These three pursuits, depend on God, pray, and do my devotions early, all occurred simultaneously, yet seemed distinct at the time I was going through them. Therefore, rather than treating all three together and progressing chronologically, I'm going to treat each one individually in order to bring out the facets that stood out from each one. So forgive me if we jump around in time a bit in the next few posts.
As I said, I was willing to learn to depend on God. Willing, but clueless.
So I said, "God, it sure would help if I could at least come to feel like I needed to depend on you." And God happily obliged me by introducing a set of circumstances into my life that were designed to be above my capabilities, outside the range of possibility for me, more difficult than I could handle.
Hel-LO, trials!
"Humph," I thought. "I didn't mean to ask for that."
It started out pretty mild. Things like being uncommonly annoyed at doing the dishes, and having to depend on God for the cheerfulness that I had always taken for granted. When I asked for cheerfulness, I would receive it, but before, it had always been automatically dispensed. Therefore, I had taken the credit for my habitual good humor to myself. I didn't realize how many ways God supplied me with blessings!
Things went along and I have to admit I almost forgot I was supposed to be working on this area of dependence on God. But every so often, a situation would crop up that was beyond me, and I would remember, and try to be a good, docile learner, and get better at this whole dependence thing.
Then came a job opportunity, and I took it without thinking. I was already working two other jobs, but I needed some extra money, and this seemed perfect. However, I didn't consult God about it. I just took it.
The day I was driving in the car to my first day on the job, the Lord convicted me about it. "You didn't find out if this was my will or not, did you? In fact, you didn't even consult me. You didn't wait on me. This was not what I asked you to do, was it?"
I had to admit, "No, it wasn't."
And that job, which was supposed to be a simple, quick project of four months, stretched into seven months of spectacular failure, in which I blew deadlines, frustrated my boss, and fell behind at every step of the way. It wasn't for lack of trying. It wasn't even for lack of aptitude for the position. It was simply and purely a personal fault: I couldn't produce the self-discipline necessary to actually put in working hours and work on the project.
It was around this time that I came to a certain realization: "Me trying is the same as me not trying." It happened this way: All throughout my life, I knew there were certain things I did well (piano, spelling, crochet, etc.) and certain things I did not do so well (swimming, being organized, staying focused, etc.). However, with anything I did not do very well, I always comforted myself by saying, "Well, you're not really trying. If you ever once tried, you would be as good as anyone else at it."
Three specific cases disrupted this idea. First, at work they had a weight-loss contest. Everyone would get weighed once a month for four or five months, and whoever lost the greatest percentage of their body weight would win an ipod or a wii. So I decided to join them. I could afford to lose 15-18 pounds, according to my body mass index, and for the first time in my life, I started to try to lose weight. Always before, I had stayed pretty constantly trim without trying. Well, my weight at the end of the contest was only one pound less than my weight at the beginning, and that was only because I had happened to skip breakfast that morning. So much for trying to lose weight. Me trying (to lose weight) was the same as me not trying.
Second, I stared an accountability sheet where for a month, I would record my bedtime and my waking up time. The idea was to try to get to bed earlier and wake up earlier, and see progress over time. Ha. At the end of the month, the only thing my chart showed was chaos. So I tried another month. Perhaps this time, the graph would show steady improvement and progress. Nope. I was all over the map. So much for trying to dictate to myself my bedtime. Me trying (to get up early) was the same as me not trying.
Third, I encountered the above-described difficulties in my job. I tried, and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried. Oh, how I pushed! Oh, how I tried to govern myself! Oh, how I tried rewards and punishments. Nothing worked. I continued on in the same rut of failure for all seven months. Me trying (to make myself work) was the same as me not trying.
It was this that got me thinking. "In my flesh, I really can't do anything by myself. If God doesn't come through for me, I'm sunk." (Remember what I had asked God earlier? How I had wanted to feel like I was dependent? He got me there all right! I just didn't know how painful it would be.)
I also did a word study in Scripture on the word nothing.
John 15:4 Jesus said, "Without me, ye can do nothing."
Gal 6:3 If a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.
John 6:63 The flesh profiteth nothing.
1 Co. 9:16 I have nothing to glory of.
John 3:27 A man can receive nothing except it be given him from heaven.
John 5:30 I can of mine own self do nothing.
John 11:49 Ye know nothing at all.
