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by Clint Wagnon
I've been told an amazing tale of how the mighty arctic wolf hunter fells his prey. I would use a rifle, or at least a bow, but not the ancient Eskimo. He simply uses a blade… a single razor-sharp piece of cold steel. However, it is not the blade alone that downs the mighty arctic wolf, it is his own savage instinct.
The hunter will dip a steel blade into a bowl of blood, lay it on the frozen snow, then repeat the exercise several times. The temperature of the tundra will cause the blood to freeze, leaving a course, crystallized coat on the blade. Then the hunter will firmly fix the knife into the ground, blade up, and leave.
Like all canines, wolves have extraordinary olfactory senses and can smell their prey many miles away. So as night falls and wolves begin their prowl, the faint scent of frozen blood is carried by the breeze across the arctic landscape. When the wolf’s keen nose catches the scent, his instincts are ignited and like a moth to the flame, he begins his trek to the trap.
As the wolf reaches the place where the blade is fixed in the snow, he inquisitively circles the odd-looking meal. It doesn’t look like food, but it sure smells like it. There is only one way to know for certain… does it taste like food? Cautiously and curiously, the wolf inches toward the blade and slowly begins to lick. The rich taste of blood bursts on his tongue and slides down his throat. Throwing caution to the wind, and he licks, fast and furious, he licks the blade.
In the midst of the frenzied feast, the wolf begins to feel faint. The blade was cold. The blood was frozen. Because his tongue is numb, the wolf doesn't recognize the moment he slices his tongue like ribbons on the razor’s edge. He has no idea that the warm, salty taste in the back of his throat is his own blood. He just keeps licking hard the blade, feasting on his own lifeforce. Dazed and weak, the powerful predator finally collapses helpless to the snow. His last moments are spent gasping for life, his stomach full.
At daybreak, the cunning hunter will return to his trap and find lying lifeless before the blade the mighty arctic wolf. Ended by his own instinct. Downed by desire unchecked.
Shakespeare said there are sermons in stones. I wonder if there is one in the blade.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Where Are You?
by Jessica Wright
God doesn't ask any question because He doesn't know, He asks so that you might recognize the answer and benefit.
Where are you?
He asks this question to every heart because the answer is the most important one to every life.
To recognize your standing before God is to your benefit.
People may have hurt you or confused you, because they are people.
Churches may have hurt you or confused you, because they are made up of people.
But it is God, not people, who is asking you where you are. He created you and He created you to be connected to him. But your sin, whatever excuse you have ready for it, stains your soul and has you completely separated from God.
God is a Perfect and Holy God like none other and sin and those who carry it cannot enter into his presence, his heaven. But he wants you there -in love, in perfection; sinless - the way you were originally created to be.
There is not one man-made thought, idea, practice or discipline or any amount of good deeds that could possibly earn a way into God's presence. There is not one way that you, yourself, could wipe away your own sin and connect yourself to God. God is aware of that. He knows where you are, what condition you are in. And He is calling you to himself anyway. He has provided his own way to wipe away and forgive your sin.
A perfect way.
The only way.
Jesus Christ.
A perfect God gave of himself to become a man. He walked the earth as a sinless man, taking the title of Son of God, and died in the place of your sin and mine. What is the most precious, important thing you could give? Your blood. Why? Because your life is in the blood. If you give all of your blood, you will not have life. Jesus Christ willingly gave up his perfect, sinless blood to cover over our sinful blood and forgive our sinful life. And it is enough. God's blood and sacrifice in place of our own is enough. How do we know it was enough? How do we know it was God? How do we know we are forgiven by this blood, this death, this sacrifice? Because by the same power that God used to create us, he used to raise himself from the dead. Not a ghost. Not an angel. But raised in the flesh. What is the one thing that no man can escape? Death. No matter what we do, accomplish, or fail in life, we all go to the grave. But Jesus has shown that he is God and He is more powerful than the grave. What does this mean to you? This means that when Jesus says to the weary and hopeless, "Come to me and I will give you rest," you can find it. When He says, "Anyone who believes on my name will be saved," you can believe it. When you hear that He says, "Whoever believes in the Son will have eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God's wrath remains on him," you can trust this is true.
