Perspective of Pain

Have you read The Hiding Place?

I know that many people say "every this type of person should do this" about many things, but I do believe that this is a book that every Christian should read. In fact, if the story of Corrie ten Boom and her family does not come readily and quickly to mind, you should read it again. If you're too lazy (and don't quickly say you're too busy-I bet you could spare at least ten minutes each day and finish it in a week or two), at least watch the movie.

My sister was listening to the Family Radio Theater production of it, and I started thinking. Honestly, I felt like crying as I pondered perspective.

Perspective. The word comes from Latin, literally meaning to see through.

Perspective is something that Betsy had.

Betsy, for those of you who had to put The Hiding Place next on your reading list, is Corrie's sister who was with her in the concentration camp. As I considered Corrie's anger and how Betsy corrected her sister, the weight of the difference between their lives and ours pressed deeply on me.

Are you struggling to forgive someone who has wronged you? Perhaps a sibling is mean to you intentionally. Perhaps someone you thought was your friend lied to you. Maybe it was even something as terrible as your parents divorcing.

Imagine someone betraying you, for money, causing your family to be torn apart, your innocent, beloved father and sister to die, and you to lose your family, your friends, and your freedom.

Then, imagine forgiving him. Praying that the Lord will bless him and his family. Having sympathy for his pain.

Makes you feel pretty selfish for remembering when that kid was mean to you at youth group years ago, doesn't it?

Are you struggling with loneliness? Perhaps you lost someone you loved. Perhaps you look with longing at your friends who are married. Perhaps you haven't been able to spend time with people as much as you wish. Perhaps no one understands what you're going through.

Imagine leaving your home--not for a new one, but for a concentration camp, leaving behind everyone you care for, many of whom are in serious danger, knowing that some of them have died, that many you will never see again--and all of this in the discomfort of a barren place.

Imagine your pain made harder by knowing your husband is enduring the same thing on the other side of the fence, while you are unable to comfort or even be with him, and that each time you see him, it is likely that it may be the last time.

Imagine hearing shots nearby, not knowing if it is someone you love that was killed.

Makes you appreciate your comfort more, doesn't it?

Are you struggling with physical pain? Are you tired? Is your work hard?

Imagine being weak with lack of food, beaten, with no physical comforts, medicine, or doctors--and yet getting no sympathy, but being continually forced to more difficult manual labor than you have probably ever experienced?

Make your weariness easier to bear?

I could go on. My point in this is not at all to diminish what you are enduring. Who knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man? God remembers that we are but dust. A bruised reed He will not break. "No one knows the trouble I've seen," is true, aside from God. One thing that I think our culture, perhaps, gets wrong is thinking that because x goes to a greater degree than y, y doesn't have any significance. Just because someone does something better or endures more than you doesn't invalidate your experience. But that is a topic for another post.

What is my point, then? Maybe it's for I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed.

Then again, maybe I am diminishing what you're enduring.

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace."

That's perspective.

It's amazing how Christianity makes everything matter-and nothing. Nothing earthly. And yet, suddenly everything does matter. Are the barracks full of fleas? That doesn't matter. And yet, they matter immensely--for how we respond to them has eternal, profound significance.

And that was why I felt like crying myself as I heard Corrie weep as she prayed for the man who by our perspective destroyed her family and begged God to forgive her for harboring bitterness against him. Because my perspective, our perspective, is so much shallower than that.

Betsy showed Corrie that if she loved God, not only did she have to accept her father's death, but being betrayed--and having fleas. Things difficult and enormous, and things relatively small and just annoying. She saw through the appearances of this physical world to what truly mattered behind it.

O what joy we would have if we could have this heavenly perspective continually in our lives!

Surrendering Desires

Lately I have been discontent. Even to me, it seems silly. How greatly the Lord has blessed me! How can I be ungrateful?

Yet I have been discontent. Why? Because of desires.

For the most part, my desires are not, to my knowledge, wrong. God gives us desires-imagine life without desires. If such a life were possible, it would not be a righteous life.

But we are called to die to self. That what we long for is good does not mean that we have a right to it.

For example, I have been discontent in my relationships with my friends. Often, they are busy and when I feel the need to talk to someone, it doesn't happen until the issue feels less pressing. The conversation I expect to happen does not. The person I want to see doesn't come. This has happened over and over again.

These are not bad desires that I should root out of my life. God has given us each other. Fellowship is good; iron sharpens iron. The older women are to teach the younger women, so the younger women must be willing to be taught. We are commanded to love one another.

