“We must, therefore, not be surprised if we find among the Christians some people who are nasty.  There is even, when you come to think it over, a reason why nasty people might be expected to turn to Christ in greater numbers than nice ones.  That was what people objected to about Christ during His life on earth: He seemed to attract ‘such awful people.’  That is what people still object to, and always will…

Often people who have all these natural kinds of goodness cannot be brought to recognize their need for Christ at all until, one day, their natural goodness lets them down and their self-satisfaction is shattered. In other words, it is hard for those who are ‘rich’ in this sense to enter the kingdom.  It is very different for the nasty people- the little, low, timid, warped, thin-blooded, lonely people or the passionate, sensual, unbalanced people.  If they make any attempt at goodness at all, they learn, in double-quick time, that they need help.  It is Christ or nothing for them.  It is taking up the cross and following- or else despair.  They are the lost sheep; He came specially to find them.  The are (in one very real and terrible sense) the ‘poor’; He blessed them.  They are the ‘awful set’ he goes about with- and of course the Pharisees say still, as they did from the first, ‘If there were anything in Christianity those people would not be Christians.’

There is either a warning or an encouragement here for every one of us.  If you are a nice person-if virtue comes easily to you- beware!  Much is expected from those to whom much is given.  If you mistake for your own merits what are really God’s gifts to you through nature, and if you are contented with simply being nice, you are still a rebel: and all those gifts will only make your fall more terrible, your corruption more complicated, your bad example more disastrous.  The Devil was an archangel once; his natural gifts were as far above yours as yours are above those of a chimpanzee.

But if you are a poor creature-poisoned by a wretched up-bringing in some house full of vulgar jealousies and senseless quarrels-saddled, by no choice of your own, with some loathsome perversion-nagged day in and day out by an inferiority complex that makes you snap at your best friends-do not despair.  He knows all about it.  You are one of the poor whom He blessed.  He knows what a wretched machine you are trying to drive. Keep on.  Do what you can.  One day (perhaps in another world, but perhaps far sooner than that) he will fling it on the scrapheap and give you a new one.  And then you may astonish us all-not the least yourself; for you have learned your driving in a hard school. (Some of the last will be first and some of the first will be last.)”

CS Lewis

Mere Christianity

“Do you believe that seeing sin in yourself is a good thing?  Here you are, feeling like your self-worth couldn’t be lower, and the discussion turns to sin.  Why not just pound the final nail into the coffin?  But contrary to popular opinion, sin is a good thing.

More specifically, when we see sin in ourselves it is a good thing.  It is good on two counts.  First, sin might feel natural but we were originally created to live without it.  True humanness– blessed humanness– is sinless humanness.  Of course, on this side of heaven perfection is impossible, but as we battle with sin we get tastes of how we were intended to live.

Second, when we see sin, it is evidence that God is close.  It is the Holy Spirit who reveals sin (John 16.8). We don’t have the acumen for it.  If you see it, have hope–the Holy Spirit is at work in your life.  It is tangible evidence of God’s love.”

Ed Welch

Depression, A Stubborn Darkness

“If people are leaving because of the truth that’s being proclaimed the best thing that you can do is to keep proclaiming that truth.”

White Horse Inn~Chicago, Illinois~September 2010

“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him.” (John 6:66 ESV)

I never could tuck my shirt in.

And now that I am forty something the possibility of tucking a shirt in is long-since past.  But since I could never do it anyway I don’t feel like I am missing out.

Thinking.  Well, that’s a different story.

I’ve always been a thinker.  As a female I am supposed to be a ‘feeler.’  I’m supposed to feeeel in relationships, and feeeeel my emotions, and feeeeel what happens in my life.  Instead I think.

And think.

And over think.

I think about what happens in my relationships and I think instead of emote (although menoPAUSE is changing that) and I think about what happens in my life.  Sometimes feelings pour through my veins, but more often than not my brain is more engaged than my tear ducts.

Until now.

I miss thinking.

