You Need To Tear Back

 

It was the first thought I had this morning, before I'd opened my eyes.

"You need to tear back that sock."

My heart sank.

The sock is one I've had on the needles for months and months.

There is nothing wrong with the sock.

It was beautifully knitted, and I was nearly to the toe.

It is a second sock, which means the first one has been finished 

and waiting for its mate for some time.

 

The problem is this: I knitted the first with a good plan. 

These socks would have reinforced heels and toes.

These socks are for me.

The yarn is wonderful: I love it.

The first one was finished easily, and it is perfect.

 

I was eager to begin the second sock, so I could wear them.

I knitted away busily during piano lessons, 

which is a wonderful way to make efficient (and pleasurable) use of my time. 

I knitted so busily I neglected to put the reinforcement yarn into the heel, 

and I didn't notice until I was well on my way to the toe.

I held the two socks in my hands, and felt the heels, and thought, "NO!"

 

The heels were different.

One is nice and cushy (and far more durable), and the other is nice and thin.

I laid the sock aside.

 

Periodically I pulled it out and looked at it sadly.

I considered attempting duplicate stitch darning on it 

to simulate the same effect, 

but I knew in my heart it wasn't going to be a solution for me. 

So I ignored it.

"I'm not changing ANYTHING!" my heart said, stiffening its neck.

And we just didn't talk about it or think about it anymore.

Sometimes I missed knitting on it, 

and the hope of owning the socks I had been working on with such anticipation.

But why should I lose all that work? 

The work was flawless.

It was the other sock that had a problem with it.

 

And it was this sock I sensed the Lord telling me to rip back this morning, 

before I was even awake to defend it,

and weeks after I had even thought about it.

I opened my eyes knowing I had a task to accomplish today.

A painful task, but a necessary one. 

Something I didn't want to do.

I had actually wondered to myself if I had enough of this yarn on hand 

to knit two more, just to avoid doing what I knew I needed to do.

But I had an order.

 

So, while I sat in my daughter's piano lesson, 

I frogged my perfect knitting in order to conform it to its mate.

It took me the full half hour to do it, 

and to get it put neatly back on the needles, 

carefully checking each stitch for twists, and correcting them.

Hours of knitting lost as I pulled back each row of two thirds of my sock.

 

And my mind has been working on it all day:

On the necessity of our conformity to Christ, our True Mate.

On the pruning back of what does not fit Him.

There are many things in each one of us 

that do not conform to His heart, His attitude, or His actions, 

and He will not leave them alone in us.

He's not going to settle for a slapdash fix.

He will undo us to set us right.

And all those hours of perfecting ourselves 

will have to be undone in order to make us truly His handiwork.

Give Him free reign to do it.

The sooner you stop fighting Him, 

the sooner you'll be fit for His use again.

"For whom He foreknew, 

He also predestined 

to be conformed to the image of His Son, 

that He might be the firstborn among many brethren."

(Romans 8:29)

"For our citizenship is in heaven, 

from which we also eagerly wait for the Savior, 

the Lord Jesus Christ, 

who will transform our lowly body 

that it may be conformed to His glorious body, 

according to the working by which 

He is able even to subdue all things to Himself."

(Philippians 3:20,21) 

 

"Beloved, now we are children of God;

and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be,

but we know that when He is revealed,

we shall be like Him,

for we shall see Him as He is.

And everyone who has this hope in Him

purifies himself, just as He is pure."

(1 John 3:2,3) 

 

And so I ask you: 

is there anything He is asking you to rip back 

that it might be made to conform to His purpose?

Tearing Back

And That Is No Insult

My husband is not
The Most Amazing Husband in the World(!!!).
And my children are not
The Most Brilliant and Incredible People you will ever Meet(!!!).
I am not The Kindest, Most Patient, and Loving Woman(!!!)
my children have ever had the privilege to know.
And I am not the Best Wife Ever(!!!).
And that is no insult to any one of us.

I struggle with The Best People Awards.
The Most Amazing People.
The Awesome Ones.
I find myself wanting to ask
(regarding The Best Husband and The Most Amazing Wife),
"To Whom?!
How many husbands do you have?
Have you tried them all?
Because, um, that's not okay."

