The Lines of Your Likeness

“Oh Lord Jesus, deepen in us our knowledge of you. You have made the first lines of your likeness upon our character; go on with this work of sacred art until we shall be like you in all respects. We wish that we had greater power in private prayer, that we were more often wrestling with the covenant angel. We long for the Word of God to be more sweet to us, more intensely precious—that we had a deeper hunger and thirst after it. Oh, that our knowledge of the truth was more clear and our grip of it more steadfast.

Teach us, oh Lord, to know the reason of the hope that is in us, and to be able to defend the faith against all objections. Plow deep in us, great Lord; and let the roots of your grace strike into the roots of our being, until it shall be no longer I who live, but ‘Christ who lives in me Amen’” (Charles Spurgeon).

I love that imagery. God is chiseling away at His child. With each hammer blow, a little bit of me falls away and more and more of His own likeness remains. What must seem like chaos to the created is simply creation to the One who made us.

The end result is “no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” That means less and less selfishness and petty anger and more and more love, joy, peace, patience, and all the other fruit of the Spirit. The less of me saying and doing what I don’t really want and not doing and saying what I truly desire, and the more I find the life of Christ within me taking root and taking over.

Lord, help Your children to endure patiently as You chisel away all that does not look like You or reflect Your glory. Remind us of the finished product that we are becoming that is worth whatever painful blows and patient waiting we endure. In the morning, You will see Your likeness in us and be satisfied. Amen.

Cup of Sorrow, Cup of Joy

“When we are crushed like grapes, we cannot think of the wine we will become. The sorrow overwhelms us, makes us throw ourselves on the ground, facedown, and sweat drops of blood. Then we need to be reminded that our cup of sorrow is also our cup of joy and that one day we will be able to taste the joy as fully as we now taste the sorrow” (Henri Nouwen).

I love that imagery. I don’t necessarily think that we will at any point sweat drops of blood. That was something Jesus did in moments of extreme anxiety when facing the prospect of the cross. But I do think the sentiment about sorrow and joy is on point.

To think that as much as we taste sorrow now, we will one day taste joy is a joyful statement. As bad as some days are down here, they will be just as good up there. Actually, the worst we go through won’t be able to compete with the best that’s coming. Paul calls it a light and momentary affliction in contrast to the pure joy that awaits.

It’s easy to focus on the crushing and forget the wine that we will become. We can get caught up in how painful the refining process is and neglect that one day Jesus will see His pure reflection in us. What a day that will be. And even in the fire, God is with us.

Letting The Door Close for Good

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I have a picture on my iPhone. It’s me with a friend at Centennial Park, under a picture-perfect summer night sky. I have my arm around her and we’re both smiling. We have just been swing dancing and having a grand time. We look like such good friends.

I had that picture. Up until tonight. I deleted it. I let that proverbial door close. You know. The one almost closed but barely held open by one of those rubbery door stop thingys? The one that once it’s closed you can never re-open?

It’s now closed. I believe her chapter in my life is over. I prayed my goodbyes and grieved over the friendship’s end. My next steps are moving on.

It’s not like she’s a bad person or even that the friendship was wrong. But I think sometimes you have to let go of something that was good– or even very good– in the past to be able to receive God’s future best.

Sometimes you have to say goodbye to your dream in order that God can dream a bigger and better dream in and for you.

So I’m letting a few things — and a few people– go. I hold no bitterness and no more regrets. I cherish the memories but realize that I must move on as they have already moved on.

I can’t wait to see what God has in store for me in the coming weeks and months, but I know it will be good. I love the imagery in this quote from a book I’m currently reading:

““So here’s my thought: Your best thought on your best day falls 15.5 billion light-years short of how great and how good God really is. Even the most brilliant among us underestimate God by 15.5 billion light-years. God is able to do 15.5 billion light-years beyond what you can ask or imagine” (Mark Batterson, The Circle Maker).