I Need to Love Something
by Mary Cosby
I need to love something so desperately that the love of it will cast out every fear. A lot of us know about that kind of love. For something, some cause, some combination of wonder that is happening -- to love it so desperately that you move right into it and there is no fear because your love is so great. The highest love is that of the Lord himself. That love can be so focused, so deep, so intense and so related to the call of God that even when I know I'm not "safe" in the surface sense, being faithful to that call I know I'm safe. I know that all things are working together for good for those who are called according to his purpose.
Selah.
Source: Sermon (April 30 1989)
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Monday, February 15, 2010
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thanks for the morning light
The transcendence of thanksgiving
Live your life so that the fear of death can never enter your heart. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light. Give thanks for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. And if perchance you see no reason for giving thanks, rest assured the fault is in yourself.
Chief Tecumseh
Live your life so that the fear of death can never enter your heart. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light. Give thanks for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. And if perchance you see no reason for giving thanks, rest assured the fault is in yourself.
Chief Tecumseh
Monday, September 29, 2008
A word of hope from worm theology
Worms
by Amy Carmichael
And He talks with us in many ways, sometimes through the pleasure of rarely quoted lovely old words, like those from Herrick, who, when in 1647 his all was taken from him, wrote:
But Weigh Me the Fire is what carries me far away from bed and chair today:
And yet, in spite of the help that is given, there is a feeling [I can only call it worminess] that can come, especially between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, when all the fight really seems to be drained out of us. It really is a very horrid feeling, but the word of our God is equal to anything – even to this. At such a time, clear through the fog and stuffiness and the oppression of the enemy, the worminess, came this word from Isaiah: “Fear not, thou worm!”
It was startling; it was so exactly it. There was no smooth saying that things were not as they were. They were wormy. I was wormy. Well then, “Fear not!” He who loves us best knows us best; He meets us just where we are. But He does not leave us there. There is power of the word of the King to effect what it commands. In the Fear not of our God [a word repeated in one form or another from Genesis to Revelation] there is power to endue that which is at the moment most lacking in the one to whom it is spoken – be it courage, or the will to endure, or the will to triumph which easily slips away from us, or the love that we need so much if we are to help others, the love that never fails, or the wisdom which is not in us, and which we must have if we are to make right decisions, or just common hope and patience to carry on in peace and joyfulness of spirit. O Lord, I am nothing before Thee, a worm and no human. Fear not, thou worm.
These various words helped me exceedingly. And yet I know that they may be dumb to some who turn the pages wearily, their strength spent out in the hot land of pain.
In one of Blackwood’s Tales from the Outposts a man, telling of an arid tract of country in Central Africa, despairs of making one who has not experienced that flaming heat understand anything about it:
And so it is that this writing lacks the precise touch to describe the devouring flame of anguish that licks up the last drop of the juice of life. I write from a cooler, easier region than that of many a hospital ward and nursing home. Should this writing find its way to one whose heart is in the fiery wasteland – yes, these words will seem lacking, to you.
But there is One who endured the worst extremity of thirst in His own flesh: we can always know that He has been there, and He has not forgotten, nor will He ever forget, what it is like to be there. He was tempted in all points as we are – including vast unrecorded experiences of suffering. Thus He is able to succor all who are tempted – follow that single line of thought, it is like a track across a desert, and soon we come to deep wells of cool water: Whoever drinks of that water will never thirst. They thirsted not when He led them through the deserts.
Selah.
Amy Carmichael, Rose from Brier, 99-102.
by Amy Carmichael
And He talks with us in many ways, sometimes through the pleasure of rarely quoted lovely old words, like those from Herrick, who, when in 1647 his all was taken from him, wrote:
God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence,
Gives me a portion, giving patience:
What is in God is God; if so it be
He patience gives, He gives himself to me.
But Weigh Me the Fire is what carries me far away from bed and chair today:
Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixed in that watery theatre;
And taste thou them as saltless there
As in their channel first they were.
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdom of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again,
Beshiver’d into seeds of rain;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when summer shakes its ears;
Show me that world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst, then show me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim.
And yet, in spite of the help that is given, there is a feeling [I can only call it worminess] that can come, especially between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, when all the fight really seems to be drained out of us. It really is a very horrid feeling, but the word of our God is equal to anything – even to this. At such a time, clear through the fog and stuffiness and the oppression of the enemy, the worminess, came this word from Isaiah: “Fear not, thou worm!”
It was startling; it was so exactly it. There was no smooth saying that things were not as they were. They were wormy. I was wormy. Well then, “Fear not!” He who loves us best knows us best; He meets us just where we are. But He does not leave us there. There is power of the word of the King to effect what it commands. In the Fear not of our God [a word repeated in one form or another from Genesis to Revelation] there is power to endue that which is at the moment most lacking in the one to whom it is spoken – be it courage, or the will to endure, or the will to triumph which easily slips away from us, or the love that we need so much if we are to help others, the love that never fails, or the wisdom which is not in us, and which we must have if we are to make right decisions, or just common hope and patience to carry on in peace and joyfulness of spirit. O Lord, I am nothing before Thee, a worm and no human. Fear not, thou worm.
