Holy provocation…

August 11, 2015 — 1 Comment

I’ve been struggling with what to write lately. My time has been taken by back-to-school shopping and the mad rush to complete those procrastinated summer projects. We also took some vacation time recently and I actually let my brain truly relax. Which was great! But ever since we’ve returned home, it’s been like restarting an old chain saw…it’s taking some time to get the ol’ ticker revved up again.

This morning, I opened my Bible to Psalm 106. It is a plea for the people of God to give thanks. It recounts the history of the Israelites’ lack of thanks, rebellion, and captivity. One deed leading to the next. First they forgot all that God had done for them, rescuing them from the land of Egypt, only to whine and complain in the desert. Their lack of gratitude caused them to rebel and seek the comfort and thrills of other gods. “They provoked the Lord to anger with their deeds”, and “the anger of the Lord was kindled against his people” (verse 29 and 40). God left them to their ways, which not only enslaved their hearts to sin, but handed them over to their enemies. They came full circle, once again captives.

Thankfully, the Psalm continues: “Nevertheless, he looked upon their distress, when he heard their cry. For their sake he remembered his covenant, and relented according to the abundance of his steadfast love. He caused them to be pitied by all those who held them captive” (44-46).

Apparently, it was good news to the people to be pitied. I don’t know about you, but I hate it when people feel sorry for me. Why is that?

I think its because in my own self-idolatry, I expect myself to be better, stronger, and more resilient. To be pitied means it’s obvious to others that I’m doing a horrible job of managing life’s circumstances. And very simply, I don’t like looking less-than, weak, and short-winded. The Israelites must have found pity to be a refreshing balm in the midst of their captivity. In the midst of my idolatry, pity only pours salt on the wounds of my ineptness. Perhaps God has to get us to the depths of enslavement in order for us to find the pity of others a source of release and to free us from our self-worship.

I look at this cycle of behavior: thanklessness, idolatry, captivity, and pity and see why the Psalmist ends with a plea to God for his people.

“Save us, O Lord our God, and gather us from among the nations, that we may give thanks to your holy name and glory in your praise. Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel from everlasting to everlasting! And let all the people say, “Amen!” Praise the Lord!” (47-48 emphasis added).

It’s an appeal for a return to gratitude! The trouble experienced by the people of God stems from a lack of thanksgiving.

Over our vacation, I reread 1,000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp. Honestly, I skimmed…reminded myself about thankfulness, but didn’t let the foundational importance of gratitude sink in.

Later, I was reclining on an outdoor lawn chair stargazing with my husband after the kids went to bed. The sky was full dusted with flickering flashes of light against vast cobalt. As we placed bets on the identity and location of Saturn and Mars, Scorpius and Ursa Minor, only my husband saw multiple shooting stars. Multiple. This had been a theme during our week: Paul getting a glimpse of stars in motion, Angie always looking in the opposite direction. The score for number of falling stars caught by Paul: 6 (or something crazy like that)…

Angie: NONE

I was starting to take it personally. I was drawing massive conclusions and analogies about my life, nothing more than complex intellectual whining. After he spotted yet another, I said something ridiculous like, “You’ve got to be kidding me! See, that’s just like my life, everyone else gets all the good stuff and it’s just never my turn.“

And just then, across horizontal arachnid in a shimmering arc over the ringed planet a meteor shot hot. Through the blazing red supergiant Antares it flashed wild. I screamed a half-laugh.

Then, my wonderful and brutally honest husband said, “It’s like God just told you to shut up.”

I provoked the God of the universe to say, “Shut up”.

And the cycle continues. Yes, I forced His hand and He told me to shut up with my whining self-loathing idolatrous talk and told me to praise His holy name. I, like the Israelites, had forgotten to consider His wondrous works. I wasn’t remembering the abundance of His steadfast love. I was looking in the opposite direction of the Father. How soon I forgot His goodness and birthed a wanton craving in the wilderness.

I forgot gratitude.

Now it sinks in, large rock full of weight and mass, plummeting through gaseous layers of soul atmosphere. It burns blue white as it invades the contours of my heart. Illuminating the dark places, igniting flame against the bitterness and discontent. Gratitude reaches the pit of my stomach in a heavy heap. My body stops dead in the stream of self-loathing consciousness, bowed over at the waist from the knot of indebtedness in my bowels. And as I had forced His hand, He replies by forcing my head in reverence to His holiness and I exhale a single praise while seated in that plastic chair…”wow…”.

