This morning, as I sat at my kitchen table, a Bible open in front of me, drinking in the quiet and scratching out much-needed truths into my too-long-neglected journal, I was all at once overwhelmed by the beauty, the hope, and the comfort that is found in Jesus. 

It was the first day of a study in Hebrews, and I had meant to read some background works, study commentaries, and make my way methodically through the first chapter or two. I confess that I felt no peculiar expectation as I prepared to do so; I made coffee, sat down, and began to read in a very routine sort of way. But from the first few verses of the book, I found myself completely captivated, eyes filling with tears, the familiar words taking on new life and depth. 

He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high…

— Hebrews 1:3 (ESV)

How remarkable it is that in a single moment of having one’s eyes opened anew to the glory and perfection and power of Jesus Christ, the tumult and ugliness of the world becomes so quiet, so small. Reading these words, I felt a tangible weight slip from my shoulders as the reality of who my Savior is took its rightful place at the forefront of my attention. 

“He upholds the universe by the word of his power.” How much anxiety, fear, distress, and striving would be saved if we lived constantly in the recognition of this truth? More than we can fathom. Adding to that the ultimate purification of sins, once for all, made on our behalf, the command to “be anxious for nothing” (Philippians 4:6) seems suddenly so sensible and attainable. 

Then came the following statements—newly alive and brilliant and filled with marvelous hope, leaping from the page and placing all things in proper focus. 

Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.

— Hebrews 2:8b–9 (ESV)

This year has been one in which the brokenness of the world has been acutely evident—each day bringing with it a fresh reminder of our desperate need for a Savior. And, for my own part, there have been many moments of deep frustration and sadness in surveying the state of humanity.

But here we are reminded that everything, everything, has been placed in subjection to Him. And while we may yet be living in the in-between, still suffering the pangs of sin and death, we see Him. We see His sacrifice and the living hope that has been given to us. We see His resurrection and the promise that He will come again to take us to Himself, that where He is we may be also. (John 14:3) We see Him. And we understand in the seeing that He has made a way, that He has completed His work, and that all will be made new when He returns in glory. We see Him. And that is enough. What miraculous truth! 

The Gospel is the answer for the desperate state of our region, our nation, our world. This has always been true. But this morning I understood it with fresh clarity and weight, and for that I am supremely thankful. 

During these first two months of 2018, I’ve made my way steadily through the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Old Testament). These books are rich (though at times rather plodding), but this morning’s reading struck my heart anew in ways I did not expect.

As Moses is preparing the children of Israel—after 40 years of wandering—to take possession of the land that was promised them, he stirs in their minds all that they have seen and received and leaves them with a sobering charge.

Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children’s children…

…watch yourselves very carefully. Since you saw no form on the day that the Lord spoke to you at Horeb out of the midst of the fire, beware lest you act corruptly by making a carved image for yourselves, in the form of any figure, the likeness of male or female… (emphasis mine)

— Deuteronomy 4:9,15–16 (ESV)

Firstly, the exhortation to “keep your soul diligently” stirred me profoundly. And the implications of neglecting this charge, “lest you forget” what the Lord has done, grounded me afresh.

We are forgetful creatures.

Speaking for myself, as one hopelessly absent-minded, I need constant reminders of who He is and what He has said. I can’t rely on my own recollection. I need to look to His word every day, to get into His presence, and to be reminded of His character, His majesty, and His nature—so infinitely beyond my own.

Secondly, Moses warns Israel against the temptation to create for themselves a god in the likeness of an earthly creature, “since [they] saw no form on the day that the Lord spoke”.

How entirely human it is to create an “image” to suit our own preferences in order to grasp and control that which is beyond us.

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In his book, A Grief Observed, the incomparable CS Lewis reflects on a similar phenomenon that I believe each person has experienced in some capacity—though few of us are actively aware of it.

Grieving the loss of his wife, Lewis observes:

I am thinking about her nearly always. Thinking of the H. facts—real words, looks, laughs, and actions of hers. But it is my own mind that selects and groups them. Already, less than a month after her death, I can feel the slow, insidious beginning of a process that will make the H. I think of into a more and more imaginary woman. Founded on fact, no doubt. I shall put in nothing fictitious (or I hope I shan’t). But won’t the composition inevitably become more and more my own? The reality is no longer there to check me, to pull me up short, as the real H. so often did, so unexpectedly, by being so thoroughly herself and not me. (emphasis mine)

The most precious gift that marriage gave me was this constant impact of something very close and intimate yet all the time unmistakably other, resistant—in a word, real. Is all that work to be undone? Is what I shall still call H. to sink back horribly into being not much more than one of my old bachelor pipe-dreams? Oh my dear, my dear, come back for one moment and drive that miserable phantom away. (emphasis mine)

— CS Lewis, A Grief Observed

Later, he reflects on meeting an acquaintance whom he had not seen for 10 years and describes the experience as akin to meeting a stranger.

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The human mind is inclined to “fill in gaps”. Our memories of others so quickly become subject to our own processes, preferences, and perspectives, and—when not confronted by the subject themselves—will all too soon replace them with an image of our own making, a frail echo of the person we knew.