Examine yourself to see where you are. God has given you the choice to see yourself as you really are, not compared to other people, but compared to Him. And what to do when you recognize the gap between you and God? Trust Jesus for his perfect blood to cover your blood, for his perfect life to cover your life, for his perfect ways to cover your ways. And be saved.
God doesn't ask any question because He doesn't know, He asks so that you might recognize the answer and benefit.
Where are you?
He asks this question to every heart because the answer is the most important one to every life.
To recognize your standing before God is to your benefit.
People may have hurt you or confused you, because they are people.
Churches may have hurt you or confused you, because they are made up of people.
But it is God, not people, who is asking you where you are. He created you and He created you to be connected to him. But your sin, whatever excuse you have ready for it, stains your soul and has you completely separated from God.
God is a Perfect and Holy God like none other and sin and those who carry it cannot enter into his presence, his heaven. But he wants you there -in love, in perfection; sinless - the way you were originally created to be.
There is not one man-made thought, idea, practice or discipline or any amount of good deeds that could possibly earn a way into God's presence. There is not one way that you, yourself, could wipe away your own sin and connect yourself to God. God is aware of that. He knows where you are, what condition you are in. And He is calling you to himself anyway. He has provided his own way to wipe away and forgive your sin.
A perfect way.
The only way.
Jesus Christ.
A perfect God gave of himself to become a man. He walked the earth as a sinless man, taking the title of Son of God, and died in the place of your sin and mine. What is the most precious, important thing you could give? Your blood. Why? Because your life is in the blood. If you give all of your blood, you will not have life. Jesus Christ willingly gave up his perfect, sinless blood to cover over our sinful blood and forgive our sinful life. And it is enough. God's blood and sacrifice in place of our own is enough. How do we know it was enough? How do we know it was God? How do we know we are forgiven by this blood, this death, this sacrifice? Because by the same power that God used to create us, he used to raise himself from the dead. Not a ghost. Not an angel. But raised in the flesh. What is the one thing that no man can escape? Death. No matter what we do, accomplish, or fail in life, we all go to the grave. But Jesus has shown that he is God and He is more powerful than the grave. What does this mean to you? This means that when Jesus says to the weary and hopeless, "Come to me and I will give you rest," you can find it. When He says, "Anyone who believes on my name will be saved," you can believe it. When you hear that He says, "Whoever believes in the Son will have eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God's wrath remains on him," you can trust this is true.
Examine yourself to see where you are. God has given you the choice to see yourself as you really are, not compared to other people, but compared to Him. And what to do when you recognize the gap between you and God? Trust Jesus for his perfect blood to cover your blood, for his perfect life to cover your life, for his perfect ways to cover your ways. And be saved.
Psalm 23 Unwrapped
by King David and Clint Wagnon
The Lord is my shepherd,
(that is identity)
I shall not be in want.
(that is necessity)
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
(that is serenity)
he leads me beside quiet waters,
(that is tranquility)
he restores my soul.
(that is energy)
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
(that is clarity)
Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
(that is reality)
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
(that is intimacy)
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
(that is security)
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
(that is sanctuary)
You anoint my head with oil;
(that is mercy)
my cup overflows.
(that is plenty)
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
(that is charity)
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
(that is majesty)
forever.
(that is eternity)
Copyright (C) 2007 by Clinton Wagnon.
The Lord is my shepherd,
(that is identity)
I shall not be in want.
(that is necessity)
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
(that is serenity)
he leads me beside quiet waters,
(that is tranquility)
he restores my soul.
(that is energy)
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
(that is clarity)
Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
(that is reality)
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
(that is intimacy)
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
(that is security)
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
(that is sanctuary)
You anoint my head with oil;
(that is mercy)
my cup overflows.
(that is plenty)
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
(that is charity)
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
(that is majesty)
forever.
