The puzzle pieces fall into place

Soon after seeing how my job was simply to obey the Lord, everything started fitting together.

Getting up early? That boiled down to obedience. I simply had to obey God and do it.

Prayer? Obedience again. No longer could I raise my frequent excuse, "But I just don't feel like praying right now." If God had commanded me to pray, I needed to obediently pray.

Depending on God? Still obedience. If I didn't depend on Him, I would never be able to obey. Suddenly I was acutely dependent on God, automatically, because in and of myself, I was not very obedient.

Open up you mouth and speak? All I had to do to master that was to obey.

And suddenly I saw that it went so much farther beyond that. Obedience backed up everything in my spiritual walk. God was working on these three areas today, but he might choose to tackle other areas tomorrow, and in whatever He chose to work on, I needed to be obedient if I was going to get anywhere.

It was on December 14, 2010 that I was desiring something from God. I can't remember exactly what it was now...some kind of spiritual advancement or blessing...I'll have to look it up in my journal. Anyway, God firmly impressed it upon my mind, "You can't have this until you give me your obedience." The light bulb flicked on. "Ohhhhh! Obedience is the pathway to actually getting somewhere!" I realized. I felt a little ridiculous that it had taken me this long for it to dawn on me. "Okay, deal," I said. I felt God's smile. "I win," He seemed to say.

It worked!

I finally started to obey!

God had gotten through to me!

And then things started happening.

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Obey

Obey, obey, obey.

I still struggled on with my three areas: Get up early, pray, and depend on God. From April until December of 2010, I met with one failure and setback after another. For a period of about a month during the summer, I read Romans 6 every single day, hoping to glean some insight into how to reckon myself dead to sin. I started to be so desperate for the power of Christ's resurrection to actually operate in me, and I didn't know what I was doing wrong. For about 3 weeks in July, I went on an early morning prayer walk with my sisters and another girl, where we all prayed for various needs, and I poured out my heart to the Lord, pleading with Him to change me. Why did progress have to be so slow?

One day, I took an extra-long walk by myself around a loop that we don't usually walk (because it's too long). Something just had to change. I just had to get ahold of God and find some deliverance. I walked along and prayed and cried. At one point in my walk, my eye was attracted to a small graveyard up a hill off the side of the road, and I walked up to it. I went in and looked at some of the tombstones and found a place to sit down against a fence. There, I continued praying, looking up into the sky and crying out to God for answers.

There seemed to be an especially large number of birds in the sky. I wanted to be like those birds, soaring above all my troubles.

Romans 6 came flooding back into my mind, and I started quoting it. I looked around at all the tombstones as I quoted parts about death to sin.

"Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death."
"We have been planted together in the likeness of his death."
"Our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin."
"He that is dead--dead!--is freed from sin."
"If we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him."

The phrase came into my mind, "The law of sin and death." I looked back up at the birds. An analogy came into my mind: "The law of gravity and death." If you step out of a plane, or off the edge of a skyscraper, you will certainly conform to the law of gravity and death. I thought, "The law of gravity is binding on me. It is the reason I am sitting here, stuck to the ground, and not flying around in the sky with the birds. It's just like sin. The law of sin is binding on me. It keeps me walking down on the ground, among all this death, instead of mounting up with wings and soaring to heights above with Christ."

But the birds! The birds were overcoming the law of gravity. And, I trusted, there was a way to overcome sin through the resurrection of Christ. But what was it?

I quoted through Romans 6 until I reached verse 16. There I stopped.

"Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey, whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?"

Suddenly, the light dawned.

Obedience!

There is the key. Obey the Lord.

"If I could only get that stuck fast in my head," I thought. "Obey the Lord. Obey the Lord. Obey the Lord." It simplifies everything. I only have to worry about one thing. All I have to do is obey. (All I have to do...heh...easier said than done, I know!) But I only have to occupy myself with this one task. Clearly, I have been disobedient. Obviously, that is what has hindered me from getting anywhere. I rebel against God in disobedience, and thereby obey the law of sin unto death.

I walked out of the graveyard with purpose and hope, clinging to that simple concept: Obey.

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Be filled with the Holy Spirit

About a month after giving myself to the Holy Spirit to be used and controlled by Him, I came across a friend's facebook page, where one of her friends had randomly made some comment about Jackie Pullinger. I was intrigued. I had read a short biography of Jackie Pullinger in one of Leslie Ludy's books (Can't remember if it was Set Apart Femininity or Authentic Beauty), and just out of curiosity, I googled her name. One of the things that came up was a link to some of her messages. I listened to a 3-part message called "Be filled with the Holy Spirit" (which you can find and listen to here), and through her testimony and praying with her at the end, I received the gift of tongues.