Family love isn't just for the lovely.
It's for the crybabies, and the irritable women, and the cranky men.
I have wonderful parents.
Exceptional parents, even.
But I will not tell you they were Perfect, or The Most Amazing.
I can remember failures.
Things they later apologized for.
Parenting mistakes.
Mature love doesn't require amazingness to validate its affection.
And mature love has something to forgive.
That's hard to do when you live with The Beautiful People.

My husband doesn't have to be
The Most Amazing, the Wisest, the Strongest, or the Manliest.
He's mine.
I love him because he's mine.
Because we're one.
Because our kids are ours, we treasure them.
Not because they're smarter than all the other (stupid?) children in the world.

I am proud of their efforts
whether they beat all the other (losers?) in the contest or not.
When they draw me pictures,
I don't have to tell everyone they are The Best Pictures Ever Drawn(!!!)
to acknowledge their specialness.

I can admire those I love without making everyone else less.
I can honor those around me
without painting them as giants among grasshoppers.

Because otherwise, when they aren't the best anymore, then what?
What if the Woman with the Most Beautiful Smile loses her teeth?
What if The Best Provider loses his job
and can't be The Most Amazing Provider anymore?
What if you're married to one of the other spouses in the room--
you know: the ones who forget birthdays;
who lose their tempers periodically;
who get depressed and cry for a few days;
or who can't afford to take you to Hawaii?
Are our bonds dissolved
when our spouses turn out to be some of the lesser people?
Or do our obligations to bring up our children in love end
when said children turn out to be intellectual dunces or uncoordinated nerds?

I can tell you I love my husband, and admire him,
and he blesses me with kind and thoughtful behavior,
and I am proud of my children,
without declaring that your husband is, in fact, a second class runner up,
and my children surpass yours in every area:
their natural abilities which they haven't even had to work at
far outshine your children's accomplishments
bought with hard work and long hours of practice.

Beloved, let us love one another,
 for love is of God,  
and everyone that loves is born of God,
and knows God.
Oh, Lord -- help me to love better,
even though they aren't The Best Ever(!!!)

That We Might Hear It Later

Flipping through a book on my shelf this morning,
I found notes from something I wrote down about five years ago
on the back of an overdue notice from the library:
"Simon was so convinced of himself, that he couldn't hear the Lord."

I am thankful that the Lord speaks anyway:
that although our self-confidence shuts our ears to truth spoken to us,
He speaks it that we might 'hear' it later,
once we've failed in our estimation of ourselves;
denied Him, and cursed to emphasize our lie;
and run away just as weak and fearful
as all the weaklings we set ourselves up as stronger than;
and wept bitterly at our own inconstancy;
and our failed love and diminished strength.
That His love holds on to us through our failure to hold on to Him.

"But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith will not fail.
And when you turn back to Me, you must strengthen your brothers."
'When you are converted,' some versions say.
When you've done a 180.
When you've come around.
When you repent,
you'll be in a position to not just be strong for you,
but to make others stronger.
Real strength does that.
It makes others stronger.
It doesn't just rejoice in its own authority,
its own ability to conquer.
But it pulls strength out of grace, having failed,
and makes other people's hands stronger.
It stands beside the tired-armed, and helps them hold their arms up.
It doesn't just yell at others to Stop Limping!
It digs out the splinters as painlessly as possible,
so weak little feet can walk again.

He sees weakness and future failure,
and prays faith and strength into it.
And that very failure becomes the strengthener of the weak.
He is the Lifter of our heads, and the only good we have to boast of.

And turn your eyes and look at Him:
knowledge of coming failure in His friends
is met with hope, prayer, mercy, love, and forgiveness.
Though He is leaving them,
He does not fret that they are not what they ought to be.
I fret about those I consider it my duty to perfect.
But our Jesus isn't fretting.
He trusts the work of the Holy Spirit in Peter.
He prays for him, and speaks to him what he needs to hear,
and although He knows perfectly well Peter can't hear Him,
trusts His words will hit their mark
and do their work even after He's gone. 