(that is eternity)
Copyright (C) 2007 by Clinton Wagnon.
Scars
by Clint Wagnon
[ or the beauty of wounds that sear soul-deep ]
When I was a teenager, I took a tumble down the sharp precipice of a riverbank walled with jagged, razor-like rocks. (There is no need to divulge the details surrounding the incident, but I must confess it was more than an innocent accident.) During my involuntary descent, one of those serrated stones dug deeply into my leg and ripped the Tibialis Anterior muscle [yeah, that big one that rests just against the shin and wraps to the calf]almost in half. I sat there in a fog gazing at the gaping hole in my leg, several inches wide, several inches deep, and several inches long. My body was in shock. I saw white light and heard humming in my ears, but before I surrendered consciousness, I remember wondering to myself why this enormous hole in my leg was not bleeding. I saw bone. I saw muscle. I saw things I will not describe. But there was no blood. I learned that day that some of our deepest wounds do not bleed.
Of course, the doctors did a fine job sewing me up. The only painful part of the entire ordeal was washing the wound. The cut didn’t hurt. It was no big deal to watch them sew the deep muscle together, then the tissue and then the skin. But when they washed the gravel and dirt from the gash, it was less than paradise.
Funny thing about wounds. Sometimes the healing stings worse than the hurt. And then you are left with the scars. I’m often reminded of the folly of my youth when I feel the burn deep in my leg as I chase my kids or ride a bike. There are many moments on the field that I twinge at the ripping sensation of rounding bases. I feel my scar now as I sit at my desk and tell this story. In fact, the pain is always with me. It’s just that sometimes I forget.
I wished I could say that day was a rare occasion for me. That ER trips were uncommon during my wonder years. The fact is, I felt like Norm at Cheers whenever I walked through the doors at either of the two hospitals in my hometown. Everyone knew my name. Broken bones, suture-worthy lacerations, third-degree burns, multiple car crashes (none my fault, thank you) and reconstructive surgery were all the norm for me. I am a man riddled with scars.
Some scars are deep. Some are ugly. Some hurt long after the initial wound. Some fade away with time, others we live with all our lives. Some cause us to feel awkward or embarrassed. Some are hidden while others are in plain view for all the world to see. Some we have become so accustom to, we don’t even see them any more, yet they are the first features other people notice. Some we wear proudly as badges of honor. Others we attempt to mask. Few people know that the reason I wear a goatee is to cover a scar from a car accident that even reconstructive surgery could not fully remove.
Some of us nurse our scars, and some of us ignore them. Some of us allow our scars to define us. Some of us pretend they’re not there.
Life is full of scars. Tender reminders of life experiences that changed us, somehow, forever. Slight and stark, they are with us. Sometimes they haunt us.
But it is not the flesh wounds that affect us most deeply. It is those lacerations that sear the soul that wound the worst. Those broken expectations that result in shattered hearts. Those hurts that if ignored fester into anger, then canker into resentment, and result in a prison we cannot escape. They remain open wounds, scabbed but not scarred. They cut deep, and perhaps they do not bleed, so we think there is no need for treatment. But left unattended they fester with infection that spreads to even the healthy parts of our lives. Soul-deep wounds affect our marriages, make intimacy impossible, joy an illusion, peace a practical joke. They fetter us to chains that bind us as parents and make friendship an elusive vapor. They drive us to worship our careers and get lost in our toys. They steal our rest and cause us to sleep through our dreams. They hound us down every path, hide for us behind every corner and greet us with grins at the dawn of each new day.
That is why I am convinced that the gospel is such good news. It offers hope for the heart held hostage. It gives serenity for the soul that bleeds, or has forgotten how to. Jesus’ death and resurrection is recompense for the scarred spirit in need of ransom. According to his words in John 10:10, Jesus did not merely come to give us life, but to make us fully alive… scars and all.