1 Tim 6:7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
It hit me for the first time in my life that I am nothing. Apart from God, I can do nothing. God is the great everything. And only as far as I am found in Him and receive things from Him will I ever do anything.
NOW I was on the way to true dependence on God.
Next Post: Learn to Pray
Previous Post: A Triple Milestone in Sight
First Post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Friday, 18 February 2011
A Triple Milestone in Sight
After spending about a year to learn how to open up my mouth and speak, God sent me on another quest which would take at least a year. This time, it was really a three-fold assignment that would all relate to one common theme, though I wouldn't see how all three tied together until later.
First, depend on God. Learn to rely solely on Him. Don't live as though I were an independent, autonomous creature, but instead, one that needs God for every breath, every step, every day of my life.
Second, learn to pray. Not just "say prayers," but pray, mighty, faith-filled prayers that connect with God.
Third, put God first in my day by doing my devotions in the morning.
The first assignment, Depend on God, I accepted unquestioningly. "Sure, God. I'll be glad to depend on you. I don't really know how, but I'll be glad to try." I then proceeded to try to work up some good "dependent" feelings. (Haha... must've made God laugh.) Overall, I realized that for all practical purposes, I lived without reference to God, existing without consulting him or feeling that I needed to consult him. I had my own ideas, made my own plans, and went through the day by myself. It didn't enter my head to depend on God most of the time. Of course, if I was embarking on a major step or had a weighty decision before me, I would pray "for direction," but even that was sort of a token gesture.
The second assignment, Pray, was somewhat more difficult. The truth is, I didn't really like to pray. I wasn't good at prayer. My mind always wandered. But I knew it was a good thing to do, and I knew I would need to do it sooner or later, and I had been meaning to study it anyway, so I accepted the assignment.
The third assignment involved getting up early. And that meant sacrificing sleep. Now, I love sleep. I don't think you understand. I LOVE sleep. Wait, I don't think you get it. I really, really love sleep. At sleepover parties when I was a kid, while all the other little girls were talking and giggling and watching movies into the wee hours of the morning, I happily snuggled down in my sleeping bag at 9:00, wondering how they could possibly make such a sacrifice for each other's sake to stay up so late. I, at any rate, was going to enjoy myself at this party, and that meant going to sleep. Sleep, for me, was (still is!) the ultimate indulgence. Therefore, my entire being revolted from this assignment with everything that was in me. And oh, what a battle raged!
The Master Professor, however, remained unperturbed. He knew how to teach me the right lessons in the right order. His teaching techniques were absolutely effective. He had infinite resources at his disposal. He was sure of His own success with his pupil, though I was not at all sure of it.
Next post: Depend on God
Previous post: One Milestone Reached
First post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
First, depend on God. Learn to rely solely on Him. Don't live as though I were an independent, autonomous creature, but instead, one that needs God for every breath, every step, every day of my life.
Second, learn to pray. Not just "say prayers," but pray, mighty, faith-filled prayers that connect with God.
Third, put God first in my day by doing my devotions in the morning.
The first assignment, Depend on God, I accepted unquestioningly. "Sure, God. I'll be glad to depend on you. I don't really know how, but I'll be glad to try." I then proceeded to try to work up some good "dependent" feelings. (Haha... must've made God laugh.) Overall, I realized that for all practical purposes, I lived without reference to God, existing without consulting him or feeling that I needed to consult him. I had my own ideas, made my own plans, and went through the day by myself. It didn't enter my head to depend on God most of the time. Of course, if I was embarking on a major step or had a weighty decision before me, I would pray "for direction," but even that was sort of a token gesture.
The second assignment, Pray, was somewhat more difficult. The truth is, I didn't really like to pray. I wasn't good at prayer. My mind always wandered. But I knew it was a good thing to do, and I knew I would need to do it sooner or later, and I had been meaning to study it anyway, so I accepted the assignment.
The third assignment involved getting up early. And that meant sacrificing sleep. Now, I love sleep. I don't think you understand. I LOVE sleep. Wait, I don't think you get it. I really, really love sleep. At sleepover parties when I was a kid, while all the other little girls were talking and giggling and watching movies into the wee hours of the morning, I happily snuggled down in my sleeping bag at 9:00, wondering how they could possibly make such a sacrifice for each other's sake to stay up so late. I, at any rate, was going to enjoy myself at this party, and that meant going to sleep. Sleep, for me, was (still is!) the ultimate indulgence. Therefore, my entire being revolted from this assignment with everything that was in me. And oh, what a battle raged!
