On Pause

To see my current adventure, visit my other blog, A Dollar to Remember. Read my previous post on this blog for a summary on what's happening. I will return to writing here when the experience is complete. Best,

Nathan

A Dollar for Remembrance

I will be eating on just a dollar a day.

Many people around the world can only buy food with the change we might have in our pockets. So in response, my girlfriend and I have chosen to eat as they would eat for the next month and a half (until Easter).

A few months ago, I was challenged by a preacher from Memphis. He emphasized the true immensity of God's heart for the poor, hungry, needy, afflicted and suffering. But I didn't know exactly how to respond.

Then my girlfriend brought up this dollar idea just a couple days ago. (Oddly, I had just read the beginning of Romans 12: offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship.) I'm not a super-Christian. I just want to worship God more fully and rightly, and this seems to fit with God's heart.

This blog will now be on hold until Easter. I will instead be documenting my experience on this blog, starting February 6. Laura and I want to be able to look back on this to remember what it was like.

So A Dollar to Remember begins.

A Perfect Picture

I love the Old Testament.

I have a couple friends who say, "All we really need to know is Jesus." Jesus is life to us--God with skin, our Savior and perfect example. But the Old Testament is a critical part of the grand story of God and His relationship to people. It helps form our view of Jesus so much richer and fuller.

For instance, I ran across an intense picture today in Genesis. Chapter 22 tells the story of Abraham, the father set to sacrifice his son Isaac. I was struck by how similar Isaac and Jesus really are:

• His father loves him very much. (vs 2)


• He is his father's only son. (vs 2)


• He was the fulfillment of a promise. (21:1)


• He was sacrificed by his father. (vs 10)


• He went willingly. (vs 9)


• He carried the wood for his own sacrifice. (vs 6)


• On the third day, he was delivered from death. (vs 4)

Wow. Even thousands of years ago, they were foreseeing a picture of Christ. How much richer that makes it!

I love that.

Rest in the Yoke

My grandpa builds covered wagons--old west style. He and my grandma live in the countryside flint hills of the midwest U.S. Just like those of the Oregon Trail, he trains oxen and yokes them to pull massive conestogas across the rolling hills.

When I was younger, my grandpa used to let me help yoke up the oxen. The beasts were huge (and not just because I was small). The yoke itself, which connects the oxen together in pulling the wagon, probably weighed at least 30 pounds and was wider than I was tall.

So when the Bible talks about yokes, I know them first hand. This is part of the reason why I often had a hard time with the end of Matthew 11. Here, Jesus says:

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

That was always confusing to me. From everything I've seen, being yoked is no restful thing! Yoked oxen undergo long and strenuous labor.

But now that I look at this in the larger context of what was happening then, it makes more sense. The Jewish culture in Jesus' time on earth was very legalistic, focusing heavily on the do's and don'ts of life. The religious leaders of the day would have imposed heavy laws on the people in order for them to remain in God's graces.

Jesus is not inviting people to come in from the playground and yoke up. Everyone (then and now) has a yoke already. Jesus, then, invites us to trade one yoke for another: the oppressive deed-focused yoke for his light-burden yoke.

That makes sense. I've fallen into that mindset before, thinking I have to be good to be loved. It's a terrible, scary feeling--a never-ending struggle to measure up. It leaves me exhausted and discouraged.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Even though Christ calls me to take up my cross and follow him (which is no simple action), his yoke is still infinitely better than the alternative. It is for freedom that Christ has set me free. I will not be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. (Galatians 5:1)

As big and powerful as my grandpa's oxen were, this yokemate is the omnipotent Creator of the universe. I can find no place of greater rest for my soul than firmly yoked to him, my Savior.

I love that.

Giving Birth to Wind

Parents always seem to remember the story of their child's birth. However stressful and painful the months of pregnancy and labor, it's worth every minute to hold the tiny life as he takes his first breaths. The joy in that single moment must be indescribable.