Somehow my brain can barely comprehend what day it is.  Or what time it is.  It gets worse when I get out of bed.  I walk in a room and turn 180 degrees until I remember why I traversed the house in the first place; I walk back to where the trek began and try to recall.  I return the Tylenol bottle back on its shelf since I’ve forgotten the last time I took two gel tabs.

Or was that three?

Feeling is highly overrated.

It’s so much easier to just cry, you know.  Simply remember a sad movie, or a difficult situation; tears effortlessly obey command to respond.  Try demanding a middle-aged brain retain information; not gonna happen.

Now where was I?….

Oh ya.

The challenge right now is to believe, well, actually the challenge is ALWAYS to believe…the challenge is to believe that in the midst of losing my body and in the midst of losing my health and in the midst of losing my MIND; God is still THAT good.  While it doesn’t appear He cares very much for my physical being His plan is still the same; still working together for MY good.

“He calls us to a life of constant work, constant growth and constant confession and repentance.  Making us holy is God’s unwavering agenda until we are taken home to be with him.  He will do whatever he needs to produce holiness in us.  He wants us to be a community of joy, but he is willing to compromise our temporal happiness in order to increase our Christlikeness.  Any time we find ourselves in difficulty or trial it is easy to think we have been forgotten or rejected by God.  This is because we do not understand the present process.  God is not working for our comfort and ease; he is working on our growth. At the moment we are tempted to question his faithfulness, he is fulfilling his redemptive promises to us.”

Tim Lane/Paul Tripp, How People Change

“This is how we must understand the Psalms and prophecies that approve of God‘s judgment. Believers hate violence and wickedness. Some people give themselves over to such sins, so they are properly called ―the violent or ―the wicked. The Bible never commands us to hate individual enemies, but there is a place for righteous wrath toward God‘s settled enemies. On judgment day, we will rejoice at their downfall, for their end is inseparable from the victory of God and His saints. Thus, when we view the wicked as a class, from an eternal perspective, our love for them ceases.

In daily life, however, we have no right to adopt the eternal perspective. We cannot classify people. The man standing before us may be wicked, but we do not know whether he will repent or not.”

Dan Dorioni as quoted by John Stott in “The Message of the Sermon On The Mount”

“Oh God, I have tasted thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more.  I am painfully conscience of my need for further grace; I am ashamed of my lack of desire.  Oh God, the Triune God, I want to want thee, I long to be filled with longing, I thirst to be made more thirsty still.  Show me thy glory I pray thee so that I may know thee indeed.  Begin in mercy a new work of love in me.  Say to my soul, ‘rise up my love, my fair one and come away.’  Then give me grace to arise and follow thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.  In Jesus name, Amen.”  Aiden Wilson Tozer*

(for a free audio copy of The Pursuit of God click here)

I started reading “Sin and Temptation” today (John Owen), and I sense I am going to need to blog about it simply because of the difficulty of its message.  I mean, if I am going to learn how to mortify sin (and hopefully DO it) then I want some company! A dear friend, while reading tough materials that convicted her heart, shared with me that she would read a paragraph by the author, read Romans 8.1; read another paragraph, read Romans 8.1 and so on.  What a powerful dependence on God!  And what a balanced approach to sanctification (by way of justification).

So welcome to my world!  Let’s dive in to sin together, shall we?

“Sin is always at work in the heart; a temporary lull in its assaults means not that it is dead, but that it is very much alive.  Sin is never less quiet, than when it seems to be most quiet, and its waters are for the most part deep when they are still.

Sin’s strategy is to induce a false sense of security as a prelude to a surprise attack.  By sin we are oftentimes unaware carried into distempered affections, foolish imaginations, and pleasing delightfulness in things that are not good nor profitable…

When the soul is doing…quite another thing…. sin starts that in the heart….that carries it away into that which is evil and sinful.  Yea, to manifest its power, sometimes when the soul is seriously engaged in the mortification of any sin, it will… lead it away into alliance with that very sin whose ruin it is seeking…

I know no greater burden in the life of a believer than these involuntary surprisals…And it is in respect unto them that the Apostle makes his complaint in Romans 7.24.”