We need this friction of other, separate beings colliding with us, in order to save us from sinking into the smallness of our own limited experience.

This is no different in our relationship with the living God.

If I am not faithful to seek for an encounter with His nature each day, I risk being overcome by my own crooked perceptions.

I am challenged anew today to “seek the Lord at all times”, and to never rely upon my own limited understanding or corrupted remembrance of His goodness to me.

The holy, infinite Creator of the universe is utterly beyond my comprehension. His attributes cannot be replicated by my frail imaginings or projections. My humanity will never do Him justice.

It is only in constant communion with His Spirit, and constant study of His Word that I can vigilantly refresh my understanding of who He is and what it means to serve Him.

2017 has been a year full of surprises, growth, and unexpected blessings; and, even as I shake my head at the rapidity with which it has flown past, I find myself entering this Thanksgiving season keenly aware that I have much to be grateful for.

There isn’t time to detail the list in its entirety—and even if there was, I’m sure there would be many things overlooked—but as I sit and reflect on the year and its blessings, three things stand out as continual threads.

#1 — Fruitful occupation

I’m grateful to have the freedom, opportunity, and ability to engage in meaningful work. I’ve been blessed with so many avenues of service, not to mention the health and ability to steward them well.

Both in vocation and in simple, every day occupations, I have been given the opportunity to sow into a lasting kingdom—so much greater than me and the short span of my life—along with the sacred privilege of investing in the lives of others.

And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.

1 John 2:17 (ESV)

In a world of fading pleasures, upon which our time is short and fleeting, there is an ache in each one of us to leave a lasting mark. And I am so thankful to serve a God who has “[made] known to me the paths of life”,  promising “fruit that remains” as a reward for a life given to His service.

#2 — Inexhaustible grace

Patience is not a virtue that I come by naturally, but it is one that I have benefited from in overabundance.

Surrounded by friends, family, leaders, and a community that have graciously allowed me the opportunity to learn, to grow, and to make many mistakes, I have gained a rich picture of the overwhelming grace that has been given us by an unfailing source.

Frail and wavering though we are, we find in our weakest moments the unending strength and provision of a God who is quick to forgive our faults, to shower us with kindness, and to equip us with everything needed for the life He has called us into.

As I seek after Him, frequently faltering and tripping over my own inability, I find again and again that His grace is both inexhaustible and ever available.

#3 — Unconditional love

Above all things, I have been the recipient of unconditional, unwavering love. Freely and eagerly, Jesus has poured out to me a love both astounding and humbling, and which I could never conjure in myself, nor hope to earn by my own merits.

In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.

I John 4:10 (NKJV)

It is this truth upon which I build my life with endless gratitude and wonder. To be so loved by One so worthy is a reality that leaves me speechless and inspires me to greet each day with joyful expectation.

This love is reflected by those with whom I have the privilege of sharing my life—and who have poured into it so generously—by wonderful parents, siblings, friends, mentors, and leaders, that are an incredible gift for which I am inexpressibly grateful.

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As the year approaches its conclusion and we enter a season of celebration and reflection, I’m thankful for a God whose love is perfect and unfailing, and who has given me the faculty to recognize the many ways in which I have been blessed.

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, And He delights in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; For the Lord upholds him with His hand. I have been young, and now am old; Yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken…

— Psalm 37:23–25a (NKJV)

Though he fall… I fall daily. Hourly. My immeasurable weakness is so vast that at times I can’t see anything else. At the mercy of my own ability, I would be utterly lost and overwhelmed. In fact, at times, when my faith in my own frailty eclipses the glory that is the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I am overwhelmed; I do feel lost.

For I know that nothing good dwells in… my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing… Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?

— Romans 7:18–19,24 (ESV)

This internal struggle is one that resonates in my heart with each reading as I recognize all too well the frustration of one who desperately desires the holiness of God, but who is at every turn buffeted by their own broken humanity.

But this struggle is not meant to be the place that I stake my hope. It ought to be acknowledged, yes, but then used to feed continually the deep wells of gratitude that erupt within my being at the subsequent truth:

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, He condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit.

— Romans 8:1–5 (ESV)

In light of this truth, where do I place my trust? If the answer to this question is in my ability to be all that I ought to be, then I am without hope. If the answer is in the love and acceptance of others, I may feel temporarily secure, but everything that can be shaken will be shaken, and I have seen enough of humanity to know that this pillar will crumble beneath the full weight of my dependency.

No—in light of this truth, I must place my hope entirely in Jesus Christ and the righteousness that He imputed to me when He took on “the likeness of sinful flesh” and was crucified in my place.

And it is because of this gift of righteousness that the following promise is mine: Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholds him with His hand. I am free to entrust myself to the steadying hand of my Savior, who, though I fall, will not allow me to be utterly cast down, but promises to uphold me by His own incomprehensible wisdom and strength, and to refine me continually until the day that I am transformed in His presence.

I fall daily, but I am not cast down.