I am convinced that healing comes from God. Whether he uses a miracle or a medicine, it is in him we live and move and have our being (Acts 18:28.) There were two occasions in my life when God unmistakably and instantly healed my body. Documented in my medical records as a mystery to the physicians, I have tasted first-hand the physical intervention of God. But most of the time, God has chosen to use less sensational methods of healing in my life. And most of the time, my wounds left scars.
I think it is the same with wounded hearts. Yes, God can and does at times miraculously close the wounds that sear our souls. I’ve seen it several times. But more often than that, I’ve seen God walk through the valley of shadows with his loved ones, using the voice of a helper to whisper the gentle thunder of transforming truth. I’ve witnessed him use the objectivity, clarity and wisdom of a godly counselor to shepherd his wounded sheep back to health. And yes, even with the help of a specialist, the wounds still leave scars.
The beauty of scars is their ugliness. They remind us of an earlier hurt, a painful place, a foolish choice. But more than that, they are blatant testaments that we are not the same. In Christ, we are made new. No longer are we slaves to our wounds. We are freed by our scars. No, we are freed by his scars. And by the way, his scars are the only things in heaven made on earth. Our scars remain conspicuously absent there.
[ or the beauty of wounds that sear soul-deep ]
When I was a teenager, I took a tumble down the sharp precipice of a riverbank walled with jagged, razor-like rocks. (There is no need to divulge the details surrounding the incident, but I must confess it was more than an innocent accident.) During my involuntary descent, one of those serrated stones dug deeply into my leg and ripped the Tibialis Anterior muscle [yeah, that big one that rests just against the shin and wraps to the calf]almost in half. I sat there in a fog gazing at the gaping hole in my leg, several inches wide, several inches deep, and several inches long. My body was in shock. I saw white light and heard humming in my ears, but before I surrendered consciousness, I remember wondering to myself why this enormous hole in my leg was not bleeding. I saw bone. I saw muscle. I saw things I will not describe. But there was no blood. I learned that day that some of our deepest wounds do not bleed.
Of course, the doctors did a fine job sewing me up. The only painful part of the entire ordeal was washing the wound. The cut didn’t hurt. It was no big deal to watch them sew the deep muscle together, then the tissue and then the skin. But when they washed the gravel and dirt from the gash, it was less than paradise.
Funny thing about wounds. Sometimes the healing stings worse than the hurt. And then you are left with the scars. I’m often reminded of the folly of my youth when I feel the burn deep in my leg as I chase my kids or ride a bike. There are many moments on the field that I twinge at the ripping sensation of rounding bases. I feel my scar now as I sit at my desk and tell this story. In fact, the pain is always with me. It’s just that sometimes I forget.
I wished I could say that day was a rare occasion for me. That ER trips were uncommon during my wonder years. The fact is, I felt like Norm at Cheers whenever I walked through the doors at either of the two hospitals in my hometown. Everyone knew my name. Broken bones, suture-worthy lacerations, third-degree burns, multiple car crashes (none my fault, thank you) and reconstructive surgery were all the norm for me. I am a man riddled with scars.
Some scars are deep. Some are ugly. Some hurt long after the initial wound. Some fade away with time, others we live with all our lives. Some cause us to feel awkward or embarrassed. Some are hidden while others are in plain view for all the world to see. Some we have become so accustom to, we don’t even see them any more, yet they are the first features other people notice. Some we wear proudly as badges of honor. Others we attempt to mask. Few people know that the reason I wear a goatee is to cover a scar from a car accident that even reconstructive surgery could not fully remove.
Some of us nurse our scars, and some of us ignore them. Some of us allow our scars to define us. Some of us pretend they’re not there.
Life is full of scars. Tender reminders of life experiences that changed us, somehow, forever. Slight and stark, they are with us. Sometimes they haunt us.