John Owen

It was an orange spider; one of those light, feathery, hard to see dust spiders that collect in the corners of ceilings and floors and the bottom of unused antique bureau drawers.

It was dead.

There really was no reason to evict it from the corner of the staircase niche where it chose to make it’s final resting place. No one goes up the stairs in our house. And even if by some small chance someone did, would they notice a dead orange feathery spider?

But it bothered me.

I go up and down the stairs at least once or twice a day. Tabby’s litter box is in my unused second floor office and surely she appreciates that I clean it. I know if I happen to need the printer or a book or a catalog (ha! like I need a catalog!) from the room that was supposed to inspire marvelously creative spaces I appreciate the litter box clean.

Ew.

So I stared at it. I knew if I didn’t handle this little situation right away I would forget and when the time came for actual human life to ascend or descend our staircase they might see the fruit of my laziness gathered in the corner of a niche.

I contemplated it’s demise.

I considered the spider, my fear of heights, of stairs and of falling hard on solid oak treads. The mere contemplation sent a shiver down my well-acquainted-with-pain spine.

Staircases and I have never had a good relationship. Well, at least my side of the relationship experiences pain, I’m not sure how the stairs feel. I’ve fallen more times than I care to remember; although each week at the chiropractor I am fortunate enough to be reminded.

The first out of seven broken bones in my foot happened on a staircase; so did my bruised tailbone.

Lost count of how many times that happened.

I work hard to avoid staircases. If given the choice of stairs or elevator, third century technology wins. When I don’t have the pleasure of a choice, I approach the first step with fear and trepidation. I pause, assess potential body damage (ie are the stairs carpeted or not), and set foot downward only after securely fastening my hand to the rail.

While considering a home for purchase a Master Bedroom on the first floor was a must. I’m getting older. And if I am going to traverse the house in the middle of the night on cold dark floors looking for a glass of water or a Tylenol or a heating pad I don’t want to take the chance of another painful encounter with stairs.

What if there were a burglar?

We know Bob isn’t going to wake up at the sound of pipes tapping or the guard cat meowing. Y’all know I would be nominated as lead investigator for the job. And it’s impossible to pursue a serial killer in the dark while cautiously descending a staircase.

I carefully weighed my options.

Should I continue (46 years later) to hold on to my hyper, type A, queen-of-cleanliness (second only to the lil General) personality or blow contamination to the wind and leave all God’s creatures alone in their pathetic subjection to futility.

Naw.

It was then I realized I’d have to set something down, get a ladder, and …..swipe the bugger with my hand.

Ew.

I was carrying several small items; a phone, a knit-wit, and the afore mentioned result of cleaning the litter box. Not one to waste a trip upstairs, not me, nope nope nope. But in that brief moment I thought, “Hey! It’s just a feathery spider! I surely don’t need to go to such trouble.” I personally have been granted ALL things which pertain to life and spiderlessness.

So I blew.

If there is anything more certain (as evidenced by the mere fact that I am blogging about this) it is that I am full of hot air.

Why not use it?

In my, hands-are-too-full and I-don’t-want-to-waste-another-trip-up-and-down-the-steps mind, I figured I could simply exhale enough air to dislodge the feathery spider from it’s nest and be done with it. “Carry on!” I say.

The orange feathery spider floated up; the orange feathery spider cascaded down. The orange feathery spider lodged back into its original position.

“Well this creature ain’t payin rent,” I’m thinkin, so now it HAS to go. However I still refuse to set any of my trinkets down or make an ‘unnecessary’ trip.

I blow harder

In one surreal moment, the orange feathery spider floated over the stairs, above the banister and downward toward the first floor. I found myself thinking, “this would make a great short film.” I could even hear music in the background as the spider floated and swayed-floated and swayed on the big screen behind me as I accepted my Oscar. Perhaps I would display it in the niche.

That’s when it happened.

My eyes followed the orange feathery spider as it descended
My hand reached for the bannister
My foot felt for the step

And missed.

