"The Lord Jesus received is holiness begun; the Lord Jesus cherished is holiness advancing; the Lord Jesus counted upon as never absent would be holiness complete." |
It turns out there's method to His madness, if I may use the expression. And it's the most amazing honor. Good grief no, hovering in mid-air having had all the rugs pulled out from under you does not feel like an honor. But learning to count upon the Lord Jesus as never absent is an exceedingly holy lesson. Abraham learned it on Mount Moriah. David learned it wrestling with lions and bears. Oswald Chambers learned it from four years of agonizing spiritual wilderness.
Show me a saint who remains steadfast, joyful, and calmly focused on the purposes of the Lord even as the world is collapsing, and I'll show you a saint who has learned by some type of personal trial of fire that the Lord is always faithful.
As I was returning on Saturday from an errand, I passed a self car wash. Nearby (presumably a parent was busy washing the car), there were two children. One was a big sister; the other was small child of about one, who had clearly just learned to walk. The big sister was excitedly putting her arms out to her little brother as he walked towards her. It made me laugh with delight.
Not two minutes later, at the end of the next street, I passed a father teaching his child to ride a bike. This time it made me want to cry...
Oh, my Father. I get it. You took me past these scenes as a picture of You and me. You're not mad at me for falling. And You have always been faithful. Even when I've felt like You've left me alone to fail.
What if a mother never let go long enough for her child to learn to walk? What if a father hung onto the back of the bike forever?
I needed to fail to see that You have been asking me to let go of what I thought I knew, and to depend on You alone. To see how deeply my disobedience and foolishness dishonors You. To let this break my heart.
When I was a spiritual babe in arms, You let me sleep, unaware of these things. As I began to grow and learned to cherish You more and more, You began to pull Your hand off the back of the "bike." Now you want me to ride, to walk, unaided by anything but Your power and love.
My human father wasn't able to teach me to ride a bike; he couldn't bring himself to let go and watch me fall. It took a friend who thought I was crazy not to know how to ride a bike yet to teach me. She laughed at my spills, but she also let go, and I finally learned to ride. You are not like her. You don't laugh at me or think I'm crazy not to know certain things yet. But You do teach us the hard lessons when we're willing to learn. Thank You, precious Father, for the beginning of this holy lesson.
I've fallen. It hurts.
But You will sustain me. Like my human father, You will be always there to cleanse the wound, and to administer Your holy version of band-aids, salve, and a hug.