But it is not the flesh wounds that affect us most deeply. It is those lacerations that sear the soul that wound the worst. Those broken expectations that result in shattered hearts. Those hurts that if ignored fester into anger, then canker into resentment, and result in a prison we cannot escape. They remain open wounds, scabbed but not scarred. They cut deep, and perhaps they do not bleed, so we think there is no need for treatment. But left unattended they fester with infection that spreads to even the healthy parts of our lives. Soul-deep wounds affect our marriages, make intimacy impossible, joy an illusion, peace a practical joke. They fetter us to chains that bind us as parents and make friendship an elusive vapor. They drive us to worship our careers and get lost in our toys. They steal our rest and cause us to sleep through our dreams. They hound us down every path, hide for us behind every corner and greet us with grins at the dawn of each new day.
That is why I am convinced that the gospel is such good news. It offers hope for the heart held hostage. It gives serenity for the soul that bleeds, or has forgotten how to. Jesus’ death and resurrection is recompense for the scarred spirit in need of ransom. According to his words in John 10:10, Jesus did not merely come to give us life, but to make us fully alive… scars and all.
I am convinced that healing comes from God. Whether he uses a miracle or a medicine, it is in him we live and move and have our being (Acts 18:28.) There were two occasions in my life when God unmistakably and instantly healed my body. Documented in my medical records as a mystery to the physicians, I have tasted first-hand the physical intervention of God. But most of the time, God has chosen to use less sensational methods of healing in my life. And most of the time, my wounds left scars.
I think it is the same with wounded hearts. Yes, God can and does at times miraculously close the wounds that sear our souls. I’ve seen it several times. But more often than that, I’ve seen God walk through the valley of shadows with his loved ones, using the voice of a helper to whisper the gentle thunder of transforming truth. I’ve witnessed him use the objectivity, clarity and wisdom of a godly counselor to shepherd his wounded sheep back to health. And yes, even with the help of a specialist, the wounds still leave scars.
The beauty of scars is their ugliness. They remind us of an earlier hurt, a painful place, a foolish choice. But more than that, they are blatant testaments that we are not the same. In Christ, we are made new. No longer are we slaves to our wounds. We are freed by our scars. No, we are freed by his scars. And by the way, his scars are the only things in heaven made on earth. Our scars remain conspicuously absent there.
Victims and Volunteers
by Clint Wagnon
I once had a counseling mentor who often said, “There are no victims here, only volunteers.” He had a gift for matter-of-factness. It sounded callous, but I understood what he was saying. Although we cannot control what happens to us, we can control how we respond to what happens to us. That we’ve been disappointed, let-down, hurt, provoked, doesn’t make us unique… it makes us part of the human experience. “Welcome to the planet, everyone’s here.”
The New Testament puts it this way: “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. (1 Cor. 10:13).” We’ve all been victims at one time or another. But at some point, we cease to be victims, and we start to be volunteers. This is especially true of the guilt-merchants… those precious people who try to control our lives with guilt, shame, manipulation and intimidation. Guilt-merchants are the ultimate volunteers, and they’re constantly hunting recruits to join them in their misery. Beware the merchant’s charms… that snake will bite you.
For some reading these words, it is a parent. Some, a spouse. Others, a “needy” friend, a jaded sibling, a jealous co-worker. They use their lot in life as pretext for making sure you do not live yours to the full. Their ultimate weapon is to cast their self-pity and bait others with shame and guilt, but the liberating truth is this: no one can make you feel anything! You must give permission to manipulation. You must volunteer your soul to give a guilt-merchant control. And once you do, remember these words: “Don't you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey… (Rom 6:16)”
This may all seem a little harsh, but hold with me, and you’ll see the light. I’m not suggesting that we be insensitive to the hurts or hang-ups of other people. Absolutely not! On the contrary, Scripture demands that we be compassionate, merciful, and
forbearing with one another.
I am warning, however, that there are those selective few who would (consciously or not) like to manage you through emotional terrorism, and as part of the tribe of Jesus Christ, it is not your prerogative to let codependent or demanding people master you. It is your responsibility to submit to Christ’s control over your life, your marriage, your career, your choices; and to not surrender those things to someone who is “warped and sinful… self-condemned (Titus 3:11).”