Of course, that single moment doesn't always come. Sometimes the baby never takes his first breaths. Here's a video story created by one woman who birthed a stillborn child five months ago:



This morning I ran across a related part of Isaiah that had hit me hard about a year ago. At the time, I was spending a week in South America preparing to lead a team of college students to Santiago for the coming summer. We went to build relationships with the Chilean college students and walk our lives with Jesus among them. We prayed that they would want to walk with Jesus too.

The planning trip was overwhelming and disheartening. I seemed to hit brick walls everywhere: with people, with housing, with language, with my own fear. I tried everything I knew, but nothing was working out right. It brought me to the point of tears. Then I read these words of the prophet Isaiah:

As a woman with child and about to give birth
writhes and cries out in her pain,
so were we in your presence, O LORD.
We were with child, we writhed in pain,
but we gave birth to wind.

Giving birth to wind--that's exactly how it felt. I was undergoing the pains of labor without the joy of the child's breath. It hurt, and it made me confused.

That's when I realized that I was trying too hard to do things in my own power. Only God himself could undertake the task. Only the Spirit could give birth to spiritual things.

As I cried out to God in frustration and bitterness, I remembered a verse in Romans 8, my favorite chapter of the Bible. It reads:

"And by [the Spirit] we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory."

I still hurt, but knowing that I would one day share with Christ in glory was comforting. No matter the pain (hardship in South America, the loss of a child, or any number of sufferings), this is the gift for those who believe. As Jesus says in the book of John:

"A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy."

We will no longer give birth to wind one day because of Christ.

I love that.

Seeking Pleiades

Constellations are fascinating. They even show up in the Bible. Job mentions several in Chapter 9: the Bear (AKA Big Dipper), Orion and Pleiades specifically.

The story of Pleiades is one of my favorite of all the astronomical myths. (I love the way people weave these nighttime stories to make sense of the natural world!) Here is one version of the legend:

The Pleiades were once seven beautiful sisters. They were so beautiful that as one of the earth's greatest hunters stumbled upon them one day, he instantly burned with passion for them. Confident in his own status, he pursued not one, but all seven of the women, which detested the Pleiades. Still, the great hunter pursued the seven sisters relentlessly. Finally, the sisters appealed to the god Zeus for protection.

Zeus agreed. He transformed the sisters into seven doves, who flew away together into the night sky. But the hunter would not give up. He climbed into the sky to chase after the Pleiades. In the northern winter night sky, we can still see the great hunter, Orion, chasing the cluster of seven stars night after night. Constantly pursuing, but never attaining.

When Job talks about these stars, he references them in context of how true powerful God is. He spends much of the chapter building his case of God's grandeur. Then he makes this statement:

[God] is not a man like me that I might answer him,
that we might confront each other in court.
If only there were someone to arbitrate between us,
to lay his hand upon us both,
someone to remove God's rod from me,
so that his terror would frighten me no more.
Then I would speak up without fear of him,
but as it now stands with me, I cannot.

Wow, Job is truly fearful of God? The Bible often speaks of how we are to fear the LORD, but I have never truly understood that. Maybe I am a product of my culture in this area. A.W. Tozer, renown theologian of the early 20th century, might say so. In his profound book The Knowledge of the Holy he writes:

"In olden days men of faith were said to 'walk in the fear of God' and to 'serve the Lord with fear.' However intimate their communion with God, however bold their prayers, at the base of their religious life was the conception of God as awesome and dreadful.... but this healing fear is today hardly found among Christian men."

Job and Tozer had it right. God says it himself in Jeremiah: "Am I only a God nearby and not a God far away?"

The instant I think I deserve to be near the Lord, I become Orion. Constantly pursuing, I will never attain. Conversely, a "healing fear" will draw me close to God in humble reverence only through my Savior Jesus. I love that.

As For Me and My House: We May Fail

I've seen it everywhere: on doormats and door knockers, on wall hangings and cross-stitches, etched on figurines and scrawled across archways. They have become perhaps the most famous words of Joshua. "As for me and my house, we will serve the LORD."



It makes sense. Joshua speaks these striking words at the end of his life. But they are not, in my opinion, even the most striking words in Joshua 24.