However, over and over, when I want someone's opinion, it somehow doesn't work out. (Of course, in these lower moments, all those times I was encouraged by a friend are conveniently forgotten.) I've come to see the Lord trying to teach me. But I haven't learned, so it happens again. It's as if He's saying, You must rely on Me. I can fulfill your needs. Come to Me. Ask of Me.

But I want to ask a person. I want to hear someone say, This is what I would do. I understand how you feel. I think if you do this it will honor the Lord.

I want to please the Lord. But so often I don't want to come to Him myself. I want a mediator. My first impulse is not to turn to Christ. Many times, I start to pray, and then I start to imagine a conversation with a friend. If I asked her this, she would say... rather than God says. And so, in order to teach me to rely first on Him, He removes my other supports.

These other supports aren't bad, mind you. Just distracting from The Support.

So, in this and other desires, I long for something good (peace in the Lord, for example) and seek to fulfill it in a good way (comfort from His people) but neglect the best way (finding peace that passes understanding in Him), so God must remove those good ways, until I learn to use the best way.

It reminds me of a verse from Isaiah, which isn't exactly the same idea, but relates.

“Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
  And your wages for what does not satisfy?
  Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good,
  And delight yourself in abundance."



Why do we settle for dust when God offers us gold?

Because we do not see with eyes of faith, and only with eyes of faith does this make sense.

How can a relationship that isn't physical, isn't visible, tangible, or audible be enough? How can I be satisfied with something I cannot see?

I guess that's why it's called peace that passes understanding.

That was a long tangent from discussing discontentment. However, it's something I've been  considering a lot, this idea of relying on the good things God gives us, such as godly friendships, rather than Him, and something I think most people are tempted to be discontent in.

Any desire has the temptation of bringing discontentment, no matter how good that desire is. For example, I want to have a mission, a clear purpose, specifically to make a difference in the lives of the fatherless-whether literally fatherless or not-but those who are aching because they do not know peace and are disillusioned with the world.

Of course, this is a good desire. It is in line with Scripture, which calls us to love one another and care for the orphan and widow (which I see as a broad category).

When, last year, I was inspired to live an eternity-focused life, one of the things my friend and I caught a vision of was to have lived a biography-worthy life. To be like George Mueller, Amy Carmichael, Gladys Alward. To not have people wonder, when someone says at your funeral, "She was such a godly woman, always serving the Lord," if they aren't exaggerating a bit, what they're exactly referring to. To have people point to you and say, "That person changed my life," and it be obvious, more than, "She was my friend and encouraged me."

Again, this isn't a bad desire, necessarily. Over and over again in Scripture, God speaks of reward, of honor, of having a good name. "A good name is better than riches," Proverbs says.

But our ideas of serving the Lord aren't always His. As I discussed with my friend yesterday, He is more interested in obedience than in sacrifice. Our works are our sacrifice, but our heart's attitude is more important. God doesn't need our service.

So, desiring to have this ministry, I can become discontent. I have often thought I would not want to marry a rich man (and by rich I don't mean super rich). To learn to deal with wealth would be a struggle for me. I do not want to live "the American dream," to simply have a nice house in a neighborhood, a steady job, four kids, and spend my time taking kids to soccer practices. Even if I add a dozen kids to that American dream, I am not content with that picture. I want something more exciting. More eternally significant.

Yet I am afraid this has more to do with my pride than any desire to please God. How spiritual I am, when I don't care about money, how I look, pop culture, watching movies, the latest trends.

Would I be willing to live a "regular, boring" life, with two public schooled kids, a dog, a comfortable income, in a nice little neighborhood? I am afraid not.

And yet, that is no less honoring to God. It is eternally significant. It is not doing God service to become a missionary when He's calling you to this sort of life. To obey is better than sacrifice.

And, ironically, I realize that were I to get exactly what I want (and do I even know what that is? No, I don't), I would be discontent. You see it over and over again: desire to be older-then you wish you were younger. Desire a job-you wish you didn't have to work. Desire to be married-you miss doing things you could before and long for children. Get children-you resent the necessary sacrifices. Tire of young kids-they grow, and you wish they were young.

I want a special ministry, but what if God called me to be a missionary? I have never wanted to go and be a missionary, because I never wanted to leave home or family. Everything I want, I know I would still be discontent if I got it.

So I've been learning, I must surrender my desires. Do I want to spend time studying Scripture with friends? Do I want to have some "special" calling? Do I want a dozen kids? Do I want to mentor hopeless girls? No matter how good the desire, I must give it up. I must be willing to live without it. I must not think God needs my help, or that in order to please Him I must serve in whatever way I think I should.