Guilt-merchants love misery like a heroin addict loves his needle. It is a deplorable romance. It causes them pain, ruins their relationships, wrecks their lives, but they don’t know how to live without it. Anything else seems too foreign, and at least chaos feels normal. So they nurse the victim mentality and try at every turn to validate their victimology.
I’ve learned the secret to keeping guilt-merchants at bay. It is security.
Here is how it works: When you’re insecure, you’re like chum in the water for sharks. They smell the blood of your weak spots and prey on your insecurities, and of course, you volunteer as a meal. But when you’re secure, what others think of you holds nowhere near as much weight. The sharks will circle, and even strike, but you will survive. People cannot be okay with others when they’re not okay with themselves. And people are inherently incapable of being okay with themselves until they’re okay with the One who made them.
Real security comes from right relationship, right fellowship, and right perspective to God. When you’re okay with Him, it gives you the proper view of yourself. Of course you’re broken and battered and you blow it all the time (see Romans 7:15-
25), but you realize you’re okay… not because of performance, but because of position. You’ve been placed in Him, He in you, and no one or no thing can change that (see
Romans 8:35-39). When you internalize this reality, you see the shallowness of self-esteem and the depth of divine security!
Once you become okay with God, you can finally be at peace with yourself. When you are at peace with yourself, you can finally be at peace with others… whether or not they are at peace with you.
That’s when you realize, it would be great if my mom, or my husband, or my friend was what I wished they were… but if not, I’m still okay. I accept them as they are, but I don’t have to be a volunteer anymore. In fact, I don’t have a right to be. My life is not my own. It has been bought with a price. And the one who purchased it has explicitly said there is room for only one God. Those who would like to be to us our god find the position already filled, and besides, they never qualified in the first place.
Approval-addiction is a brazen symptom of basic insecurity. Adoption is the ultimate cure for that insecurity. Being chosen, picked out and paid for [by a King!] will do wonders for one’s sense of self-worth and will seed the courage needed to stand up, speak up, and break free. The performance trap doesn’t fit well for royalty, and guilt-merchants find no buyers for their wares in palaces.
I once had a counseling mentor who often said, “There are no victims here, only volunteers.” He had a gift for matter-of-factness. It sounded callous, but I understood what he was saying. Although we cannot control what happens to us, we can control how we respond to what happens to us. That we’ve been disappointed, let-down, hurt, provoked, doesn’t make us unique… it makes us part of the human experience. “Welcome to the planet, everyone’s here.”
The New Testament puts it this way: “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. (1 Cor. 10:13).” We’ve all been victims at one time or another. But at some point, we cease to be victims, and we start to be volunteers. This is especially true of the guilt-merchants… those precious people who try to control our lives with guilt, shame, manipulation and intimidation. Guilt-merchants are the ultimate volunteers, and they’re constantly hunting recruits to join them in their misery. Beware the merchant’s charms… that snake will bite you.
For some reading these words, it is a parent. Some, a spouse. Others, a “needy” friend, a jaded sibling, a jealous co-worker. They use their lot in life as pretext for making sure you do not live yours to the full. Their ultimate weapon is to cast their self-pity and bait others with shame and guilt, but the liberating truth is this: no one can make you feel anything! You must give permission to manipulation. You must volunteer your soul to give a guilt-merchant control. And once you do, remember these words: “Don't you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey… (Rom 6:16)”
This may all seem a little harsh, but hold with me, and you’ll see the light. I’m not suggesting that we be insensitive to the hurts or hang-ups of other people. Absolutely not! On the contrary, Scripture demands that we be compassionate, merciful, and
forbearing with one another.
I am warning, however, that there are those selective few who would (consciously or not) like to manage you through emotional terrorism, and as part of the tribe of Jesus Christ, it is not your prerogative to let codependent or demanding people master you. It is your responsibility to submit to Christ’s control over your life, your marriage, your career, your choices; and to not surrender those things to someone who is “warped and sinful… self-condemned (Titus 3:11).”
