On the Temptation to Be Idol

It’s a pale, grey light that filters weakly through my curtains. I feel drowsy, and no wonder, when the world seems to be saying, “Slumber.” 

But my thoughts cannot settle into sleep, punctuated as they are by the constant clang of that convicting proverb… 

“A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want like an armed man.”

And so I blink and type and try to stave off rest another while, and use this gifted time for noble things. Still, I would be lying if I said that I wouldn’t rather be in my dreams.

But as the puritans knew very well, nice as momentary pleasures may be, it is a far greater joy to do my duty for Christ, than to live this life for me.

My best defense against that dreaded thief of time is to pray the Lord will keep that blessed proverb clanging, that I will hear and obey every given day, and serve even in my yawning.

Reconciling the Good and the Hard, Part 1

When a loved one of mine got married, they shared with me a lot about the struggles they were experiencing in the transition. Most of them were normal growing pains that I had either gone through myself in my own transition to marriage, or heard others mention concerning their own, but some struggles were challenges unique to them and their situation. Many of them were difficult, even exceptionally so, but a month after their wedding day my friend said something that has stuck with me ever since. 

“Our marriage is really hard,” she said, “but bad and hard are not the same thing. Our marriage is hard, but it is also good, and that’s okay.”

Her statement pretty much sums up how I feel about 2020. It was hard. Like many others, I experienced far greater loneliness and isolation than ever before in my life. During our first three months of pandemic lockdown, I finally understood what King David meant when he said, “darkness is my closest friend”. Weeping became a regular part of my daily ritual. All of the melodies I found singing or playing instruments seemed to be sad ones. It was all I could do to eat the same things, walk the same routes, and write, as I was finishing a master’s degree at the time. Anything else felt far too monumental even to attempt.

Even so, oh, the Lord was so kind to me all that time. He drew me to prayer, brought me to much-needed truth in his word, and after several weeks, even brought my heart to rejoicing in the very midst of the trial. It’s not that the sadness went away, but the Lord, ever so gently, opened my eyes to the fact that it was my own selfish anger and bitterness about my situation that had driven me to the greatest depths of my despair. That April evening, he called me to repentance during a phone conversation with my, at the time, fiancé. I nearly felt betrayed by the words coming out of my mouth when the Lord finally caused me to submit to the sovereign plan he had decreed for that period in my life. 

The relief that flooded me immediately after was utterly unexpected. All the weeks before I had been fighting for all I was worth, stubbornly insisting that life MUST be different than it was, believing that I could somehow change my circumstances by pure will power, but I couldn’t. As I failed day in and day out to alter the things that felt SO UNFAIR, I grew more and more despondent. It wasn’t until that moment of submission that anything changed. I felt like I was giving in. I felt like I was losing some battle I had been determined to win, but the peace that washed over me those seconds after I spoke was not the feeling of a defeated warrior. It was the feeling of a rebellious child who had finally come back to her loving father in obedience. Those weeks were hard, some of the hardest I have ever experienced, but in some ways, they were good, if for no other reason than the one who carried me through them was the good shepherd himself.

Those weeks were characterized by several other traumas that I will not detail here, but I am grateful to say they did not last much longer past spring. After a change in housing, I spent a truly blissful summer in the Irish countryside, graced daily by food, family, work, and constant music. There was not one, but two pianos in the house where I stayed those six wonderful weeks. It was there that I began to heal from the physical and mental traumas of the springtime, and, I’m happy to say, started prepping in earnest for my upcoming wedding. 

To be continued in part II.

Searching for Inspiration? Stop it!

A grassy field with mountains in background. Photo by Lachlan Ross on Pexels.com.

I waste a lot of my life searching for inspiration, or maybe using the excuse that that’s what I’m doing, when really what I’m doing is scrolling mindlessly through facebook, getting trapped in the youtube wormhole, or sorting through old files on my computer. I’ve always been a good procrastinator. Probably it comes naturally at some level, but the pro-procrastinator quickly realizes that she has to come up with excellent reasons for her procrastination. One of mine is that I just haven’t “felt that spark” to start writing yet, so I need to wait a little longer until it comes. More often than I would like, the process continues until the spark of desperation, rather than inspiration, arrives, and I realize I have a quickly approaching deadline and have to get to it.

While this strategy is effective in situations where there is a firm external deadline, it is utterly useless in situations, like my own independent projects, where the only deadline is set, and can easily be adjusted, by me. This leads me to believe that my “search for inspiration” method leaves a lot to be desired, and is probably seriously stunting my productivity, especially because I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been struck by inspiration while on these absent wanderings through the virtual environment.

People have different opinions about the way creativity works. I’ve heard some say that “forcing” creativity is not even possible, but I don’t see how that jibes with the centuries of commissioned music and art that we consider among the most magnificent human works in history. As far as I can tell, if you don’t dig the well, you’ll never get the water. I’m not saying digging wells is necessarily the most fun… it’s a sweaty task, and you could be exposing yourself to some poisonous gases on the way, but it’s worth it when you finally have a source of fresh, clean water at your disposal. Keep in mind, too, that the more you dig wells, the better you will be at doing it. It will always be work, but you will grow in strength, technique, and efficiency as you go.

I feel like if I applied my “search for inspiration” method to digging a well, it would be like wandering around a field waiting for a shovel to fall out of the sky and start hacking at the ground of its own volition while I busy myself examining daisies and cloud formations. A toddler could tell me that ain’t gonna get me water, but for some reason I’m convinced it’ll one day bring me art. 

Alls I’m saying is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results is the definition of insanity… and I’m tired of being creatively insane.

Thankful for a Compelling Savior

One thing our culture hates about God is that he is uncompromising.  He demands certain behaviors of us, and condemns others, and there are consequences if we do not respond.  We see that here.  The master of the house invites several people to come in and be a part of his banquet, but each refuses, citing some excuse.  Thus, the master says that none of those who were invited and denied his invitation will taste anything of the feast he has prepared.  So uncompromising? Yes.

But he is also a God who compels.

“16 Jesus replied: “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests.

17 At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.

18 “But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.”

19 “Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’

20 “Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’

21 “The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.”

22 “‘Sir,’ the servant said, ‘what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.’

23 “Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.

24 I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’” (Luke 14:16-24)

Though some refused him, he sends out someone to compel others to attend the feast.  Someone, like Jesus himself.  Yes, God has standards, the highest ones imaginable, but God knows that we are broken, and in his great love for us he does not abandon us to our brokenness.  We are poor.  We have nothing to offer the God of the universe, and yet he does not simply leave us to suffer in our poverty.  We are blind, but we are not condemned to darkness.  We are lame, but we are not resigned to a life of immobility.  Jesus moves us through his sacrifice, which demonstrated his love for us and atoned for our sin.  He compels us through the Holy Spirit, who moves in our hearts that we might be able to hear and respond to the master’s call.

“If today you hear God’s voice, do not harden your hearts.”  If we feel convicted over our sin, we should not be angry that the righteous creator God has called us out.  Instead, we should recognize that such conviction is a mercy.  It’s a call to come in and enjoy the feast of grace that God has prepared for all who are willing to partake.