I plead for all of us, as the Psalmist does. May our hearts return to gratitude–to thankfulness. Lest we seek satisfaction somewhere else. Lest we rebel against the steadfast love of God. Lest we provoke God Almighty. Lest we return to a land of slavery, only to be pitied by those who hold us captive. May we daily, in every moment, slow to the pace of thanks. Let all the people say, “Amen.” Praise the Lord!

Not ready…

July 29, 2015 — 1 Comment

This week, the husband and I are at the beach…kidless. Yes, you heard right…sans children. It’s been a great time to reflect and think in quiet, without interruption, without demands, without noise. (And it’s been a fabulous time to sleep. I have to mention sleep because I think I’ve done more sleeping in the past three days than in the past month. I am a new woman.)

Over the past month, I’ve been boldly praying. (See I Hate this Kind of Post for what spurred this season of prayer). And honestly, I’ve been asking God for things and explaining to Him the good reasoning behind my requests. It’s been a lame attempt to convince God of how good my desires really were…perhaps convincing myself more than Him. Only today, as I sat in the morning hours on the balcony of our little one-room efficiency condo did I start to listen. Sipping my coffee, I looked at the coastline of pop-up tents and umbrellas in the sand and began again with my “bold” prayers:

“Dear Jesus, I’ve been advised by godly counsel to ask boldly for the desires of my heart. (See what I did there, I put the responsibility of my requests on others, just in case they are things I shouldn’t ask for…) And I’ve been talking to you a lot about those plans and dreams I’d like to see come to fruition. (See God, look how faithful I am, how persistent, and deserving of your blessing…) Again, I’m going to ask for…”

And on went my list…

When I was being advised to pray boldly at the feet of the Father, no one prepared me to receive an equally bold answer.

“You’re not ready.”

It echoed in the newly emptied catacombs of my kidless, interruption-less, quiet and still cavernous mind.

I’m not ready…I’m not READY??…I’m NOT ready…Oh, dang…

In Psalm 46:10, God makes a daring promise that in our stillness He is made known. (“Be still and know that I am God”). In our quiet, He will show up. In our listening, He will speak a bold word.

I just wasn’t ready for, “You’re not ready.”

Later in the morning, as I was lounging on my sticky purple plastic beach chair, sipping my sparkling water and eating a banana, I watched a nearby family. Dad was lanky and covered in tattoos and mom donned bleach blonde dreadlocks. Bold. They were accompanied by a daughter, about age 7, and a son who looked to be about 3. The father carried a long surfboard. This, too, seemed bold. We are at a Texas beach and as long as I’ve been a Texan (my whole life), I’ve only witnessed boogie boards in the Lone Star surf. You’re not really going to catch a gnarly wave in the Gulf of Mexico. If you have a legit surfboard at a Texas beach, you probably have surfed somewhere else and know what you are doing. It didn’t take long to ascertain this dad was not a novice surfer.

First, he took his daughter out to catch some waves. She did an amazing job, first balancing using her dad’s shoulders then letting go to ride the foaming white all the way to the shore’s edge. Her knees were bent, one foot in front of the other, her middle countering every tilt in the board’s rise and fall, and her arms stretched out to the sides.

The little three-year-old watched from the shore, eagerly awaiting his turn. He was fearless, running into chest-deep water, nearly toppling over as the waves crashed against his miniature body. No fear. Tough. Bold. Eager.

Soon it was his turn for a surf lesson with daddy. He climbed atop the board as if on horseback, his leg-span barely reaching from one side to the other. He clung for life, chest pressed against the floating deck, fingers curled around its edges. As a wave approached, his father quickly lifted him up to standing on the board, holding one hand and running in the water beside him. His legs were stiff, his body straight as a tree hewn in a mountain forest. His other arm lay flat at his side. No buckling. No give. No bend.

Into the water he went, tree crashing. He was bold. He was tough. He was fearless. But he wasn’t ready.

I get it now. In this quiet place of reflecting, void of chocolate milk and goldfish crackers, diapers and muddy floors, phone calls and FaceBook notifications, my bold prayer has been answered…with a bold word. I am not ready.