Yeah.

Right there, some of you are going, "Whoa, Rebekah just got herself far out into left field here." Yeah. Or maybe not.

This is the first time I am putting this information in public. It's not something I do in public, and it's not something I talk about with people unless they ask me about it. I considered not sharing this part of the story, but I think it's a vital part of what came later, and it seems sort of like hiding an elephant to pass over it and skip this part as if it didn't have anything to do with my spiritual development.

I was as curious as anything about it. I started praying in my new language every day, and I couldn't help trying to analyze what I was saying, what language this sounded like, what the words meant. I didn't get anywhere with that, but one thing I observed was that I didn't know the whole language all at once. At first, I only had the consonants 'c,' 'p,' 'n,' and 'g' mixed in with the vowels. I even thought to myself, "This is getting boring... let me introduce a new sound in here," but it didn't work. I had the feeling that the Holy Spirit chuckled at me and said, "That's not a word, silly." But when I wasn't trying to "get creative" with it, gradually different sounds added themselves in there, until I was speaking a full range of interesting-sounding language. Upon reflection, I was amazed that I had been able to pray initially in that limited vocabulary. Could you make up many sentences in English using only the consonants c, p, n, & g? I couldn't. But yet I had been speaking strings and strings of different sentences, causing me to marvel at the Holy Spirit's ability to filter out all the rest of the consonants and still say something (even if I didn't know what, I trusted that He did).

If you're going, "She's making this up," it's the same thing I was wondering. But this wasn't the first time I had tried to speak in tongues. Always before, I had just invented "baby-talk" words that I knew I was making up. This time, it was different. I had the divine witness that I was saying something. Also, the sounds I was making didn't all come from English. There were glottal stops and weird vowels and consonants that made my tongue do things it had never done before and a very melody of tonality that was different from English.

According to Scripture,

"For he that speaketh in an unknown tongue speaketh not unto men, but unto God: for no man understandeth him; howbeit in the spirit he speaketh mysteries."

"He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself."

"Forbid not to speak with tongues."
(1 Cor 14:2, 4, 39)

So what were the results of this new adventure?

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? I the LORD search the heart." Jer. 17:9-10

The first thing God revealed to me was deception. He showed me how much deception existed in my own heart, and He caused me to begin to abhor it. He dealt with these areas of deception one by one. I had never seen how deceitful my own heart was. He caused me to seek and desire truth.

"But when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth." (John 16:13)

God also began to show me the desperate wickedness of my own heart. It took a lot longer to do this, and I am still in that process. I had always admitted that I was a sinner, but I still considered myself to be a pretty good Christian. God stripped all this away and showed me the extent to which my heart was at enmity with Him, how I fled from His ways, how I only sought to please myself, and how I rebelled against Him--all the time. He brought me to grief and repentance over this, and began to change me.

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Interesting Connection

I interrupt this story to bring you this unique circumstance.

Last night I was reading a book called The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life by Hannah Whitall Smith. In this book, I came across the following segment from chapter 18, which surprised me at how nearly it paralleled the thoughts I shared in my last post, though I first journaled these thoughts approximately a year ago and had never read or heard reference to this book until now.

      "If I am really a child of God, then of necessity my heart is already the temple of God, and Christ is already within me. What is needed, therefore, is only that I shall recognize His presence and yield fully to His control.
      "It seems to me just in this way: as though Christ were living in a house, shut up in a far-off closet, unknown and unnoticed by the dwellers in the house, longing to make Himself known to them, and to be one with them in all their daily lives, and share in all their interests, but unwilling to force Himself upon their notice, because nothing but a voluntary companionship could meet or satisfy the needs of His love. The days pass by over that favored household, and they remain in ignorance of their marvelous privilege. They come and go about all their daily affairs, with no thought of their wonderful Guest. Their plans are laid without reference to Him. His wisdom to guide and His strength to protect are all lost to them. Lonely days and weeks are spent in sadness which might have been full of the sweetness of His presence.
      "But suddenly the announcement is made, "The Lord is in the house!" How will its owner receive the intelligence? Will he call out an eager thanksgiving, and throw wide open every door for the entrance of his glorious Guest? Or will he shrink and hesitate, afraid of His presence, and seek to reserve some private corner for a refuge from His all-seeing eye?
     "Dear friend, I make the glad announcement to thee that the Lord is in thy heart. Since the day of thy conversion He has been dwelling there, but thou hast lived on in ignorance of it. Every moment during all that time might have been passed in the sunshine of His sweet presence, and every step have been taken under His advice. But because thou knew it not, and did not look for Him there, thy life has been lonely and full of failure. But now that I make the announcement to thee, how wilt thou receive it? Art thou glad to have Him? Wilt thou throw wide open every door to welcome Him in? Wilt thou joyfully and thankfully give up the government of thy life into His hands? Wilt thou consult Him about everything, and let Him decide each step for thee, and mark out every path? Wilt thou invite Him into thy innermost chambers, and make Him the sharer in thy most hidden life? Wilt thou say "Yes" to all His longing for union with thee, and with a glad and eager abandonment hand thyself and all that concerns thee over into His hands? If thou wilt, then shall thy soul begin to know something of the joy of union with Christ."

