No Condemnation: Hear It On Sunday. Use It On Monday

The sound of enthusiastic applause filled the church when Dr. Henry Cloud concluded his message this weekend. He spoke about a struggle common to all of us. He spoke with great wisdom and understanding. We recognized ourselves in the stories and were thankful to find that, as always, the answer to our questions was tucked away in the pages of scripture.

He spoke from the thirteenth chapter of Luke - the parable of the fig tree (13:6-9) - a lesson on "Getting Unstuck." Dr. Cloud provided a recipe whose simple ingredients are: Dig - Fertilize - Year.

Before we can use the recipe there is something we need to understand - the "why" I cannot seem to break the cycle of "try to change - fail - guilt - try harder - fail..." It was this that the Spirit wrote in bold letters across my heart; this that I need to make my own once and for all.

Like the fig tree in the parable, there are things in my life that need to change so that I can produce fruit. I know these things well and struggle to change only to fail over and over again. The man's solution to the problem of the barren fig tree was "Cut it down. It's just taking up space in the garden." (verse 7) It is the voice of judgement - living under the law. Sometimes it is the voices of others. More often it is a far more familiar voice.

"When I fail to live up to my own expectations, I hear my own condemning voice and call it conviction," said Dr. Cloud. I put myself under the law, and in so doing the fruit I produce is anger, guilt, shame and condemnation. I simply cut myself down.

Left in this state, I will repeat that old cycle over and over and over again. However, just like the poor fig tree, I have an advocate. The gardener in the story came to its rescue, "Sir, give it one more chance. Leave it another year, and I'll give it special attention and plenty of fertilizer. If we get figs next year, fine. If not, then you can cut it down." (verses 8,9)

Jesus comes to my rescue and stops the voices of condemnation. "Leave her alone," He says. Before I can get better, I need no condemnation, and this is what grace offers me. Grace - from the One who took all my sin and gave me His righteousness.

When I accept grace, I am ready for the recipe: Dig - Fertilize - Year. We dig, with help, to find what is hidden under the surface - the real reason we cannot seem to make the change we know we need to make. Grace comes next, the fertilizer that provides what we cannot do for ourselves. It comes from the hand of a loving Father. Then we need to give ourselves time. It takes time to get better.

There is no need to hurry. We are on a journey - one that is filled with joys and sorrows and circumstances we could never have imagined. It is a journey that takes a lifetime. Jesus takes you by the hand and walks it with you. It is His delight.

"So there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus."
Romans 8:1

"Who then will condemn us? No one - for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us, and He is sitting in the place of honor at God's right hand, pleading for us."
Romans 8:34

Linking to Michelle's: Hear It On Sunday. Use It On Monday.

That Beautiful Name

The hymn that is on my heart this morning appears to be a rather "quiet" one as far as the internet is concerned. I was tempted to look for one that might be a bit more popular, but I can't seem to walk away from this one.

It was written by Jean Perry who was born on November 25, 1871 and died on May 5, 1937. There is little to no information on her. She penned these beautiful words and then passed the poem on to Mabel Johnston Camp hoping she would put them to music.

Mrs. Johnston composed the music but was unhappy with the result. She tore the manuscript up and threw it in the waste basket. Some time later her husband spotted the pieces and decided to take a look. He carefully put it back together, thought that the music was perfect for the words and convinced his wife to publish the song. I'm thankful he did. I love this old hymn.

That Beautiful Name

1 I know of a Name, a beautiful Name,
That angels brought down to earth;
They whispered it low one night long ago,
To a maiden of lowly birth.

Refrain:
That beautiful Name, that beautiful Name,
From sin has pow'r to free us!
That beautiful Name, that wonderful Name,
That matchless Name is Jesus!

2 I know of a Name, a beautiful Name,
That unto a Babe was giv'n;
The stars glittered bright throughout that glad night,
And angels praised God in heav’n. (Refrain)

3 The One of that Name, my Savior became,
My Savior of Calvary;
My sins nailed Him there, my burdens He bare.
He suffered all this for me. (Refrain)

4 I love that blest Name, that wonderful Name,
Made higher than all in heav'n.
’Twas whispered, I know, in my heart long ago--
To Jesus my life I’ve giv’n. (Refrain)



Blessings,
Linda

Five Minute Friday - Older

Friday - and five minutes to write straight from the heart - no editing or second guessing. The word for today is:

Older

start...