As We Actually Are

"He had always managed, somehow, to follow a canonized saint when he was called to a parish, someone who had worn a halo and been surrounded by seraphim, even when walking to the corner for a newspaper.
   In his first parish, it had taken a full year to be forgiven his green innocence in the wake of a priest who, mellowed by age, was wise and all-knowing, not to mention full of truth and light.
   Though he was again and again the leading choice among the candidates, the frost inevitably came as his congregations sized him up.
   One parish had chosen him because he was unmarried but later wished he were married with children.
   Another liked him because he was unaffected but decided he needed more charisma.
   One search committee thought that being slightly under five feet nine inches in his sock feet was a characteristic that lent spiritual humility but changed their minds and wished he were taller."

My husband recently accepted a request to pastor a church far from where we live. I read this in one of the Mitford books last night, and it made me laugh. If you could build the perfect pastor, complete with every quality you ever liked in a human being, I am sure the result would not be whatever you actually got in a pastor. I mean, really: we don't even get to choose every quality we want in our spouse. My list would be so long, that no living man could fulfill it. It would include many things that would disqualify the father of my children. And I also would not meet every item on his list. We don't get to cherry-pick our children's beings, our spouse's, our sibling's, or our fellow church member's. And yet:

The Scripture tells us to love one another with a fervent love,
to forgive one another,
to bear with one another.
None of those things have to be instructed
when we are complete in perfection.
We don't have to forgive those who are never offensive.
We don't have to bear with those who don't annoy.
And no one has to tell us to love those who are lovable beyond all measure.
One of the things I appreciate so much about God's Word
is that it acknowledges us as we actually are -- not just what we should be.

In Short-Sleeved Words

I speak normally to my children.
I don't change my words to baby talk,
and I didn't do too much baby talk even when they were babies.
Because of this, they often make me laugh
with the old-fashioned vocabulary they use.
A child used the word 'omit' properly in speaking with me the other day.
My daughter told me
that what she wanted in her new shorts was 'spacious pockets'.

Silas interrupts me to ask what things mean
when I have said something too advanced for him.
"What is a dinghy?"
"A little boat."
And the next day, hearing it again in his read aloud,
he repeated the question.
And again, I said, "A little boat."
Learning new things takes repetition.
My daughter Elisa, many years ago,
dubbed high-brow vocabulary 'long-sleeved words'.

Sometimes, I realize that what I have been reading in the Scripture
has been beyond my comprehension my whole life.
That's why I appreciate reading different translations on occasion.
This morning I came across this short-sleeved version:

"It was also written," Jesus said, 
"that this message should be proclaimed 
in the authority of His name to all the nations, 
beginning in Jerusalem:
'There is forgiveness of sins for all who repent.'" 

Its simplicity moves me.

He Waits At The Scene Of The Crime

 
This was a really interesting article. It talked about some of the descendents of top Nazis, how they grew up not knowing these horrendous secrets about their parents and grandparents. One brother and sister, so horrified at the history of their progenitor's sins, both had themselves sterilized, in order to prevent the family from ever having another heir. They have walked around with a burden of guilt. 

I couldn't help but ponder: what do we do with our sin? With our family history of sin? Do we run from the facts? Do we visit the scenes of the crimes? Do we mutilate ourselves to keep it from happening again? Do we pretend there is nothing wrong in our past -- even if our family's past remains as the world-wide definition of evil? One man went to Auschwitz, where his father was brought up in luxury, and wept when he saw 'the gate to hell' that he recognized as a backdrop to old family photos. He was approached by victims of his own family, who told him their stories. He was forgiven, and felt joy for the first time in his life.

These descendants feel guilt by blood association. It seems they consider themselves tainted, although they have had no hand in the wicked deeds. It brought to mind our kinsman redeemer. The One who came in our likeness -- the likeness of sinful man. He came as our relative. He came to save us from inside the family. But in a sense, He is also our victim. Jew and Gentile alike laid their hands on Him and crucified the Son of God -- the Son of Man. We beat Him. We cursed Him. We tore His beard and nailed Him there. And He waits, at the scene of the crime, to offer redemption in His blood. That scene of our guilt, of our family shame, is the place where He waits to welcome us as brothers.

