Today in Blogworld 07.15.16

How a Busy Mom Can Stay Consistent in the Word

I believe the second one is important.

In Praise of Tim Duncan and Boring Plodders

Tim Duncan has retired without a ton of fanfare. It’s a picture of his career as a plodder. I appreciate this reflection on his great career.

No Bible, No Breakfast

Tim Challies does a great job interacting with this statement.

The Three Verses that Kept Spurgeon from Quitting the Ministry

I needed to read this today.

RC Sproul gives a great illustration of the difference between glorification and sanctification:

Warm Sunshine And Icy Waves

There is a special kind of shock when we lose a loved one. A desperate gasping for air. A well of sadness that we feel trapped in. It is a feeling we do not want, and yet we all have shared in this pain. In these moments God can seem very far from us. We wonder why things happened this way, and what the future holds as we move ahead with a.. hole in our soul, a void left by the loss of those we love. In the 13th Psalm, David experiences despair, but rather than bottle it in he erupts in anguished prayer to God. And he will end, as I hope we all do, in trust to God and his merciful care for us. Listen as David gives vent to his despair.

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” (Psalm 13:1–2)

Four times he asks… “How long.” His cry to God is just like ours when death comes. We feel as though God has forgotten us in our grief. David asks, how long God will hide his face from him. We echo it as the days and nights run together and we wonder where God is as we consider the present pain and the coming future. This aloneness, this wondering where God is, is expressed in taking counsel in our own souls, in ourselves, and in that aloneness our hearts are full of sorrow.

How long shall our enemy death be exalted over us? We grieve the loss of brilliant and bright souls. We miss their humor, steadfastness, and loyalty. Their compassion and love. We grieve for children, grandchildren, friends, spouses. We grieve the great burning light of youth and the steady flames of the elderly. And that’s OK to grieve deeply for this loss. We must. We also grieve because we know, deep in our hearts we know, that death is not how it’s supposed to be. Death is our enemy. But death is not all-powerful. Death will not win the day. Jesus Christ offers eternal life for all who repent and believe in him. He is victorious over death.

David continues, “Consider and answer me, O Lord my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,” lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.” (Psalm 13:3–4)

He turns in his grief to God. He calls out in urgent prayer… Consider and answer me, O lord my God! And we echo with him, O God look upon us for we know you have not forgotten us in our pain. Look on our sorrow, and answer we pray! “Answer” David says, and we echo. Give us a message of your grace and mercy, O God. “Light up my eyes,” he prays.

The despair has reached an unbearable point. And when we have no words left, God still hears you. He hears you! Romans 8:26 says “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)

In your despair, when words are gone, God knows your heart and hears your prayer. We feel as though God is not there but cry out for his comfort. And then we come to realize he’s always been there.

You know in the Spring when the nights are still cold and frost is on the grass? The realization that God is there is like stepping outside on an early spring morning with the chill of winter on our skin only to turn our face to the rising sun and feel warmth flood us. We feel the warmth of God’s Son on us. It doesn’t take the chill of grief out of the air, but it warms us to feel his grace.

And this moment.. after David cries out in increasing desperation, I can almost hear him let a heavy sigh. And then he says… “But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

When you’re grieving, you may not feel that way. But, trusting in God as the Shepherd of your soul, that day will come.

Grief is something like entering the ocean for the first time. The icy waves of grief crash over us, surrounding us. We lose our breath, despair of life, and then… we learn how to stay afloat. Our head breaks above water as we gasp for breath though the waves keep coming. The waves don’t get easier, we just learn how to move with the water.

And my friends, every day the Son shines upon you, and the warmth of God washes over you, though you may not feel like singing now there will be a day that you do. You will look back fondly on the lives of those who have died and remember that they were a manifestation of God’s grace in your lives.

I leave you these words from the Apostle Paul…

“The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (2 Corinthians 13:14)

Today in Blogworld 07.14.16

7 Common Mistakes Search Committees Make

That last one is probably one that smaller churches are more prone to.

It Can Wait

We really are an impatient people.

6 Simple Ways Churches Can Get the Most from Facebook Live

I haven’t used Facebook Live yet, but interesting thoughts here.

He Is Not ‘The God of Second Chances’

Amen. I’ve been trying to say this for awhile, thankful at how well Aaron Wilson communicates this.

Heart Breaking News

You aren’t going to find the joy of Christ on the 6:00 news.

 

I think the funniest thing here is the impression of a Windex bottle:

What If Your Treasure is Rubbish?

I used to enjoy watching Storage Wars. Eventually, it turned into more of a soap opera than anything else so I’ve stopped watching. But I loved the premise of the show; people finding treasure in other people’s trash (or at least things not important enough for them to keep paying their storage unit bill). It was a good representation of the old adage: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.

I’ve been wondering, lately, though if there’s another adage we need to say as believers. The story of the Bible could be summed up as God convincing humanity that our treasures are actually trash compared to that which is truly valuable. It is the sorry story of humanity that we gladly exchange the fountain of living water for cisterns which cannot even hold water. We prefer sludge over the all-satisfying.

The other day as I was counseling someone going through a season of suffering I tried to comfort them with the truth that no Christian has ever died in the furnace. I didn’t mean, that no believer has died in the throes of suffering. What I mean is that Christian faith will always endure the furnace of suffering. The gold of our faith always comes out the other end. The only thing which disappears is the dross.

I’ve always liked this statement from Randy Alcorn from The Goodness of God:

Evil and suffering have a way of exposing our inadequate theology. When affliction comes, a weak or nominal Christian often discovers that his faith doesn’t account for it or prepare him for it. His faith has been in his church, denomination, or family tradition, or in his own religious ideas—but not in Christ. As he faces evil and suffering, he may, in fact, lose his faith.
But that’s actually a good thing; any faith that leaves us unprepared for suffering is a false faith that deserves to be abandoned. Genuine faith will be tested by suffering; false faith will be lost—the sooner, the better.

I’m bothered by how much I like my false faith. I’m bothered by how much I consider the dross of imperfection to be a necessary part of my being. I’m not advocating a posture of kissing the furnace—that’s just sadistic. But I’m saying that the furnace is necessary if I’ve got a ton of dross.

When my heart is prone to anger because God is chiseling away imperfections, it says something about me. It might say that I don’t trust God’s refining work. It might also indicate that I’m a little too in love with the dross in my life. I don’t see it as odious. Here I am wishing that God could somehow see the treasure in my trash—but He’s so radically dedicated to my enjoyment of Him that He will stop at nothing to give me the eyes to see my garbage for what it really is. And he does this not because He is some mean ogre. He does this because I cannot rightly see the beauty of Christ while I’m white-knuckling rubbish and trying to make it fit into a kingdom for which it doesn’t belong.

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