The Master Professor, however, remained unperturbed. He knew how to teach me the right lessons in the right order. His teaching techniques were absolutely effective. He had infinite resources at his disposal. He was sure of His own success with his pupil, though I was not at all sure of it.
Next post: Depend on God
Previous post: One Milestone Reached
First post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
Thursday, 17 February 2011
One milestone reached
So God had me where I was obediently witnessing. It was great! I knew it was a huge milestone. It was also a shocking, sobering realization to look back on my previous condition and realize, "Wow! I could never have been a missionary without learning this! Thank you, God, for teaching me that."
I wrote extensively in my journal about the lessons I had learned, started a girl's Bible Study on the theme of "Open Up Your Mouth and Speak," and prepared a document containing the essential message I had learned. I excitedly started witnessing! Whereas in 2008, I had only led three people to Christ, in 2009, I had the privilege of praying with 18 people who wished to receive Christ.
The Master Professor had elegantly and skillfully achieved his goal. He is the type of teacher who never gives up until learning actually takes place. He is also the kind of teacher who moves His pupil right along to the next lesson as soon as the first has been mastered.
Learning to open up my mouth and speak was hard. The new lessons that replaced that one were harder. But these, too, would eventually lead to me looking back and saying, "Wow! I could never have been a missionary without learning this!"
Next Post: A Triple Milestone in Sight
Previous Post: Torn Apart by My Own Perverseness
First Post: Tutored under the Master Professor
I wrote extensively in my journal about the lessons I had learned, started a girl's Bible Study on the theme of "Open Up Your Mouth and Speak," and prepared a document containing the essential message I had learned. I excitedly started witnessing! Whereas in 2008, I had only led three people to Christ, in 2009, I had the privilege of praying with 18 people who wished to receive Christ.
The Master Professor had elegantly and skillfully achieved his goal. He is the type of teacher who never gives up until learning actually takes place. He is also the kind of teacher who moves His pupil right along to the next lesson as soon as the first has been mastered.
Learning to open up my mouth and speak was hard. The new lessons that replaced that one were harder. But these, too, would eventually lead to me looking back and saying, "Wow! I could never have been a missionary without learning this!"
Next Post: A Triple Milestone in Sight
Previous Post: Torn Apart by My Own Perverseness
First Post: Tutored under the Master Professor
This is my first post
I have been wanting to do this, and a day off work gives me the perfect excuse to start.
May the Lord Jesus Christ be honored here.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Torn Apart By My Own Perverseness
Looking back, it's curious to view that phone call with my piano teacher. In one sense, it marked a turning point for the better. That victory began a gradual process that resulted in subsequent witnessing opportunities becoming easier. I had less and less fear until I was able to open up my mouth and speak without a struggle, without a flutter, mentioning the truths of the gospel message just as naturally as I would bring up any other conversation topic.
But that achievement came at a great price.
God was very patient with me through all this, but finally He laid down the law. "You know that sweet relationship you've been enjoying with me? Well, if you don't straighten up, I'm going to have to just withdraw that from you. You know, I'm very grieved that you haven't been obedient, and I cannot let you continue in this course." *
A pang of dread shot through my heart. The thought of losing the sweetest love in the world suddenly made me realize how much it meant to me. Oh, take out my eyes, destroy all my possessions, and leave me hungry every day--but don't take that! I prayed internally. Yet, at the same time, I knew that it was the very love of God that threatened to bring this upon me. I figured He had purposely allowed me to experience His sweetness in order to have a really effective bargaining tool in the moment that He really needed it. He knew how stubborn I was and how unlikely it was that I would EVER be raised out of my current state without some really good motivation. So He struck at the very core of my heart and gave me a very helpful set of choices. "Either you witness when I tell you to (which isn't really that bad, and is actually going to be fun and fulfilling once you get into it), or you disobey (which is going to come with horrible consequences)."
The next few witnessing opportunities came along, however, and I failed them. Flunked them. Kept quiet. Didn't obey God. And in the same measure, I began to lose that delightful, romantic, adventurous LOVE that I had experienced for the past few months. "Noooooooooo," I thought. "Why am I doing this?" And yet there the facts stood. I had chosen that course, even after I had been duly warned.