Fellowship in Knowing

A friend confided hurts to me -- hurts I've also had.
Received in different places, they caused the same wounds.
What to say?

"I exhort you to forgive them.
They are wrong, and they hurt you, and God can deal with them.
But you must forgive, for your own sake.
Because I am sure you want His forgiveness.
I know I do.
And I know for certain I have failed others.
I can't fix that.
But I can forgive when I am failed.
And sinned against.
And hurt."

That rejection and betrayal cuts deep.
"But I think about Jesus,
and how He looked at His disciples when the crowds left,
and He said, 'Are you going to leave, too?'
There is a fellowship with Him in knowing He felt rejection.
He was betrayed.
And He was abandoned by His friends to suffer alone.
And He loved them to the end.
Look at Jesus to learn how to forgive.
And look at Jesus when you feel afraid of fellowship."

I said it to my friend, and I said it to myself.

And Hurting the Heart

 
Last night, shortly after dinner, our youngest ran screaming to us.
He said he had hit his head, and I tried to calm him down enough
to figure out what was wrong with him.
His screaming seemed a little out of proportion to a bumped head.
I felt around on his head and my hand came away bloody.
Parting his hair (which is far too long), I finally saw the gash.
"Get off the phone!" I called to my husband,
"We need to take him in for a few stitches."
We cleaned it up a little to get a good look,
held a bandage to his head,
and struggled through getting everyone into coats and shoes.
He came home with two staples in his head.

Tonight I was reading 1 John 1 to my kids before bed.
If, then, we say that we have fellowship with him, 
yet at the same time live in the darkness, 
we are lying both in our words and in our actions. 
But if we live in the light---just as he is in the light---
then we have fellowship with one another, 
and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from every sin.
If we say that we have no sin, 
we deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us.
But if we confess our sins to God, 
he will keep his promise and do what is right: 
he will forgive us our sins and purify us from all our wrongdoing.
If we say that we have not sinned, we make a liar out of God, 
and his word is not in us.
1 John 1:6-10

I noticed one of my children's eyes were very wide,
and there was a quivering chin.
"Mom?"
"What, honey? Did you want to say something?"
A nod.
"I was running... I mean, I was chasing...
and Silas was trying to get away from me...
and that's why he hurt his head."
The tears came then.
I held the offender, who was eaten up with guilt.
"Do you want to pray?"
Another nod.
"I'm sorry!"
"Listen, I forgive you. Jesus forgives you. Silas, do you forgive?" I said.
He came over and hugged his crying sibling fiercely,
kissing cheeks and laughing.

Whether you view the childishness that resulted in injury to someone else
as a sin, or simply an accident,
there is no doubt that confession was good for the soul.
This child was carrying around a burden of condemnation.
It was damaging fellowship, and hurting the heart.

If our conscience condemns us, 
we know that God is greater than our conscience 
and that he knows everything. 
And so, my dear friends, if our conscience does not condemn us, 
we have courage in God's presence. 
1 John 3:20-21

The child thought it was sin, and so it was sin.
Confession brought courage.
And reassured love.

Incompatible

Several weeks ago I read this:

"Research has shown that every happy, successful couple 
has approximately ten areas of 'incompatibility' 
or disagreement that they will never resolve. 
Instead the successful couples learn 
how to manage the disagreements and live life around them -- 
to love in spite of their areas of difference..."

Put on therefore, as God's elect, holy and beloved, 
a heart of compassion, kindness, lowliness, 
meekness, longsuffering; 
 forbearing one another, and forgiving each other, 
if any man have a complaint against any; 
even as the Lord forgave you, so also do ye: 
and above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfectness. 
And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, 
to the which also ye were called in one body; 
and be ye thankful.  
Colossians 3:12-15 

Forgive

My children told me the other night a story about my nephew and niece.
My nephew was running distractedly past his sister on his way somewhere
and accidentally hit her on the way through.
My niece, being a fury,
and determined to protect herself against her bigger brothers,
flew at him in a rage, jumping on him.

