mess onto the page and have put the pen down. Looking at my attempts to tame the tumbling inner turmoils I realized I had indeed accomplished something.
I finally understand the knotted gnarl's use in expression.
Good to know I can check one thing off the list.
Until now.
I was going to sit and jot down the thoughts that are clanging around in my head - figure out some way to pin them down, organize them and categorize them and then dispose of them.
No dice.
I held my pen poised over the notepad, breathed deeply, lowered the tip of the pen until it made contact with the paper and then... nothing. It just sat there as the ink began to absorb and create a blot on the fresh clean sheet of paper. The next thing I know I have scribbled a gnarled knotted mess onto the page and have put the pen down. Looking at my attempts to tame the tumbling inner turmoils I realized I had indeed accomplished something.
I finally understand the knotted gnarl's use in expression.
Good to know I can check one thing off the list.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
.Contradictions.
Who am I?
Am I what I say?
What I do?
What I think?
Or what I know to be true inside myself?
I know who I am - but is it who I present to the world?
Am I what I say?
What I do?
What I think?
Or what I know to be true inside myself?
I know who I am - but is it who I present to the world?
Monday, February 11, 2008
.Do you know who I am?.
Pasta. Meatballs. Garlic. Wine. Loud. Hands. The Godfather.
I am very proud of my Italian heritage. Anyone who knows me for any length of time probably could attest to it. I enjoy the culture, the history (for the most part), the traditions, the food... I love it all.
I found myself thinking about this again today, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.
How many people know that I'm Italian? How many people know that I'm a Christian?
Which one is of greater importance to me? Which one do I take more pride in? Which one do I identify myself by?
Most people who I come in contact with will know, before too much time has passed, of my Italian heritage.
How many will know of my Christian heritage?
Thoughts I'm thinking.
I am very proud of my Italian heritage. Anyone who knows me for any length of time probably could attest to it. I enjoy the culture, the history (for the most part), the traditions, the food... I love it all.
I found myself thinking about this again today, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.
How many people know that I'm Italian? How many people know that I'm a Christian?
Which one is of greater importance to me? Which one do I take more pride in? Which one do I identify myself by?
Most people who I come in contact with will know, before too much time has passed, of my Italian heritage.
How many will know of my Christian heritage?
Thoughts I'm thinking.
Friday, February 8, 2008
.Radio.
Last night I slipped back into the office after everyone else had gone and played the piano a little while. Working where I do it is awkward to play when others are around. I plop down and tap out a little melody. They sit down and gracefully play through a Beethoven movement.
As I sat playing, poorly but contentedly, I sang along to the song.
"El shaddai, el shaddai,
El-elyon na adonia,
Age to age youre still the same,
By the power of the name.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
Erkamka na adonai,
We will praise and lift you high,
El shaddai.
Through your love and through the ram,
You saved the son of abraham;
Through the power of your hand,
Turned the sea into dry land.
To the outcast on her knees,
You were the God who really sees,
And by your might,
You set your children free.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
El-elyon na adonia,
Age to age youre still the same,
By the power of the name.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
Erkamka na adonai,
We will praise and lift you high,
El shaddai."
Next I played and sang along to "All in All"
"You are my strength when I am weak
You are the treasure that I seek
You are my All in All.
Seeking You as a precious jewel
Lord to give up I'd be a fool
You are my All in All.
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your Name
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your Name."
As I left, I continued singing the two songs to myself, back and forth, off and on. Walking to my car, I laughed to myself at the soundtrack I usually have playing in my head. Turning the car on the radio came on to the Christian station. A new song was starting to play and I thought to myself how funny it would be if "El Shaddai" would be the song they would play. Wouldn't that be odd how God shows Himself so intricately involved, so tangibly present, in my day-to-day doings. I chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought that my life, for some reason, would be so intricately planned. My thoughts were so loud as to the impossibility of this that I almost missed the first words being sung of "All in All."
Through the laughter and tears that now came pouring from me I sang along, rejoicing in the small example of God showing me, once again, how intricately involved He really is.
As I sat playing, poorly but contentedly, I sang along to the song.
"El shaddai, el shaddai,
El-elyon na adonia,
Age to age youre still the same,
By the power of the name.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
Erkamka na adonai,
We will praise and lift you high,
El shaddai.
Through your love and through the ram,
You saved the son of abraham;
Through the power of your hand,
Turned the sea into dry land.
To the outcast on her knees,
You were the God who really sees,
And by your might,
You set your children free.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
El-elyon na adonia,
Age to age youre still the same,
By the power of the name.
El shaddai, el shaddai,
Erkamka na adonai,
We will praise and lift you high,
El shaddai."
Next I played and sang along to "All in All"
"You are my strength when I am weak
You are the treasure that I seek
You are my All in All.
Seeking You as a precious jewel
Lord to give up I'd be a fool
You are my All in All.
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your Name
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your Name."
As I left, I continued singing the two songs to myself, back and forth, off and on. Walking to my car, I laughed to myself at the soundtrack I usually have playing in my head. Turning the car on the radio came on to the Christian station. A new song was starting to play and I thought to myself how funny it would be if "El Shaddai" would be the song they would play. Wouldn't that be odd how God shows Himself so intricately involved, so tangibly present, in my day-to-day doings. I chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought that my life, for some reason, would be so intricately planned. My thoughts were so loud as to the impossibility of this that I almost missed the first words being sung of "All in All."
Through the laughter and tears that now came pouring from me I sang along, rejoicing in the small example of God showing me, once again, how intricately involved He really is.
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