A few days later, I flunked yet another opportunity, and if I had heard an audible voice, God could not have been more clear: "You have one more try. One. There is no reason for you to be acting this way. You can either do it my way, or I'll just leave you to your own devices and let you live a miserable, mediocre life. You pick. But don't flunk this next opportunity."
Talk about instilling the fear of God into a person's life! I think hearing that would be enough to shake the hardest heart.
I witnessed.
I witnessed again.
And again.
And along the way, a few more failures crept back in, but FINALLY, the pattern was changing.
Of course, I still had to suffer the effects of my past choices. The law of sowing and reaping doesn't halt at life milestones. To this day, I am only enjoying a fraction of the sweetness and closeness of the love of the LORD that I had experienced before. But finally, I trust, I have some obedience in my life in this area.
Thus the Lord saw me safely through the crisis until He saw His will formed in me. But the Master Professor was far from finished with His pupil.
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*Note: I want to make it very clear that God did not threaten to withdraw HIMSELF from me, but rather that the enjoyment of His presence would evaporate, the communion and fellowship would be broken, and the feelings of love would be withdrawn. God knew this would be a very motivational tool and used it as such, while maintaining the basic fact of our relationship intact.
But that achievement came at a great price.
You see, every time I would be prompted to witness, I still refused to obey. It was a persistent, steadfast rebellion that trumped all my best pep talks and all my good intentions. I was in a cycle: I prayed for souls and desired them to be saved, I was faced with a witnessing opportunity and turned it down, and then I was filled with remorse and vowed to actually witness the next time.
God was very patient with me through all this, but finally He laid down the law. "You know that sweet relationship you've been enjoying with me? Well, if you don't straighten up, I'm going to have to just withdraw that from you. You know, I'm very grieved that you haven't been obedient, and I cannot let you continue in this course." *
A pang of dread shot through my heart. The thought of losing the sweetest love in the world suddenly made me realize how much it meant to me. Oh, take out my eyes, destroy all my possessions, and leave me hungry every day--but don't take that! I prayed internally. Yet, at the same time, I knew that it was the very love of God that threatened to bring this upon me. I figured He had purposely allowed me to experience His sweetness in order to have a really effective bargaining tool in the moment that He really needed it. He knew how stubborn I was and how unlikely it was that I would EVER be raised out of my current state without some really good motivation. So He struck at the very core of my heart and gave me a very helpful set of choices. "Either you witness when I tell you to (which isn't really that bad, and is actually going to be fun and fulfilling once you get into it), or you disobey (which is going to come with horrible consequences)."
The next few witnessing opportunities came along, however, and I failed them. Flunked them. Kept quiet. Didn't obey God. And in the same measure, I began to lose that delightful, romantic, adventurous LOVE that I had experienced for the past few months. "Noooooooooo," I thought. "Why am I doing this?" And yet there the facts stood. I had chosen that course, even after I had been duly warned.
A few days later, I flunked yet another opportunity, and if I had heard an audible voice, God could not have been more clear: "You have one more try. One. There is no reason for you to be acting this way. You can either do it my way, or I'll just leave you to your own devices and let you live a miserable, mediocre life. You pick. But don't flunk this next opportunity."
Talk about instilling the fear of God into a person's life! I think hearing that would be enough to shake the hardest heart.
I witnessed.
I witnessed again.
And again.
And along the way, a few more failures crept back in, but FINALLY, the pattern was changing.
Of course, I still had to suffer the effects of my past choices. The law of sowing and reaping doesn't halt at life milestones. To this day, I am only enjoying a fraction of the sweetness and closeness of the love of the LORD that I had experienced before. But finally, I trust, I have some obedience in my life in this area.
Thus the Lord saw me safely through the crisis until He saw His will formed in me. But the Master Professor was far from finished with His pupil.
Keep Reading: One Milestone Reached
Previous Post: Jump Off A Cliff
First Post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
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*Note: I want to make it very clear that God did not threaten to withdraw HIMSELF from me, but rather that the enjoyment of His presence would evaporate, the communion and fellowship would be broken, and the feelings of love would be withdrawn. God knew this would be a very motivational tool and used it as such, while maintaining the basic fact of our relationship intact.
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Jump Off A Cliff
Real life always jolts me out of the dream worlds I create for myself. In my dream world, I am the perfect witness, always going about the Lord's business and always saying just the right thing at the right time.