I am not ready to receive the things of which I’ve been asking. I’m not ready. Though I didn’t realize my actions at first, I clearly see them now. I have been bold. I have been fearless. I have been eager. I’ve even been trusting of my Father. But I have also been locked knee and rigid in my approach. I’ve been resistant to any swaying of the current beneath me. I haven’t had any give…any slack to the Spirit, any flex to my daily relationship with Jesus.

I’ve been trusting Him with the big picture end goal of surfing…but not with the daily practice of salt in my eyes and sand in my pants.

I haven’t been watching Him and His example, studying His every move and posture of balance. I haven’t been trying his methods at home, when I rise or when I fall. My hands have been palm-down at my side, unreceptive, unfeeling. I’ve only been the eager one, wanting so much more than I am ready for.

My bold prayer now shifts. Now, my request is not for the things, but to be made ready for them.

Father, you have marked my ways before I was even born. I trust you with YOUR plans. Please prepare me for them. Help me to be open to your Word and your touch as you run beside me, discipling me and coaching me. Make me pliable to your instruction and in sync with the movement of your Spirit as it guides the path marked out for me. Make me your disciple and a good student of Your Word. Bold. Eager. Ready.

“Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart” (Psalm 51:6).

The pounding of the discontentment train…

July 6, 2015 — 2 Comments

Last night I couldn’t sleep. My heart and mind was wrapped around a lifetime of insecurity and fear. In the middle hours of the night, I found my thoughts resting on a lonely island of imperfections and doubts, surrounded by a typhoon of the enemy’s lies.

I know I’m not alone. The devil’s been brewing up these kind of storms for thousands of years and he isn’t jumping off that train anytime soon. I’d bet that men and women all over the country shared in my insomnia and self-loathing thoughts last night. The tracks of that railroad are digging pathways into the hearts and minds of most people.

We aren’t enough.

We don’t have enough.

It is an overwhelming and intrusive throbbing when that freight train comes to town. I don’t prefer hanging out on the deserted island of misfits, overrun by hot-steamed engines on a race to wreck my soul. I’d rather be experiencing thankfulness and joy…maybe even contentment? (If it’s not asking too much.)

My struggle is the same endless stuff of humanity: idolatry. I think that if my garage were wider, my pocketbook fuller, my silhouette curvier, my schedule free-er, my attitude brighter, my thoughts wiser, my body younger, my energy less ‘tired-er’…life would be better! And to some degree, life would get ‘better’. Yet, it still wouldn’t satisfy. It still wouldn’t fulfill. ‘Better’ is a lousy substitute for ‘fulfilled’. Why do I settle?

Psalm 16:11 says, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore…they are what I’m seeking in all those other things. Joy and pleasure are what sit at the door of all those other desires and ‘needs’. They are knocking and tapping out a rhythm on my heart that drums into my veins, pulsing and driving my every movement, my every turn. They are the undercurrent in hot pursuit of something to fill the void in their beat. I have tried to fill in the pauses of their cadence with worldly ideals and definitions of perfection, only to be off-beat. When I try to meet joy and pleasure with these idols I am either rushing or lagging behind. I never sync with their rhythm, always slightly early or late.

All these other things never satisfy, no matter how often they promise to fulfill. They will never click into the track of true joy and pleasure.

It is only in His presence that the path is made known, where joy and pleasures forevermore walk in step beside Him. Here, with Him, a solid march is found. Here, with Him, the tempo of my heart finds its dance and settles into the peaceful rocking of His arms. When I am with Him, there is no gap in the song. There is no space to be filled. There is no need to search for missing cogs. Nothing lacks. He is enough. Whether I think I am enough or not, He is enough. For in this world, perfection will never be met. In the midst of my imperfection, He provides contentment.

In Philippians 4:11, Paul continues to challenge me with his satisfaction despite circumstances: “Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” This world will never give me all that I want, so why do I pout late at night about not getting it, and fantasize of a day when God will ‘bless’ me with it? It makes no sense…like a clarinet in a heavy metal band…playing in 7/8 with the guitarist in 4/4…squeaking eighth notes on a high F# while the band plays in a roaring Eb. It’s not cohesive.

It doesn’t make sense.