Soon after Joshua's statement, all the people of Israel say the same words back to him: "We too will serve the LORD."

Joshua replies, "You are not able to serve the LORD. He is a holy God; he is a jealous God. He will not forgive your rebellion and your sins."

Chilling. No one puts that statement on their doormat.

I wondered why Joshua says this. Surely he isn't trying to discourage them from serving the LORD or saying that God will reject his people, is he? I turned to scholars for help. John Calvin, 16th century theologian, provides an excellent commentary. He writes:

"[Joshua] tells them that they cannot serve the Lord, as if he were actually desirous of set purpose to impel them to shake off the yoke. But there is no doubt that his tongue was guided by the inspiration of the Spirit, in stirring up and disclosing their feelings. For when the Lord brings men under his authority, they are usually willing enough to profess zeal for piety, though they instantly fall away from it. Thus they build without a foundation. This happens because they neither distrust their own weakness so much as they ought, nor consider how difficult it is to bind themselves wholly to the Lord. There is need, therefore, of serious examination, lest we be carried aloft by some giddy movement, and so fail of success in our very first attempts....

"In short, Joshua does not deter them from serving God, but only explains how refractory and disobedient they are, in order that they may learn to change their temper."

Joshua was right. Shortly after Israel's emphatic insistence of their own faithfulness, they turn away. How fickle they are (and I am) and quick to change tune in arrogance.

I enjoy those pretty wall hangings, but I won't display one lightly. I think they're great, but I also know this: As for me and my house, we will recognize our own arrogance and failings to be faithful and lean on the faithfulness of the Lord (2 Timothy 2:13). We will sing the words of hymn writer Edward Mote:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

How Long?

I've had days like this. Months even.

There's nothing more lonely to me than the times when God feels silent, distant, hidden. It's as if my anchor has been uprooted, and I feel like a rowboat floating aimlessly in an ocean of emptiness. When it happens, I tend toward somber seclusion.

So I know how David must feel when he writes Psalm 13. "How long, O LORD?" he asks. Four times he mourns the question.

This is where I usually stop (it's also where I fall into vicious sin). David, on the other hand, spends only two verses of the psalm in mourning before moving on to prayer. He spends another two verses praying before heading into the final stretch, the turning point of his perspective: rejoicing.

"But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me."

What an amazing statement amid such pain. I would imagine that David still feels the same inside. His soul still aches. Yet he presses forward in his trust in the Lord. It's amazing, but how does he do it?

John Ball, roving priest of the 14th century, makes this observation: "Faith rejoiceth in tribulation, and triumpheth before the victory. The patient is glad when he feels his physic to work, though it make him sick for the time; because he hopes it will procure health. We rejoice in afflictions, not that they are joyous for the present, but because they shall work for our good." (From Spurgeon's Treasury of David)

Wow. What great men of God. I long some day to have faith like that. I am tempted to cry, "How long, O Lord?" but for now I will focus on singing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.

He Laughs; They Did Too

I'm not ashamed to admit it. There are few things more endearing than a laughing baby. It can make even the worst day a little brighter. For one couple, however, a laughing baby meant much more than a few smiles. It was a daily reminder.

Almost 25 years had passed since Abraham was first promised a child, but finally, God made good on His promise. A son would be born within one year.

The boy's name: Isaac. It means "Laughter."

God himself picked it out. The name wasn't without meaning. Both Isaac's parents laughed when they heard of the child to be born.

"Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, 'Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?'" (Gen. 17:17)

"So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, 'After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?'" (Gen. 18:12)

Their responses sound the same, but commentators like Wesley and Henry agree that Abraham's laugh was of delight and celebration. Sarah's, from the text, was of doubt and disdain. What a contrast.

After Isaac's birth, Sarah has a heart change and invites others to share in her joy. Still, the challenge to me is clear. When God makes a promise, I can either trust that He will fulfill it or I can doubt that He will remain faithful. Whichever I choose, I may just end up with a constant reminder of my response with a baby called "Laughter."

I love the way God works.

Thanks to Peggy Kiefert Krouse for her artistic inspiration.