So I was driving along the highway, heading home from a road trip, and it was just me and the Lord. I was disappointed in myself, because that weekend, I had met with my former piano teacher with the express purpose of giving her the gospel, and I had kept my mouth shut. I KNEW that God had opened the doors for the encounter to take place, and I KNEW that I was supposed to witness to her. In an hour-long conversation, I never once brought up the real issue. I skirted it and evaded it, waiting for "the right moment," telling myself it just "wasn't right yet," and saying, "Just a little more small talk." And then it was time to go, and it was too late.
I was kicking myself. All my pep talks to myself had done no good. I could have had this glorious testimony of how I opened up my mouth to speak, and now I didn't even know when I would see her again. We lived 13 hours apart. Why had I blown it? I was so discouraged I wanted to cry. I felt like God would never be able to use me. With this track record, I thought I would probably never speak up. Going into the meeting with her, I had prayed so hard and wanted it so hard. The fact that I didn't speak made me doubt whether I ever would, since I couldn’t imagine praying harder or desiring more strongly that souls would be saved. Afterwards, the Lord prompted me to call her up and say it on the phone, but I repressed that feeling, too.
All this was going through my mind as my rental car skimmed along the highway. The Lord brought into my mind a picture, a memory, of a day when I was about 12 and we went to a place we called "The Pools." It was a beautiful mountain stream that spilled from one deep, round pool to another. You could slide down little waterfalls into the pools or jump off a high rock into the biggest pool. My 12-year-old self was a little afraid to jump off the rock, but my cousin did it so many times and obviously enjoyed herself so much that I finally worked up the courage to do it. I walked up to the edge and was ready to jump, but I lost my nerve. I backed up and tried again, but stopped myself again at the last moment. I returned to the "safe ground" and felt better, regained my courage, and tried again. When I finally jumped, the feeling was so exhilarating that I burst up out of the water with a shout of pure delight, and then I did it over and over again.
Jumping off the rock is like picking up the phone and calling your piano teacher, the Lord whispered to me.
"Ohhhh!" I thought. The wheels of my mind started turning and things started clicking. "What I really wanted to do was speak to her," I thought. "Soulwinning is the thing above all others that I really want to begin to do. But just like I wanted to jump off the rock and didn't at first, something is keeping me back from soulwinning. What is it, Lord? What gives? I don't think it's fear. I don't think I'm afraid to witness. I know how to share the gospel. I'm not afraid I won't know what to say. So what is keeping me from it?"
And in his most excellent teaching style, perfectly suited and tailored to individual little me, he proposed an exercise which would reveal the answer.
"Ask yourself this question," he proposed. "Ask yourself, 'Would I pick up the phone and call her right now?'"
I asked myself the question, phone in hand. Immediately, an excuse came into my mind. "I don't have free cell phone minutes right now, so it's not a good time."
"Now," the Lord guided me, "weigh that excuse in the balance. Weigh the pennies it will cost you to make the phone call against the value of her eternal soul."
"Oh." I thought. "Right. What will the phone call cost? Not even close to five dollars. So that excuse goes out the window."
"Ask yourself again," the Lord said.
"Okay. The question remains before me. Would I pick up the phone and call my teacher?" Immediately, an excuse came to my mind. "You're driving, and it's not a good idea to talk on the phone while you're driving. Besides, you don't even know if it's legal to drive and talk on the phone in this state."
I weighed that excuse in the balance. I had already talked to Mom twice on the phone. I simply put it on speakerphone on my lap and had no inconvenience at all. I also knew that if the phone rang again, I would not hesitate to answer it and talk to whoever called. So that excuse had to go out the window, too.
Now, Rebekah," I said to myself, "The question still stands. Would you pick up the phone and call your teacher right now?" Immediately, an excuse came to my mind. "She might not pick up."
"Rebekah!" I scolded myself. "It’s shameful how instantly you come up with excuses. I think this one must be the stupidest of all. If she doesn't pick up, then it lets you off the hook from having to talk to her, so what's the point of making an excuse that would accomplish the same objective?" And I tossed that excuse out the window.
"The question, therefore, still stands before you, weightier than ever. Will you call your teacher right now?" Immediately, an excuse came to mind. "She might not listen."
"Notice," I exclaimed to myself, "How readily you come up with excuses! Immediately they spring to your mind. Now this one doesn't even merit much consideration. Long ago I had it settled that there is no such thing as speaking the gospel in vain. Whether she listens is not the point. The point is, WILL YOU call her?"