If I say I trust in Jesus, I need to trust Him with everything. My faith in Him should be consistent. If I believe in Him, I should also believe in His promises. If I rest in His salvation, I should rest in His daily satisfaction.

My prayer:

God, bring me into your presence, where the satisfaction of being with you sings louder than the desires of this world banging at the door. Make your satisfaction a real thing in my heart. Help me to see myself how you see me. Help me to live and think in sync with your will, your path, and your love…without gap or need because all my imperfection and flaws are filled with You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

God, the great encourager…

July 1, 2015 — Leave a comment

In my post, I hate this kind of post, I prayed for God to “cast unto me His vision”. I had been absent from His word, merely coasting through trials and barely keeping my head above water. I’d love to tell you that after that post, I picked myself up by my bootstraps and started every morning in the Word and spent an hour each evening on my knees in prayer. It wasn’t so.

Yet, at my worst, He still shows up. He still listens to my two-sentence prayer. He still comes through.

“If we are faithless, he remains faithful—
for he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:13).

I’ve been mulling over all that isn’t right in the world. Whether it’s been the amount of time with my husband, the inability of my children to keep their rooms clean, or my new publisher disliking my word choice, I’ve allowed all of it to define my reality. I’ve done exactly what I tell my children not to do: focus on all that’s wrong instead of all that’s right.

Hello, self…remember that time you spent the entirety of one whole retreat session speaking on thankfulness? Remember how much you actually believe that focusing on all that is wrong is giving power to the devil? Remember telling a room full of women that God has the ability to bloom full gardens of goodness out of our mess?

Obviously not.

Yet, when I forget all these truths He has taught me. He gently reminds me. He is merciful and compassionate.

“As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him” (Psalm 103:13).

This weekend He sat me on the other side of the podium, my bum glued to the chair. He restrained my squirming body and gave me the opportunity to listen to His truth once again. He gently reminded.

Today it’s raining in Houston. As I listen to the droplets gently sprinkle the window panes I meditate on His gentleness. He is so kind. When my children forget my commandments, I yell at them…loudly. I have little to no patience. I rarely show mercy or grace. But, the Father…He is so gentle and gracious with me.

I was reminded this weekend that God is doing good. He takes our filth and sows seed within it. His Word and His loving kindness take root…even in the dirtiest of circumstances. He recalled to mind just how able He is to redeem, renew, and regenerate that which seems so lost.

He reignited His vision for my life and allowed me to see a glimpse. Graciously, through the words of others, speaking to me both directly and indirectly, He restored my hope…my hope in His ability to satisfy all my needs. He refreshed my desire to believe His promises and to surrender all my doubts and disappointments to Him. He spent time developing trust within our relationship. He’s the God of the universe…He has every entitlement to forcefully command my trust, but yet He woos me into a relationship built on it.

God, the great encourager in the midst of my discouragement, weaves His words of light into the crevices of my darkened outlook. His Spirit recalls to mind the seed that’s been planted, springing into life invigorated courage, hope, and…breath.

“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you (John 14:26).

All of a sudden, that which seemed hopeless and barren, yet once again, is now springing with life. My mud-filled, weed-infested soil now overflows with sustainable food sources. The trees are bearing fruit and I hear His gentle whispers of truth slowly build into loud singing over me.

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing” (Zephaniah 3:17).

He declares again (not because it is a new truth, but because I have forgotten) that we are called, “oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified” (Isaiah 61:3).

He recalibrates my view of circumstances. He redefines my perceptions of reality. He nourishes His word in me and tends to me like a vineyard vine, grafting me, resetting my eyes and my will to Him, that he may be glorified.

What an encourager! What a God! That He would know me and call me by name and give the slightest, smallest thought to me!

Will I settle into His promises before I sink my head into my pillow tonight? Will I wake in the morning craving to drink from His Word more than sip from my coffee mug? I make no guarantees. But this I know: His kindness leads me to repentance (Romans 2:4) and His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). For now, my plan is to steer my heart in those truths, focusing on Him and His faithful encouragement.

Friend, I pray He leads you to do the same.

I hate this kind of post…

June 10, 2015 — 2 Comments

I hate this kind of post. I’m talking about this one…the one I am about to write. I am going to have to be real, honest, and publicly humbled. Great. However, it’s long overdue.