Guilt-merchants love misery like a heroin addict loves his needle. It is a deplorable romance. It causes them pain, ruins their relationships, wrecks their lives, but they don’t know how to live without it. Anything else seems too foreign, and at least chaos feels normal. So they nurse the victim mentality and try at every turn to validate their victimology.
I’ve learned the secret to keeping guilt-merchants at bay. It is security.
Here is how it works: When you’re insecure, you’re like chum in the water for sharks. They smell the blood of your weak spots and prey on your insecurities, and of course, you volunteer as a meal. But when you’re secure, what others think of you holds nowhere near as much weight. The sharks will circle, and even strike, but you will survive. People cannot be okay with others when they’re not okay with themselves. And people are inherently incapable of being okay with themselves until they’re okay with the One who made them.
Real security comes from right relationship, right fellowship, and right perspective to God. When you’re okay with Him, it gives you the proper view of yourself. Of course you’re broken and battered and you blow it all the time (see Romans 7:15-
25), but you realize you’re okay… not because of performance, but because of position. You’ve been placed in Him, He in you, and no one or no thing can change that (see
Romans 8:35-39). When you internalize this reality, you see the shallowness of self-esteem and the depth of divine security!
Once you become okay with God, you can finally be at peace with yourself. When you are at peace with yourself, you can finally be at peace with others… whether or not they are at peace with you.
That’s when you realize, it would be great if my mom, or my husband, or my friend was what I wished they were… but if not, I’m still okay. I accept them as they are, but I don’t have to be a volunteer anymore. In fact, I don’t have a right to be. My life is not my own. It has been bought with a price. And the one who purchased it has explicitly said there is room for only one God. Those who would like to be to us our god find the position already filled, and besides, they never qualified in the first place.
Approval-addiction is a brazen symptom of basic insecurity. Adoption is the ultimate cure for that insecurity. Being chosen, picked out and paid for [by a King!] will do wonders for one’s sense of self-worth and will seed the courage needed to stand up, speak up, and break free. The performance trap doesn’t fit well for royalty, and guilt-merchants find no buyers for their wares in palaces.
Too Close to the Cross
by Clint Wagnon
"He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not." - Isaiah 53:3
Occasionally someone will speak into my life words that clap like thunder. Recently, those words were "too close to the cross." They have reverberated in my soul for days now.
The closer one climbs to the cross, the higher the cost of following hard and the lonelier the chosen path becomes. It was this truth the prophet predicted for the One, and it was this agonizing truth that fleshed itself out in the closing weeks of Jesus' earthly ministry.
The once-massive multitudes waned as he climbed closer to the cross. (John 6:66) Sign-seekers, freeloaders and fair-weather friends stopped following when the new wore off, the food stopped flowing and the shallow were shown for what they were.
At a time when he could really use some encouragement, none was to be found.
Betrayed by a friend. Denied by another. Abandoned by the rest.
Travel too closely to the cross and you will eventually feel that sting too. There is a risk in following hard after Jesus... you become like him.
"He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not." - Isaiah 53:3
Occasionally someone will speak into my life words that clap like thunder. Recently, those words were "too close to the cross." They have reverberated in my soul for days now.
The closer one climbs to the cross, the higher the cost of following hard and the lonelier the chosen path becomes. It was this truth the prophet predicted for the One, and it was this agonizing truth that fleshed itself out in the closing weeks of Jesus' earthly ministry.
The once-massive multitudes waned as he climbed closer to the cross. (John 6:66) Sign-seekers, freeloaders and fair-weather friends stopped following when the new wore off, the food stopped flowing and the shallow were shown for what they were.
At a time when he could really use some encouragement, none was to be found.
Betrayed by a friend. Denied by another. Abandoned by the rest.
Travel too closely to the cross and you will eventually feel that sting too. There is a risk in following hard after Jesus... you become like him.
We All Fall Down
by Clint Wagnon
[Note: This article was originally published on September 10, 2001 just hours before the terrorist attacks on the United States.]