This process went on for probably 6 or 7 excuses, all of which turned out to be stupid, false fronts, smoke screens, or bluffs. Finally, the excuses stopped coming. I even hunted around for another excuse and couldn't find one. (The scary thing is, up until that day, a single one of those excuses would have sufficed to defeat me. I would have simply accepted it as a good reason without any evaluation at all.)
When the flow of excuses stopped, I faced a sobering reality. "Rebekah, will you call your teacher? Because if the answer is no, you’ll have to face up to the fact that it stems exclusively from fear. You are afraid to do it."
Now, you have to understand my background regarding fear. I prided myself on being fearless. I considered it as repulsive and despicable to be afraid, and "fear" was practically a dirty word in my vocabulary, (except for fear of God, which I allowed). As a kid, I would rack my brain to try to think of anything I was afraid of, and come up empty, and that made me glad. So here, to admit to fear in myself was unthinkable. I could not be afraid—I must prove I was unafraid. Therefore, I had to answer yes, that I would call her. God had cleverly trapped me. He did it so deftly, so elegantly. He had me exactly where he wanted me by playing on his intimate knowledge of me.
Okay, get a grip, Rebekah. You’re going to call her, I thought. It was like walking right up to the edge of that rock at the pools and planning to jump. Suddenly, I was breathing hard, my heart was beating faster, my legs were trembling, my mind was racing. (Wow, I really am afraid, I realized.) I cried out to God for His help. I called on Him for His aid, His strength, words to say to her, calmness in my voice. As I prayed, I started to cry, tears of anguish and love for the state of my piano teacher's soul. And then, when I had finished praying, I took a deep breath, calmly opened my phone, and dialed her number. It rang one, two, three, four, five times. Then the answering machine picked up. I hung up without leaving a message.
I went through all that agony, just to do that. It really wasn’t that hard. And after I was off the phone, even though I hadn't even talked to her, I was filled with overwhelming, amazing joy. I was laughing, crying with joy at the fact that I had been victorious through the power of God. I was thanking God for his good work, for helping me, for guiding me. I was so elated. It was just like the jubilation I experienced after I faced the rock and jumped off into the water.
That experience marked a turning point in my journey—for better—and for worse.
So I was driving along the highway, heading home from a road trip, and it was just me and the Lord. I was disappointed in myself, because that weekend, I had met with my former piano teacher with the express purpose of giving her the gospel, and I had kept my mouth shut. I KNEW that God had opened the doors for the encounter to take place, and I KNEW that I was supposed to witness to her. In an hour-long conversation, I never once brought up the real issue. I skirted it and evaded it, waiting for "the right moment," telling myself it just "wasn't right yet," and saying, "Just a little more small talk." And then it was time to go, and it was too late.
I was kicking myself. All my pep talks to myself had done no good. I could have had this glorious testimony of how I opened up my mouth to speak, and now I didn't even know when I would see her again. We lived 13 hours apart. Why had I blown it? I was so discouraged I wanted to cry. I felt like God would never be able to use me. With this track record, I thought I would probably never speak up. Going into the meeting with her, I had prayed so hard and wanted it so hard. The fact that I didn't speak made me doubt whether I ever would, since I couldn’t imagine praying harder or desiring more strongly that souls would be saved. Afterwards, the Lord prompted me to call her up and say it on the phone, but I repressed that feeling, too.
All this was going through my mind as my rental car skimmed along the highway. The Lord brought into my mind a picture, a memory, of a day when I was about 12 and we went to a place we called "The Pools." It was a beautiful mountain stream that spilled from one deep, round pool to another. You could slide down little waterfalls into the pools or jump off a high rock into the biggest pool. My 12-year-old self was a little afraid to jump off the rock, but my cousin did it so many times and obviously enjoyed herself so much that I finally worked up the courage to do it. I walked up to the edge and was ready to jump, but I lost my nerve. I backed up and tried again, but stopped myself again at the last moment. I returned to the "safe ground" and felt better, regained my courage, and tried again. When I finally jumped, the feeling was so exhilarating that I burst up out of the water with a shout of pure delight, and then I did it over and over again.
Jumping off the rock is like picking up the phone and calling your piano teacher, the Lord whispered to me.
