Learning to Suffer Well

This summer I had the privilege of speaking at a CFO Camp.  It was an awesome experience, and I just love the whole organization and the amazing things God during these weeks.  Just spectacular stuff, all around, the people, the program, the location.  There was another speaker there who said this profound thing.  He said his entire presentation had been about learning how to suffer well.  I looked at those around me and thought...wow.  Who wants to know about that?

Henri Nouwen in The Selfless Way of Christ, states that  we like John must diminish and Christ must grow larger in us, evidenced as we walk as he walked.  How did Jesus walk?  Paul says Jesus emptied himself, thinking equality with God was not something that can be grasped, and God raised him up and gave him the position above all.  Not grasping, not pushing, not demanding, but waiting and believing that God will honor what God said he would do.  The end of that sounds good, but....the beginning sounds pretty humiliating.  Who wants to do that?

I am the child Paul ranted and raved at; quit craving milk!  It's time to move on to the meaty stuff, the stuff that requires chewing, that requires digestion, that might even cause some discomfort.  But the milk is good, and it requires little from me and being the baby is the best.  Someone else cares for my needs, someone else has to handle the tough stuff, someone else has to make it all right.  Come and grow is the repeated call, eat some meat, be a big girl.

Somehow sanctification sounds like it would be more fun.  I see a journey along a beautiful country lane, gorgeous array of colors from the lovely flowers and shrubs and trees that line my pathway.  Warm homey cottages that house happy, hospitable people who run out to offer me water, or rest, or even another glass of milk.  From time to time there is a delightful little stream, running clear cool water, gentle sunlight dancing, a comfortable bench here and there to allow me to put my feet in.  There may be a pebble or two along the way that cause me to gently swerve, every once in a great while a dragonfly buzzing past, even (in the far off distance) a small green snake, to remind me that I need to stick to the pathway. It's all very much like the House at Pooh Corners I used to read  with my kids .  Fun, sweet, gentle, joyful, and I become all those things too, just because I can.

This walk through learning to suffer well, emptying myself, becoming nothing,  implies an entirely different pathway.  It winds back and forth and I can't see where it is going to end up.  It climbs stiff hills that make me breathless. The bugs that dive bomb my head, and the massive rocks I fall over, and the short tempered people I meet, are not wearing big smiles or look warm or hospitable.  Instead of offering me water and rest, I am asked for all I have and a little more.  I become exhausted, and hopeless, and lost, and hurting.  Father Gus, from the monastery in  Conyers, GA, once told my friend Valerie that the way to humility was humiliation.  Ouch.  Rather than suffer well, becoming nothing, I am the baby on the side of that path, yelling angrily at God, "You are doing this wrong!"

But I am trying to be better.  I am not excited about this path, honestly.  It is completely petrifying to me, all this unknown twisting and turning.  I don't think I am up to the hiking, and the climbing, and the endurance this stuff takes.  I am fairly sure that I can't do it.  That's a lie, I know I can't.  I can't handle the pain, or do the work that is required.  If God doesn't do it, it wont happen.  Will God do what God says he will do?  Can I really put that kind of trust and confidence, my every hope, my very being?   If I can't, then all is lost.  Seconds drag on and I realize I am holding my breathe.  Is God up to the challenge?

That's the secret of course.  It isn't suffering when you are on the road home, its healing.  I know Who's waiting for me, I know that my arrival is anticipated and my journey will be made with God's strength.  I can't say I am without fear, or that my trust in God is so strong that I will never need to ask the question:  "Are you still in here with me, God? "  Isn't it amazing that God doesn't wait for me to have it all right before we start the journey.   These days God doesn't always hold my hand, or walk where I can see Him.  Sometimes when I look up, I don't see even the reflection of His glory.  I can walk much further than I once could without the constant reminder, but there are places when the path scares me, and the way is very challenging, and I am limping from a particularly tough climb.  Then I fall into a heap and I cry and I ask God again, are you here with me?  God's graciousness abounds and once again He fills me with his love. 

We can suffer well when we suffer in love.  Thanks be to God.

The Light of God's Love

I love to watch the sunlight dance on the water.  The water lies gently sloshing about, stirred by the wind, and the ducks, and the boats in the distance that send ripples out in all directions.  It is pleasant, and pretty, and just watching is often enough to soothe my soul, and invite peace into my troubled heart.  The sound is comforting too, and when I am still and no one else is around, I can hear the sound of the birds, and the bugs, and the water bumping up against drift wood.  I can feel the muscles in my shoulders relax, my heart rate slow down, and my self importance drift away.  Its a truly peaceful place and it makes me happy.  Then, from behind the clouds, the sun pops out and makes the water become alive.  Wherever the sunlight touches the water the movement becomes dance, the diamonds that light up the surface like a million stars.  The peace I am feeling moves over to make room for the joy that bubbles up in me.  I was here to see the water touched by God, and it makes me want to dance too.  The goofy grin is a given, the laughter that wells up in me escapes, and I am quite a sight for any unsuspecting fishermen. 

I have often experienced this feeling on the shores of Kentucky Lake, it is one of my favorite ways to renew.  Unlike the things I have to understand intuitively, or intellectually, or accept by faith,  that one is just experiential.  That one I get, not because I know what is happening, but because I have experienced it happening time and time again.  Every once in a great while God has blessed me with the opportunity to share this experience with others, and that has been even a deeper joy.  When joy is shared it multiplies.

Today, a long way from the water, and in a typically intellectual setting,  the light of God's love burst through and caught me entirely by surprise.  I was listening to a speaker, and enjoying the delivery and the message, relaxing and being so grateful for the time away.  Much like the water, I was listening to words, and calmed by their impact, when the Sonlight  peek from behind a cloud and made them alive.  It was a good message anyway, but when the light of God's love transformed them, I was filled with joy again and I wanted to dance. 

I like to be entertained, and I like to be entertaining.  I enjoy getting to speak or preach when invitations come, and I have always been glad when God has used me to speak to someone.  I am always happy when someone says they learned something new.  I am content if I have been able to hold some one's attention, or kept them awake.  Now I am less satisfied.   I want to share that life giving joy with others, while we watch the light of God's love make dazzling diamonds dance where there were once just words.  If we are given the opportunity to be agents of transformation, why would we settle for knowledge?  Why would we be content with attentiveness?  Why would we settle with entertainment?  I hunger to see the words I am given become alive and bring the light of God in waves of joy, and peace, and love.

I plan on watching the water dance more often.  It's such a blessing, it seems silly to allow busyness to keep me from peace and joy.   I am praying that God will allow the words I speak to reach others with the same life giving opportunity for transformation.  What fun to watch for big goofy grins and hear the laughter bubble up.  Oh Lord, even me.