Help and Light

God graciously gave me a hint to steer me in the right direction. And HERE begins the good part, that part that I've been waiting to get to. The very reason that I began this whole story back in the summer last year was so that I could lead up to this.

My pastor preached a sermon from Ephesians 3 one Sunday night, and one phrase from verse 17 particularly caught my attention: "That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith." Pastor said he hoped everyone present could say that Christ was dwelling in their hearts, and he went on to say that the Holy Spirit comes in to dwell with every believer at the moment of salvation. I knew that; I believe that, but a new thought struck me.

"If the Holy Spirit indwells me, what kind of house does He find it? Does He feel welcome and at home here?"

I had the realization that no, indeed He does not. I had a vision of the Holy Spirit shuffled away in some dark corner of the house, while I reigned supreme over my life, not even affording Him the slightest courtesy or the barest hospitality. In the little nook under the stairs where I had pushed Him, He was not "in my way" as I bustled about, cleaning here and there, making plans here and there, and taking action on this project or that project, all without consulting Him or even taking time to converse with Him.

How wrong!

If a delegation of ambassadors or dignitaries arrived at my door, I knew how I would treat them. I would dress my best, welcome them graciously, and lay myself out to attend to their slightest wishes. I would be alert to the smallest hints as to how I could better serve them. I would listen to their conversation and be sparing with how much I talked about myself. I would not complain at the length of time they stayed or question the things they wanted to do. I would be at their disposal. They would have the best seats, the best food, and every comfort I could provide for them. Their smallest wish would be granted.

I realized that I needed to get things right with God. He bought me--He redeemed me--He indwelt me--He blessed me with His glorious presence--and I had treated him this way in return.

Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? (1 Cor 3:16)

What? Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's. (1 Cor. 6:19-20)

I got on my knees before God and asked His forgiveness. I said that from now on, I would give Him complete control. I would attend to His slightest wishes. I would take my orders from Him instead of the other way around. I would be shuffled aside into the obscurity of the little nook under the stairs, if He so chose. I surrendered to Him the deed and the key to the house. From now on, He would be the owner.

And do you know what? He accepted it. He didn't treat me like I had treated Him, either. He didn't forget about me in the corner under the stairs, but with the tenderest acceptance and love, drew me out by the hand and gave me a role to participate in the work that He was doing. Furthermore, He set to work, calmly ordering the house back from the sloppy chaos I had left, expertly putting things back to a state of peace and orderliness.

I was amazed at His patience. How did He wait so patiently, knowing exactly what needed to be done, yet allowing me to go on alone, not forcing His way into the picture, but waiting to be invited?

I was amazed at His forgiveness. It was a shame and an offense...an atrocity...an abomination... that the Holy Spirit of God should ever have been so rudely treated, so shoved into a corner, so shut out and marginalized, so dishonored and disrespected. But He forgave me. How I praise Him for His mercy!

Thus I began the adventure of learning how to walk in this new way, yielding to the Holy Spirit's leadership in my life. But the battle wasn't over.

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Get Up Early: Skirmish #2

So then I had this bright idea.

For every day that I didn't get up in time to have my devotions, I would fast the whole day.

"Mwa-ha-ha," I thought gleefully to myself. "This'll teach me!" I do love food, and I was sure that even the bare threat of going without it would be enough to get me up in the morning. However, just to make sure I knew I wasn't bluffing, I made myself the rule that I had to get up on the first ring of the alarm (no hitting snooze). I wrote in my journal that day, "I'm tired of the defeat that sees me, day after day, succumbing to the sleep-god. I can't not learn this."

I admit that I really thought I wouldn't have to carry out my threat on myself. But the second day, I was already fasting. I knew it would take a whole day of fasting to hurt badly enough to be effective, because fasting for one meal, or even two, is so easy for me that it would have no impact on my sleep-ridden brain's reasoning power. That day, I ruthlessly carried out my threat, determined to drive the knife blade into the flesh and kill it till it was dead. I sniffed deliberately whenever there were any food odors to be smelled--and there were some good ones. I deliberately looked at food items so that I could tell myself, "See? You could have had that if you hadn't done that this morning."