“Fear not, thou worm Jacob… I will help thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel, for I, thy God, am firmly grasping thy right hand – I am saying unto thee, Do not fear; I have become thy helper. Do not fear, thou worm.
Do not fear, but sing, ‘Praise the Lord upon earth, mountains and all hills, fruitful trees and all cedars, beasts and all cattle, worms.”
These various words helped me exceedingly. And yet I know that they may be dumb to some who turn the pages wearily, their strength spent out in the hot land of pain.
In one of Blackwood’s Tales from the Outposts a man, telling of an arid tract of country in Central Africa, despairs of making one who has not experienced that flaming heat understand anything about it:
But how describe the thirst and heat of torrid lands to those who simply turn the tap near at hand to secure an endless cooling supply? How describe thirst engendered by effort on foot across miles of stark, shadeless forest, heated by a ball of molten fire, to those who live in temperate, well-watered lands of perpetual verdure? The English language, born in a land of cloudy skies, frequent showers, forest shades and evergreen fields, with water on every side, lacks, and must lack, terms for precise description of heat, thirst and drought.
And so it is that this writing lacks the precise touch to describe the devouring flame of anguish that licks up the last drop of the juice of life. I write from a cooler, easier region than that of many a hospital ward and nursing home. Should this writing find its way to one whose heart is in the fiery wasteland – yes, these words will seem lacking, to you.
But there is One who endured the worst extremity of thirst in His own flesh: we can always know that He has been there, and He has not forgotten, nor will He ever forget, what it is like to be there. He was tempted in all points as we are – including vast unrecorded experiences of suffering. Thus He is able to succor all who are tempted – follow that single line of thought, it is like a track across a desert, and soon we come to deep wells of cool water: Whoever drinks of that water will never thirst. They thirsted not when He led them through the deserts.
Selah.
Amy Carmichael, Rose from Brier, 99-102.
Friday, August 10, 2007
A constancy in battle
"What counts in battle is what you do once the pain sets in." -- John Short
But the helm of her secrecy had fallen from her, and her bright hair, released from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy's eyes...
She should not die, so fair, so desperate! At least she should not die alone, unaided...
Suddenly the great beast beat its hideous wings, and the wind of them was foul. Again it leaped into the air, and then fell swiftly down upon Eowyn, shrieking, striking with beak and claw.
Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise...
-- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Thursday, November 09, 2006
You can refuse the spirit of fear
If God is for us, who can be against us?
I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:31, 37-39
Infectious fear
Amy Carmichael
Have you ever thought how infectious fear can be? It spreads from one person to another more quickly and certainly than any of the fevers we know so well.
You can refuse the spirit of fear, which never comes to us from God. [And if He does not send it to us, who does?] Instead, open your heart wide to the Spirit of “power and love and a calm and well-balanced mind, and discipline and self-control.” Because fear is so infectious, let us, for the sake of others and ourselves, refuse it.
Thank God…! Courage is as “infectious” as discouragement. Haven’t you often felt the cheer and strength that seem to flow from a person whose mind is fixed and firm on God? I have.
And I have been thinking of another, greater reason for rejecting fear.
When we are downhearted or fearful or weak, we are saying to everybody [by the way we look and by our timidity, if not by our words], “After all, the Lord can’t be absolutely trusted.”
Somewhere near us, though we do not see them, are others: Men and women who we can see; and also good angels and evil spirits we cannot see. To all of these, when we give into fear, we say the same dishonoring thing.
We have a Savior who has never once failed us. He will never fail us. He has loved and led and guarded us all these years.
Look to Him now, and pray from the barren bedrock of your heart, if that is the ground you are standing on – “Lord, give me courage!”
I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:31, 37-39
Infectious fear
Amy Carmichael
Have you ever thought how infectious fear can be? It spreads from one person to another more quickly and certainly than any of the fevers we know so well.
You can refuse the spirit of fear, which never comes to us from God. [And if He does not send it to us, who does?] Instead, open your heart wide to the Spirit of “power and love and a calm and well-balanced mind, and discipline and self-control.” Because fear is so infectious, let us, for the sake of others and ourselves, refuse it.
Thank God…! Courage is as “infectious” as discouragement. Haven’t you often felt the cheer and strength that seem to flow from a person whose mind is fixed and firm on God? I have.
And I have been thinking of another, greater reason for rejecting fear.
When we are downhearted or fearful or weak, we are saying to everybody [by the way we look and by our timidity, if not by our words], “After all, the Lord can’t be absolutely trusted.”
Somewhere near us, though we do not see them, are others: Men and women who we can see; and also good angels and evil spirits we cannot see. To all of these, when we give into fear, we say the same dishonoring thing.
We have a Savior who has never once failed us. He will never fail us. He has loved and led and guarded us all these years.
Look to Him now, and pray from the barren bedrock of your heart, if that is the ground you are standing on – “Lord, give me courage!”