At this point, my son Silas told me
that one day when he was visiting his cousins,
he had been running through a bedroom and had fallen on my niece,
"and she didn't even get mad at me and jump on me!"

I keep thinking about it.
How a brother's failure that hurts you must be avenged for the malicious intent...
but the cousin who does the same thing is given the benefit of the doubt.
Surely it was an accident, and was not intended for my harm.

"Be tolerant with one another and forgive one another 
whenever any of you has a complaint against someone else. 
You must forgive one another just as the Lord has forgiven you."
~Colossians 3:13

When He Trusts

"Whosoever cometh unto Him, He will in no wise cast out.
Though dishonest as the thief,
though unchaste as the woman who was a sinner,
though fierce as Saul of Tarsus,
though cruel as Manasseh,
though rebellious as the prodigal,
the great heart of love will look upon the man who feels himself to have no soundness in him,
and will pronounce him clean,
when he trusts in Jesus crucified."
~C.H. Spurgeon, Morning and Evening, September 29

Sons of Your Father

Do you ever wonder about whether you are growing as you should?
I have a tendency to think evangelism is the yardstick to measure by.
(Probably as a result of faulty something.)
I was thinking about it this morning -- asking the Lord about fruit.
Do I have any?
Am I healthy?

My mind drifted here:

'Love your enemies, 
bless those who curse you, 
do good to those who hate you, 
and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, 
that you may be sons of your Father in heaven...'

'...And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors...
For if you forgive men their trespasses, 
your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
But if you do not forgive men their trespasses,
neither will your Father forgive your trespasses...'

'Now the fruit of the Spirit is
love,
joy,
peace,
longsuffering,
kindness,
goodness,
faithfulness,
gentleness,
self-control.'
The mark of sonship is love.

Will I exact revenge on my persecutors?
Will I demand payment of all I am owed by trespassers?
Can I pray for those who abuse me?

Jesus, hanging in agony on the cross,
used His breath to pray, "Father, forgive them."
He pitied His tormentors.

There is a precious promise in there.
If I forgive, He'll forgive me, too.
Because I am a debtor.
I have offended.
I have stepped on people.
I have looked past their pain and blamed them for their grimace.
I have forgotten them when I should have remembered.
I have been calloused when I should have been crying.
I have pointed my finger when I should have applied salve.
And I can't pay it back.

But I can forgive when it's done to me.

From All Things

"Therefore let it be known to you, brethren,
that through this Man is preached to you the forgiveness of sins;
and by Him everyone who believes
is justified from all things
from which you could not be justified by the law of Moses."
~Acts 13:38,39

From all things from which you could not be justified by the law of Moses. Everything.

Over the years, I have sometimes heard people say sadly that they could not accept God's forgiveness because their sins were so horrible. We recognize the validity of the law's judgment against us. And although we might feel justified over some of our sins, and our good deeds to pay society back for them, there are sins that no human conscience justifies. There is no sacrifice I can make that will right murder. There is no sacrifice I can make that will right adultery. Enslaving another human cannot be righted by the law. Under the law of Moses, those guilty of certain sins have no recourse. Death is all there is.

The thrilling news that comes to us in Jesus is that everyone who believes is justified from all things from which we could not be justified by the law of Moses.

Are you a witch?
Moses says you have to die.
Jesus says, "Believe and be clean."
Are you a prostitute?
Moses says 'die'.
Jesus says, "Believe and be clean."
Are you an adulterer?
Moses says stoning would suffice.
Jesus says, "Go, and sin no more."
Are you a Gentile?
Moses says you have to stay in the outer court, and never come any closer.
But Jesus broke down the dividing wall of separation, and made us one with Him, and gave the promise of the Holy Spirit to all of us who believe.

Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.

The Wrongs Done to Us

We used to sing a song that had the line:

"Where the wrongs we have done

and the wrongs done to us

are nailed there with Him,

there on the cross."

The provision of the cross is enough for our sins, and also for the sins committed against us. It's ministered to me so many times to count the wrongs done against me as done to Christ. Exchanging my lot for His. He is a Man acquainted with grief, afflicted, and a Man of Sorrows. But He offers us joy. I need to let Him take my sorrows and let them die with Him there.