But even still, I was thinking I undoubtedly wouldn't have to do it a second time, once the flesh saw I meant business.

Ha.

By the time seven days had passed, I had fasted four of them. After two weeks had passed with me eating only about every other day, I was hungry, thin, and extremely irritable.

I decided it was time to reevaluate. I felt like I could starve myself to death before I would ever give up sleep. I evidently loved sleep much more than I loved food.

Also, I realized that I was fasting in the strength of the flesh. I was wielding a crowbar against myself to try to move myself, but it was about as effective as a tree trying to pull itself up by the roots. No matter how resolved I was, if I was operating in the flesh to try to destroy the flesh, the flesh would wimp out at the last minute and not carry out its threat against itself. And I felt like the more I fought against myself, the more I weakened myself and made myself unfit to continue to fight.

What made things even worse was that when I did get up to pray, my prayer times were duller than ever. Somehow, I just couldn't connect with God. What was wrong with me?

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Get up Early: My Custer's Last Stand

The third aspect of my assignment was to do my devotions first, at the beginning of the day. I never failed to do my devotions, but I did them at night. And it was here that my flesh put up a determined, all-or-nothing fight to not yield. My flesh was NOT going to sacrifice those precious moments of sleep if it could help it.

I must add, by the way, that I had been feeling like I should do this since at least 2006, so this was a long-running struggle going much farther back than the other two assignments. And I found that no matter what I did, I simply could not prevail against myself.

I would go to bed with the best of intentions of getting up early the next day, but sleep would totally erase them from my brain, and by the time the alarm clock rang, the only thing I could think of was indulging in as much sleep as possible before I absolutely had to get up and go to work.

This made me sad, because it was like God would whisper to me, "Do you love sleep that much more than you love me?" I could get up to go to work, but I could not get up to make my appointment with my Savior. I could get up at, say, 3 am if I was going on a trip, but I could not get up at 6 to meet with Jesus. I could get up consistently every day at 6 if I had to be at work by 7, but if my work schedule changed and I didn't have to get there until 9, suddenly I "couldn't" get up at 6 anymore.

The flesh had declared its intentions. No surrender! This is not going to happen.
The spirit declared its intentions. Oh, yes, you are going to do this, and I'm going to fight until I succeed.

And so, the battle raged. And raged. And raged.

One of the early skirmishes involved a plan where I determined to fill out an "Accountability Sheet" that I invented for myself. I set myself a period of one month in which I answered nine questions:

1. What time did you go to bed last night?
2. What time did you get up this morning?
3. Was your alarm set?
4. What did you read in the Bible today?
5. Did you pray today?
6. What time did you leave Edith's? (At the time I was spending the night with an elderly neighbor)
7. Account for the time you spent today. What did you get done?
8. Was there anything else you should have gotten done?
9. Was there anything you did that you shouldn't have done? (In other words, did you waste any time?)

I did this faithfully for an entire month, and I was trying really, really hard to improve. In my mind's eye, I saw a graph of my bed times and waking up times, with a gently descending line that settled on a sensible bedtime and arising time and then fixed there for the rest of the month. My goal was to go to bed at 10 and get up at 6.

When the month was over, I plotted my actual points on a graph in my journal. Here is the graph.

Chaos! I was dismayed. And this was when I was trying. I would hate to see what it was before that. Still undaunted, however, I determined that the fight must go on. "Now I see where I am and how far I have to go," I said to myself. "So I'll do it for another month, and surely I'll see some improvement."

Here is the second month's chart.

Still chaos! Sure, my bedtime evened out. But that was not the point. The point was to work on my waking up time. The point was to arrive to a state where love for God could get me up out of a warm, comfortable bed, to go kneel on a cold, hard floor in prayer, because God was that worth it to me. The point was to achieve self-discipline and go by the rules I had set for myself, not by the frenzy of emotion that the moment of the alarm clock's ring produced in me. The point was to love God more than I loved sleep. Funny how every night before I went to sleep, I could convince myself that finally, today, my love for God was going to be enough to get me up, but every morning when the alarm clock rang, I couldn't think of anything but, "Just give me a few more minutes." And those few minutes inevitably lasted until the moment where I panicked and said to myself, "There's no way I'll be able to get ready and get to work on time if I don't get up." No time now for a quiet hour of stillness before the King of Kings. Now that hour was used up and I barely had time to shower and dress for work.

So that skirmish left me pretty much where I was before. Many more skirmishes were to come.

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