"Ohhhh!" I thought. The wheels of my mind started turning and things started clicking. "What I really wanted to do was speak to her," I thought. "Soulwinning is the thing above all others that I really want to begin to do. But just like I wanted to jump off the rock and didn't at first, something is keeping me back from soulwinning. What is it, Lord? What gives? I don't think it's fear. I don't think I'm afraid to witness. I know how to share the gospel. I'm not afraid I won't know what to say. So what is keeping me from it?"
And in his most excellent teaching style, perfectly suited and tailored to individual little me, he proposed an exercise which would reveal the answer.
"Ask yourself this question," he proposed. "Ask yourself, 'Would I pick up the phone and call her right now?'"
I asked myself the question, phone in hand. Immediately, an excuse came into my mind. "I don't have free cell phone minutes right now, so it's not a good time."
"Now," the Lord guided me, "weigh that excuse in the balance. Weigh the pennies it will cost you to make the phone call against the value of her eternal soul."
"Oh." I thought. "Right. What will the phone call cost? Not even close to five dollars. So that excuse goes out the window."
"Ask yourself again," the Lord said.
"Okay. The question remains before me. Would I pick up the phone and call my teacher?" Immediately, an excuse came to my mind. "You're driving, and it's not a good idea to talk on the phone while you're driving. Besides, you don't even know if it's legal to drive and talk on the phone in this state."
I weighed that excuse in the balance. I had already talked to Mom twice on the phone. I simply put it on speakerphone on my lap and had no inconvenience at all. I also knew that if the phone rang again, I would not hesitate to answer it and talk to whoever called. So that excuse had to go out the window, too.
Now, Rebekah," I said to myself, "The question still stands. Would you pick up the phone and call your teacher right now?" Immediately, an excuse came to my mind. "She might not pick up."
"Rebekah!" I scolded myself. "It’s shameful how instantly you come up with excuses. I think this one must be the stupidest of all. If she doesn't pick up, then it lets you off the hook from having to talk to her, so what's the point of making an excuse that would accomplish the same objective?" And I tossed that excuse out the window.
"The question, therefore, still stands before you, weightier than ever. Will you call your teacher right now?" Immediately, an excuse came to mind. "She might not listen."
"Notice," I exclaimed to myself, "How readily you come up with excuses! Immediately they spring to your mind. Now this one doesn't even merit much consideration. Long ago I had it settled that there is no such thing as speaking the gospel in vain. Whether she listens is not the point. The point is, WILL YOU call her?"
This process went on for probably 6 or 7 excuses, all of which turned out to be stupid, false fronts, smoke screens, or bluffs. Finally, the excuses stopped coming. I even hunted around for another excuse and couldn't find one. (The scary thing is, up until that day, a single one of those excuses would have sufficed to defeat me. I would have simply accepted it as a good reason without any evaluation at all.)
When the flow of excuses stopped, I faced a sobering reality. "Rebekah, will you call your teacher? Because if the answer is no, you’ll have to face up to the fact that it stems exclusively from fear. You are afraid to do it."
Now, you have to understand my background regarding fear. I prided myself on being fearless. I considered it as repulsive and despicable to be afraid, and "fear" was practically a dirty word in my vocabulary, (except for fear of God, which I allowed). As a kid, I would rack my brain to try to think of anything I was afraid of, and come up empty, and that made me glad. So here, to admit to fear in myself was unthinkable. I could not be afraid—I must prove I was unafraid. Therefore, I had to answer yes, that I would call her. God had cleverly trapped me. He did it so deftly, so elegantly. He had me exactly where he wanted me by playing on his intimate knowledge of me.
Okay, get a grip, Rebekah. You’re going to call her, I thought. It was like walking right up to the edge of that rock at the pools and planning to jump. Suddenly, I was breathing hard, my heart was beating faster, my legs were trembling, my mind was racing. (Wow, I really am afraid, I realized.) I cried out to God for His help. I called on Him for His aid, His strength, words to say to her, calmness in my voice. As I prayed, I started to cry, tears of anguish and love for the state of my piano teacher's soul. And then, when I had finished praying, I took a deep breath, calmly opened my phone, and dialed her number. It rang one, two, three, four, five times. Then the answering machine picked up. I hung up without leaving a message.