O God, You are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh faints for You, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon You in the sanctuary, beholding Your power and glory…

— Psalm 63:1–2 (ESV)

The past week has been a whirlwind. So much has transpired and I find that my mind is reeling. I have come face to face with my own frailty and have experienced the power of the Holy Spirit flowing through an empty vessel. I have been utterly spent and have found myself perfectly positioned to be used for the purposes of the Almighty, entirely dependent and sustained by His grace. I need Him. So desperately. I have encountered this need with a new intensity this week and have discovered the glory of a Holy God in a capacity that I never dreamed possible.

For the past 10 days I have been in Alhaurín de la Torre with a missions team from my local church; we have spent the past week staffing an English immersion camp for children. This experience has been wonderful, stretching, heartbreaking, and exhausting. I find that when I look at these children my heart aches. I see their hurts and their fears; I perceive in their eyes and their antics a fierce desire for love and acceptance. I see their desperate need for a Savior and can hear the cry of their hearts, echoing my own: “…my soul thirsts…as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”

Young as they are, they have already felt keenly the brokenness of mankind; they have discovered their own fallenness and have been wounded by the sin of others.

As I watch them learn and discover, as their hearts soften and they begin to allow our friendship and love, I am overcome with the Father’s heart for each and every one. What a privilege it is to minister to those He loves!

Meanwhile, during the time that we have spent here in Alhaurín, much has transpired at home in the United States. We have heard story after story of violence and tragedy. Our hearts grow heavy with the weight of every act of cruelty and injustice, every breaking wave of sorrow and grief. America is truly a dry and weary land. Spain is a dry and weary land. Mankind is weary… weary of injustice, weary of hatred, weary of cruelty, hopelessness, and depravity… weary of sin.

This weight can grow so overwhelming—my heart breaks for the desperation of humanity. But in the midst of it all there is hope! There is hope in the Lord. There is hope in Jesus Christ, our rescuer, our redeemer, Jesus Christ, who came and walked our broken road, who conquered death and sin. Jesus Christ, our substitute, the perfect and spotless Lamb of God. My hope is in Him. He ministers to my soul as I pour it out for these children. He uses me, frail as I am, as an instrument to refresh their thirsty hearts. He is an oasis in a dry and weary land.

Because Your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise You. So I will bless You as long as I live; in Your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise You with joyful lips, when I remember You upon my bed, and meditate on You in the watches of the night; for You have been my help, and in the shadow of Your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me.

— Psalm 63:3–8 (ESV)

I call to mind His goodness and His mercy, His perfect, boundless love, and I find my soul refreshed. I find my rest in the shadow of His wings. To Him my soul will cling, and I will rejoice in His victory, in the fount of living water that He has planted in my soul. I will praise Him with joyful lips and serve Him all the days of my life. In Him alone do we find our hope – Lord, come and refresh our land!

This morning I sat out on the balcony of our hotel room in Alhaurín de la Torre with my Bible and a note given to me by a friend directly before our departure. Written in the note was the following passage from Titus 2.

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in the present age, waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave Himself to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession who are zealous for good works. 

— Titus 2:11–14 (ESV)

The past few months have been stretching; I have been challenged and stirred, awoken and refined, pruned, watered, pruned again… The Lord is doing a continuous work in me, making straight the crooked places and building a new layer upon the edifice of my heart. He is cultivating my internal landscape and plucking away the weeds of self-absorption and self-reliance, making me utterly dependent and fixated on Him.

In preparation for this trip, I was prepared for this process to continue. I knew it would stretch me and expose insecurities and fears that regularly hinder His blessing and peace from flowing in and through my life. After only two days, I can readily confirm this as true. While filled with adventure and enjoyment, these past days have certainly brought to the forefront selfish tendencies and inhibitions that will require pruning and the application of poignant truth.

God, in His infinite grace and wisdom, is calling me higher, requiring me with fresh urgency to lay aside my own wants, desires, and fears, to lay aside my own exhaustion and discomfort, and to seek first His kingdom in blessing and encouraging those around me.

Extremely introverted and reflective, the constant presence of a group has been difficult. I anticipated this and fully expect that it will remain a challenge over the next few weeks. I have a tendency to become drained and overwhelmed in the consistent company of others and require time alone in which to allow my mind to run freely. For the past three days I have been surrounded with people day and night and have certainly found myself craving the refuge of solitude, but in the midst of the challenges accompanying this I have encountered an all-sufficient grace and an ever present help.

The following verse was laid on my heart the day before our departure and has so resonated that I continue to draw comfort and peace from it:

Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come…

— Psalm 71:5a (ESV)

He is my rock—a solid place on which I can plant my feet and dwell in safety. When stretched beyond my own capabilities and strengths, I find Him ever present, all-sufficient, merciful, gracious, and kind. When stripped of the hiding places of my own construction (solitude and introspection), I find myself held up, sustained, and continually running to the refuge of His design.

As He shapes and purifies me for His purposes and good works, I find that He is a continuous rock of refuge to which I may continually come to be strengthened and filled. I am so thankful today for His faithfulness and grace.