My elbow hit first.

It’s amazing the things one thinks of in a moment of extraordinary trauma. In that transition of time people refer to as ‘everything moved in slow motion’ I thought “OW!” How did my elbow hit where my foot was supposed to step?

My tailbone took the next hit.

In my mind I screamed again, “OW!” And in a weird progression of contemplation for what was happening I thought back to my elbow and realized, “it isn’t broken, thank you Jesus for protecting my elbow.”

That actually happens.

You hear about people in dire situations offering up hail Mary’s and begging God, “If you spare me this time, Lord, I swear I’ll become a missionary to China.”

Note: I did not say that.

But AS I WAS FALLING I found myself praying. “Thank you Jesus, my head wasn’t the first body part to meet this particular staircase.”

My ribs joined the action.

I have dreams, or shall we say nightmares, when this very thing happens. Bob at work, no one in my neighborhood home (hello?) and me lying unconscious on the floor for hours until someone comes home or rings the doorbell or peeps through my windows.

Let go.

I guess at some point during my expedition of barreling down the first five steps my hand found the handrail and, far from acting as a flotation device designed to save me from bodily harm, it instead threatened additional and more substantial damage.

I felt myself swing.

Either my arm would proceed on a path that evicted itself from my shoulder or I would have to tough it up and take the last five stairs like a trooper, come what may.

I let go, closed my eyes, and slid downward toward the floor.

“Thank you Jesus,” I heard myself utter, not so much with conviction but rather resigned recognition that ALL things work together for the good of those who are called according to His purpose.

I was just so grateful to be conscious.

I ran for the freezer, again with gratitude that I could run! As I ransacked through chicken and fish and corn and ice cream, “where’s the ice pack!!??” my pain turned to panic, my thankfulness to fear for what MIGHT have happened.

I hyperventilated.

Not so much from physical pain, although I knew that was yet to come; no, my quick, short, inadequate breath came because of emotional trauma. Yes, if you have heard my teaching on emotions, my MIND was telling my BODY to FLEE! from my body. But since we know that can’t happen if you are still drawing breath, somewhere deep inside I must have decided to quit breathing.

“Breathe!” I called Bob. If you’re going to careen down a flight of wood stairs you might as well let someone know there is a distinct possibility you may pass out. “Breathe,” he said.

I cried.

I am such a baby. Ask Bob (he agrees); off to the Emergency Room we went.

It’s weird when you actually wish you have a broken bone. But when you are sitting in a Trauma Center, eliciting the undivided attention of men and women who spent MANY years in school and residencies and rotations and sleepless nights and heart wrenching injuries and severed limbs and DEATH, the last thing you want to hear from the nurse is “oh, your fingers got skinned….”

Idiot.

So all (ALL) of this is to say, God is good. God is good all the time or God is not good. And even though I had to turn around and spend the following three days SITTING at a conference on a goose egg bum, and even though I still can’t park myself and even though it will be forever before I go up those stairs again, I still believe ALL things work together for the good of those who are called according to His purpose.

I’m just sayin.

“There is a significant difference between conviction brought about by the Spirit and self condemnation brought about by the Accuser as he acts on my pride.  Conviction of sin draws me away from myself and toward God;  it frees me to repent, grants me sorrow over offending my King, and floods me with relief in knowing that his smile still rests upon me.  It eventuates in my loving Jesus more.  Paul’s words from Romans 8.1, “Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” bestow great relief on my soul.

Self condemnation, on the other hand, draws me down into myself and away from God.  It makes me afraid and distrustful of him.  It entraps me in unrelenting self -loathing and unbelief.  It makes my heart cold toward the Lord; he’s seen as a harsh taskmaster, a cruel tormenter.  It makes me think of my Savior the way I should think of my enemy, and this reversal brings a vicious glee to the Accuser.  Jesus slips from preeminence and is replaced by my shattered image of myself.  Self condemnation doesn’t make me love Jesus more, because it’s not essentially about him.  It’s about me.”

Comforts from the Cross

Elyse Fitzpatrick