I went through all that agony, just to do that. It really wasn’t that hard. And after I was off the phone, even though I hadn't even talked to her, I was filled with overwhelming, amazing joy. I was laughing, crying with joy at the fact that I had been victorious through the power of God. I was thanking God for his good work, for helping me, for guiding me. I was so elated. It was just like the jubilation I experienced after I faced the rock and jumped off into the water.
That experience marked a turning point in my journey—for better—and for worse.
Keep Reading: Torn Apart By My Own Perverseness
Previous Post: Open Up Your Mouth And Speak
First Post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
Friday, 21 May 2010
Open Up Your Mouth and Speak
God couldn't have been more clear about my life purpose. "Open up your mouth and speak the message of the gospel to lost souls you meet."
THAT was the point it all hinged on. I thought I was a missionary when I was in Spain--I claimed to be one--I lived like a Christian--I was active in church--I passed out tracts--I visited the hospital--I did Bible studies--I led the choir--I looked for ways to do ministry. But when it came to that one thing, my lips were sealed. Down in the core of my being, I was profoundly unwilling to do one thing: activate my vocal chords for the advancement of God's kingdom.
Why?
Why would I balk at that? It should have been so simple. I talked freely and easily about anything else. Small talk, sports, politics, TV, movies, music, ideas, relationships, all came to my lips unhindered and poured out in a fluent stream as I tried to be friendly to people I met and strike up conversations "that could lead to spiritual things." I would even consciously try to coax the conversation around to making the perfect setup for linking into the gospel--where just one phrase would transition us as naturally as can be into talking about the Lord. Let's say you're talking about gardening. You say something like "Have you ever thought of the world as a garden, with people growing in it?" so that they can make a comment along those lines, which you will respond with, "It reminds me of Jesus's parable of the sower. Have you ever heard that parable?" Then you can take it from there (depending on their responses) and use that parable to explain the gospel message or ask them what kind of ground they think they are.
I got lots of these opportunities. I failed to take up any of them. The Lord would drop a perfect situation into my lap, as perfect a setup as I could wish, where all I had to do was insert that one key phrase and go from there. And every time, I would toss that phrase away and select something else, something safe, something trite or flippant or lighthearted, that would steer me away from the "danger zone" I had approached so closely.
Why, though? That was so stupid. I knew it was stupid. I would berate myself for it afterwards. Opportunities to rescue people's precious souls, just thrown out.
God called me to open up my mouth and speak, but something was stopping me. I didn't really even know what it was.
One day, he very cleverly trapped me in a real-life situation to show me exactly what the problem was.
THAT was the point it all hinged on. I thought I was a missionary when I was in Spain--I claimed to be one--I lived like a Christian--I was active in church--I passed out tracts--I visited the hospital--I did Bible studies--I led the choir--I looked for ways to do ministry. But when it came to that one thing, my lips were sealed. Down in the core of my being, I was profoundly unwilling to do one thing: activate my vocal chords for the advancement of God's kingdom.
Why?
Why would I balk at that? It should have been so simple. I talked freely and easily about anything else. Small talk, sports, politics, TV, movies, music, ideas, relationships, all came to my lips unhindered and poured out in a fluent stream as I tried to be friendly to people I met and strike up conversations "that could lead to spiritual things." I would even consciously try to coax the conversation around to making the perfect setup for linking into the gospel--where just one phrase would transition us as naturally as can be into talking about the Lord. Let's say you're talking about gardening. You say something like "Have you ever thought of the world as a garden, with people growing in it?" so that they can make a comment along those lines, which you will respond with, "It reminds me of Jesus's parable of the sower. Have you ever heard that parable?" Then you can take it from there (depending on their responses) and use that parable to explain the gospel message or ask them what kind of ground they think they are.
I got lots of these opportunities. I failed to take up any of them. The Lord would drop a perfect situation into my lap, as perfect a setup as I could wish, where all I had to do was insert that one key phrase and go from there. And every time, I would toss that phrase away and select something else, something safe, something trite or flippant or lighthearted, that would steer me away from the "danger zone" I had approached so closely.
Why, though? That was so stupid. I knew it was stupid. I would berate myself for it afterwards. Opportunities to rescue people's precious souls, just thrown out.
God called me to open up my mouth and speak, but something was stopping me. I didn't really even know what it was.
One day, he very cleverly trapped me in a real-life situation to show me exactly what the problem was.
Keep Reading: Jump Off A Cliff
Previous Post: ...The Reason We Live
First Post: Tutored Under the Master Professor
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