I look in the mirror some days and wonder who that older woman is. When did all those lines make an appearance, and whose neck is that anyway? Most days I don't look too closely. I never really have. I just sort of wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair and face the day with just a touch of lipstick.

There I am with my beautiful young daughter and equally beautiful older mother. I find I don't long for the days of my youth and I don't dread my later years. It is true, that thing I've heard older women say - I don't feel any older on the inside. The heart, it seems, is ageless - forever young. It is the part of me that still leaps and dances, the part that still dreams. It is the part He sees when He looks at me. He doesn't see that face in the mirror - He sees "me."

stop....

Come on over to Lisa-Jo's and perhaps add your words or just read what others have to say about "older."



Blessings,
Linda

Don't Give Up!

"I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my prayer for mercy. Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath."
Psalm 116:1,2

Our hearts are overwhelmed by grace these days. Prayers we have uttered day after day have been answered in ways we could never have imagined. Many times it seemed as if the heavens were brass and our words were ricocheting back to us like hollow echoes. Certainly there were times of doubt and despair. But always there was a knowing that He loves us; that His word is true; that He would surely do what was best. We had learned the hard lesson; He is worthy of our trust - oh so worthy.

So we prayed.

The days, weeks, months, years slipped through our fingers, and we waited. The urgency of one particular need pressed us to our faces. It began to look as though all was lost.

Then the phone call came. A ray of hope was filtering through the darkness, and we began to see Him move in powerful ways. Our hearts were overwhelmed at the magnitude of His goodness, at the wonder of His ways.

I write to give Him praise. I have done nothing to warrant such love and grace. He is good; He is faithful; He is everything we could ever desire and so much more.

I write to encourage anyone who has lost hope. To the one who fears that the deepest cry of their heart has not reached His ears. It can never be so. He hears each voice as though it were the only voice calling out to Him. He answers prayer - in His way and in His time. When things don't seem to be going the way we planned; when the answer is "wait" or even "no," rest assured that He will answer in ways that will bring greater blessing than we could ever have imagined.

I write to give Him thanks. That word seems too small to hold all the things we feel at this moment. My husband quoted the words from one of his favorite songs this morning, "...so unworthy of such mercy.." The depth and the riches of His love and mercy are unfathomable. And we give thanks!

"Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
and for his wonderful works to the children of men!"
Psalms 107.8

linking to Emily's imperfect prose today



Blessings,
Linda

Forgiving Me

I sat transfixed, that last evening of our Women's Retreat, as she spoke about forgiveness - more specifically forgiving ourselves. A mixture of fear and hope whirled around in my heart. Could I possibly, once and for all, forgive myself for the things that haunted my nights and sometimes even my days?

I am a good forgiver - some even say I too easily forgive and forget, that sometimes things need to be forgiven and dealt with. I'm not very good at confrontation. But that is something for another time.

The one I find most difficult to forgive is me. I know that my sins are covered by the blood of Jesus - that His death on the cross was all the sacrifice needed for every sin I could ever possibly commit. I know that. It is the forgetting that is so difficult.

Over and over again, the things I most regret run through my mind like a video set on never ending replay. The nights are the most difficult. Once begun, the list runs back through the years unearthing all the things I've confessed, all the things He's forgiven with such grace and love.

She spoke that night about such things - this inability to let go of the past. Then she asked us to take paper and pen and write them down, all those things that stalked with weapons of guilt and shame. With those opposing emotions of fear and hope I wrote.

Then she told us to fold the paper tightly and place it in the container she was passing around. It made its way around the room, filling with the grief and weight of so many burdened hearts.

"I am not going to read these," she said. "I'm going to take them outside to the campfire and toss every one of them in. They are going to burn up and disappear, never to be whole again."

That was all, but I felt something stir deep inside. There was a lifting of a tremendous weight and an overwhelming sense of peace. Something about knowing that paper would be forever destroyed made forgiveness real. It was a picture of what the Father had been saying all along. He forgives and remembers no more. How, I wondered, is it possible for the God who knows all things to forget the terrible things I've done? I believe it is simply that He chooses to do so. He clears my record of guilt (Ps. 32:2) and puts my sin out of sight (Ps. 32:1).