Then, I think, God will probably give back my desires. I do have good friends who challenge me spiritually. I probably will get married and have a bunch of home schooled kids. Most likely I'll never be rich. I probably will lead a Kid's Club or in some way work with practical orphans. These things aren't really the issue.

It's interesting how God works. He prepares us so well for a role-and then He calls us to something totally different. Like Paul, who knew Judaism inside and out-and was sent to the Gentiles. He calls us to what we are unprepared for, so that we learn to trust in Him. So that we realize that whatever we're doing isn't what satisfies us. It's only Him.

Talking about writing with my friend, I had an idea for a story, which I suddenly really wanted to do. We were talking about how our characters became real to us, how we would like to meet them in real life. What if they did? I wondered. Then, I thought it would be interesting to write a story with you, the author, in it, and have the characters come to life.

(About now, if you're actually reading this long post, you're wondering what this has to do with the topics at hand. Don't worry; I shall explain.)

As I imagined this, I laughed and said to my friend something like, "They might not like what you're doing." So, these characters would come out of the story into real life because of this terrible situation they are in and complain to you, the author. Get us out of this situation! they would cry. Why would you do this to us? Whining, they would try to get you to write it differently.

But you, as the author, can see the end. You know that if you rewrite the story as the characters wish you would, the ending would be messed up. No, you tell them gently, it has to be this way. Don't worry-it'll turn out all right. You send them back into the story, and despite enjoying your characters, you do not change it for all their pleading. Because you can see the end.

It wasn't until I explained this idea for a book to my friend that I realized the implications you doubtless saw immediately. I felt silly even mentioning them to her since they were so obvious. "The intellectual parallels of that would be cool," I said. "That's just like our relationship with God."

He sees the ending. We see where we are. We think that if God wrote it this way or that way, it'd be much better. But God knows how to work it out, and it's not by making sure the characters are always content and happy.

And for that reason, it would be best if the characters choose to be content and happy, knowing that the Author knows what He's doing, and His way will work out best. Even when His ways seem to be contrary to His own goal (as I wrote in my poem a couple months ago). Even when it seems that He's putting us through unnecessary heartache or trouble.

Sometimes as a parent, you deny a child their desire, not because you don't want them to have that, or because you are unkind, but because of that child's attitude. Were they to change it, you would immediately grant their request. Because you understand that character is more important than comfort.

Somehow, however, these things we know get forgotten and do not transfer when we need to apply them to our lives, to some specific situation. If we trust that God is our good Father, why do we try to hold onto what we want? If He doesn't give it to us, He has something better. Maybe not better in our eyes, but do we want to trust our vision?

Right about now is where I wish I could give you a magic formula which, after using, you would always be willing to give up anything God asked of you. However, there isn't one. God doesn't work by formulas. He works by relationships. And relationships are hard and messy and take work as long as there's sin in the world.

I wish there was a formula, so I could use it. After surrendering my desires, they returned, and I have to do it again. Every time I am tempted to rely on something, anything, other than Christ, I have a choice. Too often I choose to surrender to my desires rather than surrendering my desires to Christ.

"Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart."

It is good to know that not only will God fulfill our desires, but He will conform our desires to His. So what is the secret to contentment, to surrendering our desires? The secret to all trouble: knowing Christ. Conforming to Him. It is only as we lose sight of Him and focus on our life on earth that we can be discontent. We have Christ-what else do we need?

Trusting the Father

This would be good, Father,
Isn't it clear?
It's a good way to
Draw You and me near.
That is the goal, Father,
Do You not know?
I see no better way
We can do so.
Here's a good work, Father,
That I should do.
Don't You want me to
Do service for You?
It's a command, Father,
You Yourself gave-
I am just trying
To follow Your ways.
What do You mean, Father,
That I must submit?
Why else would I
Want to do it?
To honor You, Father,
Has been my aim.
To make all my goals
And Yours the same.
Submit to You, Father,
In all that You say?
Though it may seem
To pull You away?
What do You mean, Father?
This will not do!
I thought that the goal
Was drawing to You.
Just trust in You, Father?
Submit to Your ways?
Lean not on my wisdom,
But simply obey?
But this is hard, Father!
I'll do what you ask,
But I want to know why
Before doing my task.
Never mind why, Father?
Just obey Your Word?
Worry for nothing,
Just do what I've heard?
This seems foolish, Father,
Yet I will obey.
You are omniscient
So what can I say?
I trusted You, Father,
Many times before
And You've always shown
You're worthy of more.
I'll follow You, Father
And in Your will rest.
Though I don't understand,
You work for my best.
So show Yourself, Father,
Once again true.
Though it goes against wisdom,
 My trust is in You.

~ Jeannette Beerbower, April 4, 2013