God has been speaking to me and I haven’t been listening. I will joyfully allow Him to hold the talking stick when He’s got words of encouragement, surprise gifts for me to unwrap, or Kumbaya feelings. But, when the conversation gets serious…and He starts to hold me accountable…I reach across the drum circle, yank that stick from His hands, and walk away from the campfire muttering, “jerk…”.

Here I am, blogger of “good things found beneath the surface of life’s dirt”, and I have to confess I’ve left the search party. Lately, I haven’t been seeking anything out, let alone God. And, therefore, no joy resides, at least in the meatiness of life. I’m ‘happy’ in the midst of encouragement, blessings, and the occasional euphoria. But let’s face it, there is so much more to life than what we and others see on the surface.

Our lives are deep, deep gardens filled with layers and layers of soil. Layers and layers of hurt. Layers and layers of history. And sometimes, breaking out of that dirt, fertilized and fueled by our pasts, are weeds and thorns. The garden hasn’t been tended, planting of good seed has been abandoned, and a story-rich soil cultivates an unwanted crop.

I haven’t been proactively planting. I haven’t been talking to the Gardener about His plans, His timing, or His fruit.

The message He has had for me, through 3 distinct people (so far…it’ll probably take more to get it through my thick skull) is that He wants me to ask Him. He doesn’t just want me to ask, He wants me to ask boldly. He wants me to come, with no apprehension, full of reckless abandon. He wants me to demand better…not of others, not of myself, but of Him.

The goal here is not to boldly demand material possessions, change in circumstance or people, or a surface level yield. He wants me to demand the soil be tilled, the weeds be pulled, new seed be sown, and the entire make-up of the garden restored and redefined. It’s similar to a masterful chef who desires his patrons to demand the finest meal. It’s a welcomed request, because it’s what the cook does best. God is in the business of redeeming, restoring, and rebuilding. It’s what He does best, and He wants me to demand it. He wants to give me a new vision for this season’s harvest.

Unfortunately, right now I don’t want to ask Him for assistance in the field, I don’t even want to talk. Without confidence in His ability to answer those bold kind of prayers, we don’t pray. Without confidence in God’s character, we don’t ask. Without confidence in His ability to do the unthinkable (in our hearts and the hearts of others), we resign to living among the weeds. We resign to defeat among the thorns in our sides. We scrap to find sustenance among the trash. All while God is reminding us He is right there, tools in hand, wanting to do some serious work.

He isn’t the hired laborer, though.

I recently watched a documentary on organic farming. (I know…exciting.) The filmmaker follows her own boyfriend as he describes his passion for the most refreshing snap peas and the most flavorful carrots. While she never imagined living on a farm, his dream becomes contagious and she is swept up in his vision and plan for amazing produce. He demands better than tasteless frozen veggies and out-of-season tomatoes shipped nationwide. The days are promised to be long and hard, especially without heavy machinery or pesticides. Everything is to be done by hand, from pulling weeds to washing away invasive bugs. The expenses and lack of reliable income guarantee financial strain and stress. But the vision he casts for a healthy cornucopia of rich and fragrant food makes the sacrifices of time and wealth worth it.

In the same way, the great Gardener wants to dream with us. He wants us to be swept up in the vision He casts. He, himself, demands better for us. He promises to do the grunt work and share the bounty. If we aren’t at least talking to Him, how are we to catch wind of His passion? How are we to even hear that a better crop is possible? How do we even know what to boldly ask for?

I am currently working on a second book. And of course, it’s supposed be about all of this: this stuff I’m struggling to understand and trust. It’s about the ability of God to cultivate gardens full of life out of what seems barren. As I look through my notes, God’s scripture and my own words have been incredibly convicting. The truths run like clear brooks cutting through my rigid and dusty heart. He’s preparing my soul’s soil. He doesn’t promise that I will like it. I might have to sacrifice certain comforts for a table full of good. He is chipping away at the parts of my dry creek bed that stand in the way of His raging waters of provision…even when I’m not asking. Those small banks of my soul don’t stand a chance against His flood of mercy, grace, and love.

What

a faithful

God.

So, here’s my bold prayer. Though it may seem simplistic and small, it feels for me as though I’m asking mountains to move:

Father, help me to boldly pray. Cast unto me Your vision.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

ANGIE GOEKE

Life After Rehab