There are times I am tempted to look back over my shoulder, but I remember that fire and my sins all burned to ashes. And I accept grace.

linking to Ann's today



Blessings,
Linda

picture courtesy of photobucket

Making the Complex Simple

Church has, quite literally, always been a part of my life - an integral part of my life. I have attended several different churches over the years, from the little country church pictured above to the mega-church we now attend.

The personalities of the Pastors of these churches were as varied as their size, and God has used each one to touch my life in unique ways. My current Pastor's name is Robert - the very first one who prefers to be called by his given name. It is, perhaps, an indication of the gift we treasure in him. He has a God-given ability to take the complex and make it simple. It is no small thing to struggle over some deep spiritual question and then have it put into terms that make it suddenly clear.

Last night in church Robert said he was going to sum up the work of the Holy Spirit for us in one simple sentence:


"Everything that makes God real and personal to you is the work of the Holy Spirit."

Deep sigh of relief. To say that at one time I struggled with this would be an understatement. Without going too deeply into it all, suffice it to say that some people's views on what it means to be filled with the Holy Spirit nearly destroyed my faith. I was left feeling inadequate - and something of a spiritual failure.

How simple to read John 14:15-17; 16:12-15 and learn what Jesus says about the Holy Spirit - that He guides us into truth, brings peace,  reveals Jesus to us, and so much more. When I hear a Christian song and the hair on the back of my neck stands up and my skin is all goose-bumpy, it is the Holy Spirit. When I read the Bible, and the words jump off the page and right into my heart, it is the Holy Spirit. When someone needs encouragement and I somehow find the right words, it is the Holy Spirit. He brings different gifts into each life and there is no "one size fits all" way to measure His work.

I need never worry about having enough of Him. I am filled and refilled daily. All I have to do is ask. He will never leave me; I am sealed for all eternity.

Miraculous thought - I walk around in this far less than perfect body, filled with the Spirit of the One who is perfect in every way. I read someplace that we have all of the Spirit we will ever need. The question is, how much of me does He have.

Joining Michelle for Hear It On Sunday. Use It On Monday.

Blessings,
Linda

"In The Garden"

"Will you please consider taking over the ladies Bible Study at the Nursing Home in Granville?" It was our Pastor's voice on the other end of the line. I hesitated for a moment, but quickly understood that it was something I needed to do.

I travel back thirty years in time to that small farming community in Upstate New York, to the little country church that was the center of our lives, to a Pastor whose teaching changed my life, to an old nursing home with aging ladies who would come to bless me more than I could ever hope to bless them.

We began each Bible Study with a little hymn sing. I always asked for requests. There was one sweet elderly woman whose hand always shot up first, and whose choice was always the same: "In The Garden."

I can still hear the sweet warbling voices and see in their dear faces what the words of that hymn meant to them. I can never hear it without thinking of them. I remember the morning that same lady came up to me and pressed something into my hand. It was a long piece of bright pink lace edging she had tatted. I still have it - a treasured gift from a tender heart.

"In The Garden"

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

Refrain:

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

Refrain

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

Refrain



This hymn was written in March, 1912 by C. Austin Miles, a pharmacist who wrote gospel songs and had a love of photography. One day while waiting for film to process in his dark room he opened his Bible to John 20. Here in his own words is what happened:

"As I read it, that day, I seemed to be part of the scene...My hands were resting on the Bible while I stared at the light blue wall. As the light faded, I seemed to be standing at the entrance of a garden, looking down a gently winding path shaded by olive branches. A woman in white, with head bowed, hand clasping her throat as if to choke back her sobs, walked slowly into the shadows. It was Mary. As she came to the tomb, upon which she placed her hand, she bent over to look in amd hurried away. John, in flowing robe, appeared, looking at the tomb; then came Peter, who entered the tomb, followed slowly by John.

As they departed, Mary reappeared, leaning her head upon her arm at the tomb. She wept. Turning herself, she saw Jesus standing; so did I. I knew it was He. She knelt before Him, with arms outstretch and looking into His face, cried, 'Rabboni!'
I awakened in full light, gripping my Bible, with muscles tense and nerves vibrating. Under the inspiration of this vision I wrote as quickly as the words would be formed the poem exactly as it has since appeared. That evening I wrote the music."
(taken from the book "Then Sings My Soul" by Robert J. Morgan)

Blessings,
Linda