This song came on on my Pandora radio station, it reached inside of me, grabbed the lies I believe and ripped them out. Skillet "Whispers in the Dark" Ignore the video, listen to the song and read the lyrics. It is not a real worship song, but it is impossible to deny the truth inside.
Despite the lies that you're making
Your love is mine for the taking
My love is just waiting
To turn your tears to roses
Despite the lies that you're making
Your love is mine for the taking
My love is just waiting
To turn your tears to roses
I will be the one that's gonna hold you
I will be the one that you run to
My love is a burning, consuming fire
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars
Hear my whispers in the dark
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes you know I'm never far
Hear the whispers in the dark
Whispers in the dark
You feel so lonely and ragged
You lay there broken and naked
My love is just waiting
To clothe you in crimson roses
I will be the one that's gonna find you
I will be the one that's gonna guide you
My love is a burning, consuming fire
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars
Hear my whispers in the dark
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes you know I'm never far
Hear the whispers in the dark
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars
Hear the whispers in the dark
No, you'll never be alone
When darkness comes you know I'm never far
Hear the whispers in the dark
Whispers in the dark
Whispers in the dark
Whispers in the dark
As I sit here, eating my lunch, I re-acknowledge that the fears I have of His love, fear of losing it, fear of not measuring up, not being able to perform well enough, are not based on Him. My fears are founded in my selfish pride.
If I am in any way capable of deflecting, refusing, stopping, cutting off, or changing the love my God has for me, then I am setting myself far higher than I could ever truly be. It is not a mere whim that causes Him to love me, no random chance or choice of convenience. His very nature demands His love for us. He cannot deny who He is, or that He is love (1 John 4:8). The love He shows me, has shown me, will always show me, is an outpouring of who He is.
More to come on this later.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Ambition
The greatest thing for us to remember is that we go up to Jerusalem to fulfill God’s purpose, not our own. In the natural life our ambitions are our own, but in the Christian life we have no goals of our own.
Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, August 3rd.
I say I don't have ambitions. I declare myself dream-free, that the place, the condition, the state of being, in which I currently am is all that I need to achieve some sense of fulfillment or satisfaction. I call it being free, looking for what God wants in my life, not seeing the purpose I am supposed to have in the moment.
But the truth is that I fear myself.
I fear that in my self-contempt I will create a dream so meaningless and yet unreachable that I will spend a whole lifetime trying to fulfill a worthless dream. I shroud my shallow muzzle in the trappings of imitation righteousness, not completely false, but a misdirection, a feint. "If God has plans for me, I will take that as my dream." The words out of my mouth fail to cover the doubt shouting in my mind, "Failure is not an option, you know where the empty, broken dreams leave you. Protect yourself."
So here I sit, about to start a book study on the Journey of Desire, yet filled with a lack of the very thing I would love to claim to be an expert on. I am afraid that I will dream too much or dream too little. I ache for the lost ability to ask like a child asks a father. "Can I have a pony?" is as equally hard to say as "Can I have a gumball?". I fear that if I ask too much, desire too deeply, and have so badly missed what I was supposed to want that in the fulfilling of what truly will satisfy me, I am left looking for the one gift under the tree that I didn't get. And I fear the shame of asking for the temporal, the momentary, those fleeting accomplishments and gains that will not leave this world, just because I am supposed to want more.
What is more for me? In a vast sea of dreams, unending ocean of desires and ambitions, how do I know what more is? So I bitterly cling to the dry land, watching the waves come in, thinking that one of them is right, just not that one. Or that one. Or that one. And as time rocks along, and days turn into years, the waves look the same. After all, I can't just pick any wave. What if it is not for me? What if it is really meant for someone else to enjoy, to achieve?
Who am I kidding, the waves terrify me. Let the others play in the water, I will tell them I am ok where I am. That I like the dusty earth and hot sun, that more is for other people. I am tired of waiting, tired of watching. How do dreams start again?
Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, August 3rd.
I say I don't have ambitions. I declare myself dream-free, that the place, the condition, the state of being, in which I currently am is all that I need to achieve some sense of fulfillment or satisfaction. I call it being free, looking for what God wants in my life, not seeing the purpose I am supposed to have in the moment.
But the truth is that I fear myself.
I fear that in my self-contempt I will create a dream so meaningless and yet unreachable that I will spend a whole lifetime trying to fulfill a worthless dream. I shroud my shallow muzzle in the trappings of imitation righteousness, not completely false, but a misdirection, a feint. "If God has plans for me, I will take that as my dream." The words out of my mouth fail to cover the doubt shouting in my mind, "Failure is not an option, you know where the empty, broken dreams leave you. Protect yourself."
So here I sit, about to start a book study on the Journey of Desire, yet filled with a lack of the very thing I would love to claim to be an expert on. I am afraid that I will dream too much or dream too little. I ache for the lost ability to ask like a child asks a father. "Can I have a pony?" is as equally hard to say as "Can I have a gumball?". I fear that if I ask too much, desire too deeply, and have so badly missed what I was supposed to want that in the fulfilling of what truly will satisfy me, I am left looking for the one gift under the tree that I didn't get. And I fear the shame of asking for the temporal, the momentary, those fleeting accomplishments and gains that will not leave this world, just because I am supposed to want more.
What is more for me? In a vast sea of dreams, unending ocean of desires and ambitions, how do I know what more is? So I bitterly cling to the dry land, watching the waves come in, thinking that one of them is right, just not that one. Or that one. Or that one. And as time rocks along, and days turn into years, the waves look the same. After all, I can't just pick any wave. What if it is not for me? What if it is really meant for someone else to enjoy, to achieve?
Who am I kidding, the waves terrify me. Let the others play in the water, I will tell them I am ok where I am. That I like the dusty earth and hot sun, that more is for other people. I am tired of waiting, tired of watching. How do dreams start again?
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