God Is Sovereign, Yet I Share?

I have wrestled with the concept for many years now.

This afternoon, I was reading in Romans. Chapter 9 is, in my opinion, one of the heaviest parts of the entire Bible. The Apostle Paul outlines God's sovereign purpose in election, saying that "God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy, and he hardens whom he wants to harden" (9:18).

In the very next chapter, Paul goes on to talk about our initiative in sharing the gospel: "And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, 'How beatuiful are the feet of those who bring good news!'" (10:15).

So God is fully sovereign in writing His word on our hearts, yet I am also told share the gospel? If God is sovereign, then why would he need me to share--or would my sharing even matter? And if I share, am I somehow assuming that God is not sovereign enough to change hearts himself?

This was my honest wrestling back and forth. It left me frustrated and bitter.

Then I read a book by my now favorite theologian, J. I. Packer. In his book Evangelism & The Sovereignty of God, he address this antimony (the apparent contradiction between equally necessary and correct principles).

He writes, "The Creator is incomprehensible to His creatures. A God whom we could understand exhaustively, and whose revelation of Himself confronted us with no mysteries whatsoever, would be a God in man's image, and therefore an imaginary God, not the God of the Bible at all. For what the God of the Bible says is this: 'My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways... as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.'"

Suddenly it made sense that it didn't make sense. It left me humbled and awed. Even now, as I think on the words of the Apostle Paul, J. I. Packer and the God who spans the history between them, I am humbled and awed yet again.

Take Heart, Son

It drove me crazy when they called me that word, but now I love it.

This morning I was reading part of Matthew. I ran across the chapter where Jesus first sends out His disciples. He gives (in my opinion) one of the most intense speeches in scripture, shifting back and forth from explaining the coming challenges and offering comfort.

Toward the end, he references a verse from Micah in the Old Testament, saying, "I have come to turn a man against his father and a daughter against her mother... a man's enemies will be the members of his own household." Chilling. I've often strugged with this part of the Bible. Is Jesus really wanting to break up families?

One of my favorite current commentators writes about this. "The greatest danger of idolatry comes not from what is bad, but from what is good - like love in family relationships. The greatest danger to the best comes from second best." So by focusing solely on my father here, I lose focus elsewhere. That makes sense.

Years ago, it drove me crazy when people (especially much older people) would call me son. Now, for some reason, I like it. It's comforting. Thankfully, Jesus does just that in the previous chapter of Matthew with two people, a man and a woman.

"Take heart, son. Take heart, daughter," He says.

God wants me to recognize Him as Father first--even before my biological father. It's difficult for me to recognize sometimes, but the Creator of the universe calls me "son." I love that. And it makes me take heart.

Careful Which Peg To Use

I was reading this morning in Isaiah, and I can't get a certain section out of my mind. Isaiah is talking about Eliakim, who is about to replace the governor of the palace, Shebna, who is removed from office because of his pride.

Isaiah refers to both these men as "pegs" driven in the wall. Shebna is cut down in preparation for the coming of Eliakim. The words right after is the part that struck me: "[Shebna] will be sheared off and will fall, and the load hanging on it will be cut down."

I realized that I have so many things in life hanging on the wrong pegs (my intellect, my relationships, my computer even!), and in an instant, any of those pegs could be cut down along with load hanging on them. Without a completely secure peg, everything hangs in the balance. Only One peg in all of history has ever been completely secure, and it's on Him that I want my life to hang.

Keep On Keeping On

I recognize that though I have now come a long way up the mountain, I still have a long journey before I reach the top. My only drive is the knowledge that this trail was once ridden steadily by One much more courageous than I.

Isaiah 50:6-9

"There are two kinds of courage: the courage of moment, which requires no previous thought, and a “planned” courage, which sees the difficulty ahead and steadfastly marches towards it. Jesus had this kind of courage; He could see the cross in the horizon, but still set His face like a flint."

-DAVID GUZIK, Bible commentator


"There was no flint in the heart of Jesus, but there was much in His face. He was as resolute as He was submissive."

-CHARLES H. SPURGEON, preacher