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Ugliness. That is how my attitude has been recently; flat out ugly and spewing filth without much effort. It doesn't take much. To be honest, it is aimed in one direction and I feel it boiling up, but haven't tried to keep the lava inside the mountain. I just let it rip and then I feel bad.
What is the solution? Like an earthquake fault, I keep swallowing the frustration and then I just rumble. I know that so much of the rumblings is due to being tired of the "trial" that we have lived in for so long. But did Paul rumble when he was tired of the trials he under went? I don't think so! He was in jail and sang. He was ship wrecked and joyfully built the fire. He had trials that normal people like me don't encounter and I don't see much complaining on his part. He knew how to be content in all things. What about me? Why can't I be content and sing in this jail? Why don't I let the earthquake I feel rumble under my chest, shake the chains from my heart and the locks on the gates, so that I can live in contented freedom, no matter what and whom I am living with.
I think humility is what Paul had that I lack. I think he had literally seen the Lord and knew how to keep his eyes on the Author and Finisher of his faith. I think that his humility came because he saw the Lord and saw himself as the most wretched of sinners and didn't have a problem admitting this to anyone. He was transparent and vulnerable and used by God.
I bubble up and words come spewing and then shame overwhelms. At least I know the Holy Spirit is doing His job; I sense His promptings even before the ugly comes flying out. If only there was gaffers tape to cover the lips. But the lips speak what is in the heart and there in lies the problem. I do what I do not want to do. I think what I do not want to think. I feel what I do not want to feel. Oh wretched girl that I am.
There are so many things bombarding me these days and all I can do is hang on for dear life. Hang on to "The Dear Life" to help me. Thank you Jesus that you don't walk away when my lava flows. When the earthquake in my heart shakes and steam pours out. You see it before it even reaches the surface and somehow, some way you love me just the same. You will change this ugliness into something beautiful. Only You can take a broken pot and make it a glorious work of art, ugliness turned into beauty, vileness polished to a crystal pure shine, and an alabaster jar to be used by the Master, even in her unfinished raw form.
Whatever happened to those confident, proud words, "I'm going to sing before and all the way through this Red Sea journey! I'm not going to be like the Israelites and panic, only singing praise to God after He has rescued me. No, I am going to sing in the face of danger!" It sounds like a super hero flick: high tech, special effects, dazzling the audience with theme music that invigorates the soul, not my Christian faith. It looks like Peter, "I will die for you Lord!" and then, "I don't even know the man!" This is me in the flesh, trying to brave the great unknown, smile in place, courageous words of faith spoken like a Biblical champion of old, yet lying face down in a muddy puddle of my tears, fears and failure. When all I could see was the puddle and it brought fear and anguish, Satan had done his job and done it well. One can't sing to the Lord through the trials of life with dirt in one's throat and eyes full of dusty tears, focused on the little bit of earth one is lying on.
Like a bad horror flick where the heroine braves the scary, dark, eerie music infested woods, seeking the monster but then turns, running blindly, recklessly for safety, tripping, crashing to the ground, only to crawl painfully toward the perceived safety ahead, while hot scorching, wretched beast breathe is searing her neck.......this is my episode of foolish bravery gone awry. I know that I am not alone in this haunted wood, many have passed this way before me.
Was my intention of singing in the rain, praising in the storm misguided? Never are godly, biblical intentions wrong. But singing in my own strength and getting my power to do so from the admiration of on lookers was doomed to fail. Striking out alone in the woods to meet the enemy, with only the good wishes and cheers of others, was foolish at best. On- lookers and friends come around at an initial crisis, a hero syndrome all of it's own, and when the crisis grows too lengthy, dull or inactive, or even a better cause arises elsewhere, the helpful crowd of cheerleaders abandon their posts of cheer and wait for the funeral announcement instead. When one's support system crumbles, so does one's strength to go on singing. Suddenly, the heroine loses her status, the mood turns dark and the end of the song comes prematurely.
Brave words, spoken in truthful abandon to God, don't fall on His ears as meaningless ramblings, yet He knows that the very pledge to remain strong in the face of difficulty is humanly impossible and therefore I am in need of a Savior. He knows that the heart felt pomp and dedication to start strong for Him, to put a good foot and face forward, would fail from a human effort if the trial went longer than the well intentioned stamina. So should the heroine not claim victory prior to the dangerous, ominous fight? Should the bold statement, "I will sing before the Red Sea parts, before deliverance!" have not been spoken at all? Spoken words of dedication to God and trust in His promises and ability to deliver are never mis-spoken words. But had the heroine made it through in her own strength of song, where would the need for God's hands of forgiving grace and mercy have come in to pick her up, wipe off the salty, mud streaked cheeks and carry her to deliverance and victory in His perfect strength, while gaining all the glory and honor due His Name?
The heroine and the song are part of God's great story. He is the Author and Protagonist. It is an autobiography in which the heroine plays a minor role in order for God to come in and slay the dragon and save the day. The confidence, though well placed, initially, wore away when the struggle became to oppressive to continue on in one's own song. And so, the theme music changes, though the struggle remains, and the focus is no longer on the heroine or even when or how the saving will come, but on the Writer Himself, as He narrates how the story will climax and eternally shine into the annuls of Great Stories of God.
Sing before, in, through, and in spite of the storm. Sing songs of deliverance, songs of joy and songs of pain- for they are all part of the great musical epic that God is directing in each of our lives.