I once heard Charles Swindoll tell of the great plague that swept through Europe during the 17th Century. It was known as “Black Death” to those who watched it ravage through the countryside like a sadistic serial killer at night. It received little press when first reported in May of 1664, but by May of the next year over 600 people had died. A month later, 6,000 were dead. By August—31,000. In the end, over 25 million Europeans fell victim to the plague.
It was called “Black Death” it is thought, because of the big black splotches that appeared on the victims’ bodies and because of the blackness of ignorance that surrounded its cause. Many suspected it was caused by polluted air, but we now know it was carried by fleas on rats. Bizarre rituals were developed to treat those infected with the plague. Because it was believed that the polluted air was the cause, the sick were led to walk in circles around gardens of roses, hoping the fresh fragrance would flush out the diseased air in their lungs. Doctors placed posies in their patients’ rooms. For those near death, petals were burned and ashes placed near the nostrils, hoping it would cause the victim to sneeze out the pollution. Oddly enough, historians tell us that during this period birth was given to a nursery rhyme that is still sung by children today. It is reported that those pushing the death carts through the streets of London collecting corpses could be heard chanting the words:
“Ring around the roses. Pocket full of posies.
Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.”
Morbid isn't it? But absolutely true. We all fall down. That dry fact is utterly inescapable. Although none of us enjoy the thought of it, there will come a day when the last pen stroke is made in the story of our earthly lives. The nursery rhyme is sobering.
Usually, we do not deal with death unless some terrible tragedy jerks us violently back to the reality that we live in a fallen world, on a raging planet, where it rains on the just and unjust. Some senseless slaughter or natural calamity shocks us to our core and we are reminded of the heartbreak that God tastes every day as millions slip into eternity. This great enemy called death is the natural consequence of the fall... and because of it, we all fall down.
In one of my favorite movies, Braveheart, there is a gripping scene where William Wallace, confronted with his own mortality, makes the remarkable statement, “Every man dies. Not every man really lives.”
[Note: This article was originally published on September 10, 2001 just hours before the terrorist attacks on the United States.]
I once heard Charles Swindoll tell of the great plague that swept through Europe during the 17th Century. It was known as “Black Death” to those who watched it ravage through the countryside like a sadistic serial killer at night. It received little press when first reported in May of 1664, but by May of the next year over 600 people had died. A month later, 6,000 were dead. By August—31,000. In the end, over 25 million Europeans fell victim to the plague.
It was called “Black Death” it is thought, because of the big black splotches that appeared on the victims’ bodies and because of the blackness of ignorance that surrounded its cause. Many suspected it was caused by polluted air, but we now know it was carried by fleas on rats. Bizarre rituals were developed to treat those infected with the plague. Because it was believed that the polluted air was the cause, the sick were led to walk in circles around gardens of roses, hoping the fresh fragrance would flush out the diseased air in their lungs. Doctors placed posies in their patients’ rooms. For those near death, petals were burned and ashes placed near the nostrils, hoping it would cause the victim to sneeze out the pollution. Oddly enough, historians tell us that during this period birth was given to a nursery rhyme that is still sung by children today. It is reported that those pushing the death carts through the streets of London collecting corpses could be heard chanting the words:
“Ring around the roses. Pocket full of posies.
Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.”
Morbid isn't it? But absolutely true. We all fall down. That dry fact is utterly inescapable. Although none of us enjoy the thought of it, there will come a day when the last pen stroke is made in the story of our earthly lives. The nursery rhyme is sobering.
Usually, we do not deal with death unless some terrible tragedy jerks us violently back to the reality that we live in a fallen world, on a raging planet, where it rains on the just and unjust. Some senseless slaughter or natural calamity shocks us to our core and we are reminded of the heartbreak that God tastes every day as millions slip into eternity. This great enemy called death is the natural consequence of the fall... and because of it, we all fall down.
In one of my favorite movies, Braveheart, there is a gripping scene where William Wallace, confronted with his own mortality, makes the remarkable statement, “Every man dies. Not every man really lives.”
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