"If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge it to My account."

Scattered Sheep

I've had something on my mind to write for a week or two, and have been mulling it over. A passage in my children's read aloud today pulled it together in my mind. We were reading from Mountain Born by Elizabeth Yates. A young boy named Peter was sent out to "shepherd" the flock for the first time. (A wise old shepherd remained close by, working at another task.) Peter fell asleep after lunch, the sheep dog was tending to an anxious ewe and her twin lambs, and the sheep scattered. When Peter woke up, the sheep were gone, the dog was gone, and he didn't know what to do. Benj, the wise old shepherd who had not been far, helped him to gather them and right it all.

"It doesn't take much to keep them together," Benj said quietly, "but once they get separated, it's a lot of work to bring them together again."

Jesus commanded us one major thing in regard to how we treat each other. Love one another. He said, "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:34,35)

Romans 12 says, "Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good. Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer; distributing to the needs of the saints, given to hospitality..."

I've been thinking about how love without hypocrisy ought to behave toward the body of Christ. Whenever bitterness comes in, we excuse ourselves from Jesus' commandment to us. "They wronged me. They're hypocrites." We exempt ourselves from this command when our brother or sister has hurt us, or wronged us, or paid us less than we were worth, or just didn't respond to our need that they didn't know we had. Their failure is all too evident to us. We see every flaw, because we're family to them. We know every mistake they've made, every time they've tripped. And we count their sins as worth twice as much as ours, because their mistakes cost us something.

Beloved, let us love one another -- LOVE is of God. Accusing the brethren is not of God. Love is of God. Preferring others over myself is of God. Kind affection toward my brothers and sisters is of God. Patience in tribulation is of God.

I love my husband. Shall I then make a long list of all his failures over the last 11 years of our marriage? Every sin against me? Shall I post them on a website's message board? Who is the hypocrite in love if I do that? I am. Love suffers long, and is kind. Love acts like Shem and Japheth acted toward Noah (they were blessed). Knowing him to be drunk and naked in the tent, they went in backwards to cover him -- to protect him from shame. It doesn't act like Ham, who exploited his father's failure: who mocked -- and told everyone he saw.

Love comes alongside to help lift a heavy burden that his brother is carrying. It doesn't watch him falter under it and post a picture in the news. I may be right in every assessment of my brother's sins, failures, and negligence. Where does that leave me? Will I act like Jesus, reaching out to heal? Or will I grab my camera and my notepad to document their wrongdoing and publish it abroad?

I was sickened to read lists of grievances online by Christians against members of the body of Christ. They probably didn't see it that way, because it was against "the church".

We were forgiven so much. Can't we forgive our brothers? So what if we were wronged? Does nursing my grievance serve Christ? When we forgive, we unite ourselves in action with Christ, who forgave us. When we make lists, and check them twice, and accuse our brothers, we unite ourselves in action with the accuser of the brethren.

There is a place to pour out our hurts and our anger. To our Father in prayer -- not to the world. Pour it out to Him. And if someone has sinned against me, Jesus told me to go to that person.

I am asked by the One who forgave me to forgive. How can I refuse Him? Are even His commands trumped by my measly little owie? Is my dignity of such value to me that when my Savior asks me to forgive my brother I will not? Have I forgotten Him? No one owes me a debt so great that my own debt to Christ is not bigger. And He took it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross. Can't I nail my brother's debts there, too? It may be a real debt I am owed. SO WHAT? I owed more. Christ is worth more to me than the sum of all the debts of every brother who ever stepped on my foot.

"If he has wronged you or owes anything, put that on my account." (Philemon 18)

"Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by Whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil-speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. Therefore be imitators of God as dear children. And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us..." (Ephesians 4:30-5:2)

"Now may the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God and into the patience of Christ."

"May the God of patience and comfort grant you to be likeminded toward one another, according to Christ Jesus, that you may with one mind and one mouth glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore receive one another, just as Christ also received us, to the glory of God." (Rom. 15:5-7)